Citation
Fairy tales and stories

Material Information

Title:
Fairy tales and stories
Uniform Title:
Tales
Cover title:
Andersen's fairy tales & stories
Creator:
Andersen, H. C ( Hans Christian ), 1805-1875
Dulcken, H. W ( Henry William ), 1832-1894 ( Translator )
Bayes, Alfred Walter, 1832-1909 ( Illustrator )
George Routledge and Sons ( Publisher )
Dalziel Brothers ( Engraver )
Cowan & Co ( Printer )
Place of Publication:
London ;
Manchester ;
New York
Publisher:
George Routledge and Sons
Manufacturer:
Cowan & Co.
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
512 p., [4] leaves of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 20 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 )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1894 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1894
Genre:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Fairy tales ( rbgenr )
Publishers' advertisements ( rbgenr )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
United States -- New York -- New York
England -- Perth
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Date of publication from inscription.
General Note:
Illustrations engraved by Dalziel and frontispiece printed in colors.
General Note:
Publisher's advertisements precede text.
Statement of Responsibility:
by Hans Christian Andersen ; translated by H.W. Dulcken ; with sixty illustrations by A. W. Bayes.

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:
026565231 ( ALEPH )
ALG1376 ( NOTIS )
225155297 ( OCLC )

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The Baldwin Library

| University
Ki
Florida





A GS ome
Trane “ya. ea



FAIRY TALES AND STORIES





UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME,
—o—

SANDFORD AND Merton. With Sixty
Illustrations.

Tue Swiss FamILy Rosinson. Edited
by W. H. Kinston.

Rosinson Crusoz. With Fifty Illus-
trations by J. D. Watson.

GuLLiver’s TRAVELS,
Lam's TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE,

Bunyan’s Pitcrim’s Procress. With
Fifty-eight Illustrations by J. D.
Watson.

—__8









FAIRY TALES

AND

SLORIES

BY

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

TRANSLATED BY

Dr. H. W. DULCKEN



WITH SIXTY ILLUSTRATIONS BY A. W. BAYES

LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, Limitrep
BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL
MANCHESTER AND NEw YorRK

1894



PRO ~

3 CONTENTS, 22e ek























< oes
AiG Yiy SG oe ey
We SS
Page
The Silver Shilling ...........0. ea Sobdassceussessies Reelceceeuens 9
The Old Church Bell ... ae 13
The Snail and the Rose Tree ........... 18
Little Ida’s Flowers... 20
The Tinder-Box . 26
Great Claus and Little Claus ... 32
Thumbelina 42
The Goloshes of Fortune . 5r
The Hardy Tin Soldier 73
The Story ofa Mother . 77
The Daisy .....sccssecssees 8x
A Great Grief v...ccesesssesseereees sessueteesees ssbgataseteessn gsedesnistayseatiediastevecss Si den 85
The Shirt Collar .... wis . 86
Ole Luk-Oie ........4. i . 89
The Beetle 0... eececeecseeseeseenes nsednuslbasavensescassousses cassetseasi(oststonnetssvenicnss . 98
What the Old tau does is always Right 105
Good Humour ...........ccceeeeeee assacessvenes 109
Children’s Prattle............ 0+ 113
The Flying Trunk . 115
The Last Pearl.............06 ssesseueees 119
The Storks.....



Grandmother..
The Ugly Duckling.
The Loveliest Rose in the World ....
Holger Danske........
The Puppet Showman .....
A Picture from the Fortress Wall ....... iGavasasanheitesensdeeissnaiserseeedusteosasnaebaiensar , 160





tesreccccseescesscssssessecssess 43





vi CONTENTS.



Page
In the Duckeyard.: iiss sicessricesseceuxsersenceacisessonsnceaey se 147
The Red Shoes....... vitecads sbonisiahsustenescéstes tena sat 152
Soup on a Sausage- poe soeateote 158
The Shepherdess and the Chisniiey Susana ze 169
The Old Street Lamp 174



The Lovers ...
Little Tuk ...
The Flax......
The Girl who Trod on the Loaf ...
The Money-Pig ...
The Darning-Needle









Something... Saissnspadaaseataness
A Leaf from the se

The Jewish: Girl: 65. hsccschissctesapsachasveccovancsescevetecesteisectet bieesiadieldvuainseean es
The Elder Tree Mother... dads

The Farm-yard Cock and thet Weatien sek
The Old: Gravestone: scil.ceseessideiacecsceventss cteeiee ccanse tea cditeessacbaves Ga didiee doetetes
The Old Bachelor’s Nightcap
A Rose from the Grave of Homer
The Wind tells about Waldemar Daa and his Daughters ...
Five out of One Shell...
The Metal Pig....
The Snow Queen.
The Nightingale
The Neighbouring Families
The Little Match Girl
The Elf-Hill
The Buckwheat .
The Old House...,























In Seven Stories





The: Happy: Bamily oiecssc2, i000 seacsesaiseccsbeisitesecdesscdsisbvaeestionscetssctetercivernovedt

The Rose-Elf.... 330
The Shadow .... s+ 334
The Angel ....... Suesiedsd'sevsdae sus aa seuctisensty coussosteacescssseleccsedsleaecdsesedevevsvandadscueaces 345

Twelve by the Mail
What the Moon Saw ...
The Little Sea Maid

The Story of the Year
Thé Racers 4 iss iecsstaveavesas
The Wild Swans ............. eaSesedadoteeserd evousaae wabees







CONTENTS. vii

She was Good for Nothing ...
There is a Difference
Everything in its Right Place ...........c.ccccsssessessecessesseeseeesecssceseee seseecsesateceees 428
The Goblin and the Huckster
The Bond of Friendship. .
The Bottle-neck ........... beaseceesnsseceecsnssecessenaanscssecseesevoousseccosssseecenees secseceoons 445
Ib and Christine .
The Snow Man...











Under the Willow Tree ....scsscceseseesessescsenecsssecerseeseseeecsesenees teceesesasscseneeees 467

Charming 2...








The Butterfly .

Anne Lisbeth.......ccccscssssseccssssscesecssceseceseceseeseeesecseeeaeceeesaeeaeesecsesenseescsees 488
The Last Dream of the Old Oak Tree .........0. ccsceee seocrensessseesssesssesensensassecces 497
The Child in the Grave .........ccceeeeeseee

The Thorny Road of Homour wssicccesseeesseccssceceseesseesesseessseeeeaeenenees teestevenss 506

In the Uttermost Parts of the Sea .....scosse-ssssnronesensassssteensesescossserssieesseasenses 50










ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.

—>—
THE SILVER SHILLING.

HERE was once a Shilling. He came out quite bright
from the Mint, and sprang up, and rang out, “ Hurrah!
now 1’m off into the wide world.” And into the wide

world he certainly went.

The child held him with soft warm hands ; the miser clutched
him ina cold avaricious palm ; the old man turned him goodness
knows how many times before parting with him ; while careless
youth rolled him lightly away. The Shilling was of silver, and
had very little copper about him: he had been now a whole year
in the world—that is to say, in the country in which he had beer
struck. But one day he started on his foreign travels: he was
the last native coin in the purse borne by his travelling master.
The gentleman himself was not aware that he still had this coin
until he came across it by chance. ~

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

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

Several weeks had gone by, and the Shilling had travelled far
out into the world without exactly knowing where he was, though
he learned from the other coins that they were French or Italian.
One said they were in such and such a town, another that they
had reached such and such a spot ; but the Shilling could form
no idea of all this. He who has his head in a bag sees nothing ;
and this was the case with the Shilling. But one day, as he lay
there, he noticed that the purse was not shut, and so he crept





to THE SILVER SHILLING.

forward to the opening, to take a look around. He ought not to
have done so; but he was inquisitive, and people often have to
pay for that. He slipped out into the fob; and when the purse
was taken out at night the Shilling remained behind, and was
sent out into the passage with the clothes. There he fell upon
the floor: no one heard it, no one saw it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘And the woman went her way to the rich baker; but he knew



THE SILVER SHILLING.

a

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———S——

|
i
| Mu

————-"

SS

—=

——

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SS

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too well what kind of shillings would pass to take me, and he
threw me back at the woman, who got no bread forme. And I



12 THE SILVER SHILLING.

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

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

“So she bored a hole through me. It is certainly not agree-
able to have a hole bored through one ; but many things can be
borne when the intention is good. A thread was passed through
the hole, and I became a kind of medal, and was hung round the
neck of the little child ; and the child smiled at me, and kissed
me, and I slept all night on its warm, innocent neck.

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

“© A lucky shilling !? she said. ‘ Well, we shall soon see that.’

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

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

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

“1 received it as a good coin,’ said the man, and he looked



THE OLD CHURCH BELL, 13

closely at me: suddenly he smiled all over his face; and I had
never seen that expression before on any face that looked at me.
‘Why, whatever is that?’ he said. ‘That’s one of our own
country coins, a good honest shilling from my home, and they ’ve
bored a hole through him, and they call him false. Now, this is
a curious circumstance. I must keep him and take him home
with me.’ :

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

“TI was wrapped up in clean white paper, so that I should not .
be confounded with the other coins, and spent; and on festive

‘ occasions, when fellow-countrymen met together, I was shown
about, and they spoke very well of me: they said I was interest-
ing—and it is wonderful how interesting one can be without
saying a single word.

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

—

THE OLD CHURCH BELL.



GIN the German land of Wurtemberg, where the acacias

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

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

The days became shorter and gloomier; and if it was dark
out in the open air, in the little old-fashioned houses it was
' darker still. One of these houses was built with its gable end
towards the street, and stood there, with its small narrow win-
dows, humble and poor enoush in appearance; the family was



14 THE OLD CHURCH BELL

poor, too, that inhabited the little house, but good and indus-
trious, and rich in a treasure of piety concealed in the depth of
the heart. And they expected that God would soon give them
another child : the hour had come, and the mother lay in pain
and sorrow. Then from the church tower opposite the deep rich
sound of the bell came to her. It was a solemn hour, and the
song of the bell filled the heart of the praying woman with trust-
fulness and faith ; the thoughts of her inmost heart soared upward
towards the Almighty, and in the same hour she gave birth toa
son. Then she was filled with a great joy, and the bell of the
tower opposite seemed to be ringing to spread the news of her
happiness over town and country. The clear child-eyes looked
at her, and the infant’s hair gleamed like gold. Thus was the
little one ushered into the world with the ringing of the church
bell on the dark November day. The mother and father kissed
it, and wrote in their Bible: “On the roth of November, 1759,
God gave usason;” and soon afterwards the fact was added that
the child had been baptized under the name of “ Johann Christoph
Friedrich.”

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

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

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

Mother and son went into the churchyard. They stopped
where the old bell lay, and the mother told the boy how for centu-
ries this had been a very useful bell, and had rung at christen-
ings, at weddings, and at burials ; how it had spoken at one time



THE OLD CHURCH BELL. 15



The old Bell of Marbach.

to tell of feasts and rejoicings, at another to spread the alarm of
fire ; and how it had, in fact, sung the whole life of man. And
the boy never forgot what his mother told him that day. It re-
sounded and echoed at intervals in his heart, until, when he was
grown a man, he was compelled tosing it. The mother told him
also how the bell had sung of faith and comfort to her in the
time of her peril, that it had sung at the time when he, her little
son, was born. And the boy gazed, almost with a feeling of de-
votion, at the great old bell; and he bent over it and kissed it,
as it lay all rusty and broken among the long grass and nettles.

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



16 * THE OLD CHURCH BELL.*

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

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

- The old bell was better off than he, for the bell would remain
peaceably by the churchyard wall in Marbach, safe, and almost
forgotten. The wind whistled over it,and might have tolda fine
tale of him at whose birth the bell had sounded, and over whom
the wind had but now blown cold in the forest of a neighbouring
land, where he had sunk down, exhausted by fatigue, with his
whole wealth, his only hope for the future, the written pages of
his tragedy “ Fiesco :” the wind might have told of the youth’s
only patrons, men who were artists, and who yet slunk away to
amuse themselves at skittles while his play was being read: the
wind could have told of the pale fugitive, who sat for weary weeks
and months in the wretched tavern, where the host brawled and
drank, and coarse boozing was going on while he sang of the
ideal. Heavy days, dark days! The heart must suffer and
endure for itself the trials it is to sing.

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



THE OLD CHURCH BELL. y

How fared it with the old bell? The bell was carried far away,
farther than its sound could have been heard from the lofty tower
in which it had once hung. And the youth? The bell in his
heart sounded farther than his eye should ever see or his foot
should ever wander ; it is sounding and sounding on, over the
ocean, round the whole earth. But let us first speak of the belfry
bell. It was carried away from Marbach, was sold for old metal,
and destined for the melting furnace in Bavaria. But whenand
how did this happen? In the capital of Bavaria, many years
after the bell had fallen from the tower, there was a talk of its
being melted down, to be used in the manufacture of a memorial
in honour of one of the great ones of the German land. And
behold how suitable this was—how strangely and wonderfully
things happened in the world! In Denmark, on one of those
green islands where the beech woods rustle, and the many Huns’
Graves are to be seen, quite a poor boy had been born. He had
been accustomed to walk about in wooden shoes, and to carry
a dinner wrapped in an old handkerchief to his father, who carved
figureheads on the ship-builders’ wharves ; but this poor lad had
become the pride of his country, for Thorwaldsen knew how to
hew marble blocks into such glorious shapes as made-the whole
world wonder, and to him had been awarded the honourable
commission that he should fashion of clay a noble form that was
to be cast in bronze—a statue of him whose name the father in
Marbach had inscribed in the old Bible as Johann Christoph
Friedrich.

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

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

2



18

THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE TREE.

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

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

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

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

When the next year came, the Snail lay almost in the same
spot, in the sunshine under the Rose Tree, which again bore
buds that bloomed into roses, until the snow fell and the weather
became raw and cold ; then the Rose Tree bowed its head and
the Snail crept into the ground.

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

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

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

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

“No,” answered the Rose Tree. “1 bloomed in gladness,
because I could not do anything else. The sun shone and
warmed me, and the air refreshed me. I drank the pure dew
and the fresh rain, and I lived, I breathed. Out of the earth
there arose a power within me, from above there came down a
strength: I perceived a new ever-increasing happiness, and
consequently I was obliged to bloom over and over again ; that
was my life: I could not do otherwise.”

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

“Certainly. Everything I have was given to me,” said the
Rose Tree. “ But more still was given to you. You are one of





LHE SNAIL AND THE ROSE TREE. 19

those deep thoughtful characters, one of those highly gifted
spirits, which will cause the world to marvel.”

“T’ve no intention of doing anything of the kind,” cried the
Snail. “The world is nothing to me. What have I to do wit:
the world? I have enough of myself and in myself.”

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

‘“¢ What have I given-—what do I intend to give? I spit at it.
It’s worth nothing, It’sno business of mine. Continue to give
your roses, if you like: you can’t do anything better. Let the
hazel bush bear nuts, and the cows and ewes give milk: they
have their public; but I have mine within myself—TI retire
within myself, and there I remain ; the world is nothing to me.”

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

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

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

And years rolled by.

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

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

2--2



20

LITTLE IDA’S FLOWERS.

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

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

“ But flowers cannot dance !” cried little Ida.

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

“Can children go to this ball ?” ‘

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

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

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

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

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

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





LITTLE 1DA’S FLOWERS. at







Lhe Student telling little [da the story of the Flowers,

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

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

“Yes,” said the student ; “only remember, when you go out
again, to peep through the window; then you will see them.



22 LITTLE IDA’S FLOWERS.

That is what 1 did to-day. There was a long yellow lily lying
on the sofa and stretching herself. She was a Court lady.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How can any one put such notions into a child’s head >
said the tiresome privy councillor, who had come to pay a visit,
and was sitting on the sofa. He did not like the student, and
always grumbled when he saw him cutting out the merry funny
pictures—sometimes a man hanging on a gibbet and holding a
heart in his hand, to show that he stole hearts ; sometimes an
old witch riding on a broom and carrying her husband on her



LITTLE [DA’S FLOWERS, 23

nose. The councillor could not bear this, and then he said, just
as he did now, “ How can any one put such notions into a child's
head? Those are stupid fancies !”

But, to little Ida, what the student told about her flowers

‘seemed very droll; and she thought much about it. The flowers
hung their heads, for they were tired, because they had danced
all night : they were certainly ill, Then she went with them to
her other toys, which stood on a pretty little table, and the whole
drawer was full of beautiful things. In the doll’s bed lay her
doll Sophy, asleep; but little Ida said to her,

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

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

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

When she was in bed she lay for a long time thinking how
pretty it must be to see the beautiful flowers dancing out in the
King’s castle. ‘I wonder if my flowers have really been there?”
And then she fell asleep. In the night she woke again: she
had dreamed of the flowers, and of the student with whom the
councillor found fault. It was quite quiet in the bed-room where
Ida lay; the night-lamp burned on the table, and father and
mother were asleep.

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

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

“1f they would only come in!” thought she. But the flowers



24 LITTLE IDA’S FLOWERS.

did not come, and the music continued to play beautifully ; then
she could not bear it any longer, for it was too pretty ; she crept
out of her little bed, and went quietly to the door, and looked
into the room. Oh, how splendid it was, what she saw!

There was no night-lamp burning, but still it was quite light :
the moon shone through the window into the middle of the floor;
it was almost like day. All the hyacinths and tulips stood in
two long rows in the room; there were none at all left at the
window. There stood the empty flower-pots. On the floor all
the flowers were dancing very gracefully round each other, making
perfect turns, and holding each other by the long green leaves as
they swunground. But at the piano sat a great yellow lily, which
little Ida had certainly seen in summer, for she remembered how
the student had said, “ How like that oneis to Miss Lina.” Then
he had been laughed at by all; but now it seemed really to little
Ida as if the long yellow flower looked like the young lady ; and
it had just her manners in playing— sometimes bending its long
yellow face to one side, sometimes to the other, and nodding in
tune to the charming music! No one noticed little Ida. Then
she saw a great blue crocus hop into the middle of the table,
where the toys stood, and go to the doll’s bed and pull the cur-
tains aside: there lay the sick flowers, but they got up directly,
and nodded to the others, to say that they wanted to dance too.
The old chimney-sweep doll, whose under lip was broken off,
stood up and bowed to the pretty flowers: these did not look at
allillnow; they jumped down to the others, and were very merry.

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

The wax doll on the birch rod all at once became quite great
and long, turned itself over the paper flowers, and said, “ How
can one put such things in a child’s head? those are stupid
fancies !” and then the wax doll was exactly like the councillor
with the broad hat, and looked just as yellow and cross as he.
But the paper flowers hit him on his thin legs, and then he shrank
up again, and became quite a little wax doll. That was very
amusing to see ; and little Ida could not restrain her laughter.
The birch rod went on dancing, and the councillor was obliged
to dance too j It was no use, he might make himself great and
long, or remain the little yellow wax doll with the big black hat.
then the other flowers put in a good word for him, especially
those who had lain in the doll’s bed, and then the birch rod gave



LITTLE IDA'’S FLOWERS. 25

over. At the same moment there was a loud knocking at the
drawer, inside where Ida’s doll, Sophy, lay with many other toys.
The chimney-sweep ran to the edge of the table, lay flat down
on his stomach, and began to pull the drawer out a little. Then
Sophy raised herself, and looked round quite astonished.

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

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

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

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

As none of the flowers seemed to notice Sophy, she let herself
fall down from the drawer straight upon the floor, so that there
was a great noise. The flowers now all came running up, to ask
if she had not hurt herself ; and they were all very polite to her,
especially the flowers that had lain in her bed. But she had not
hurt herself at all ; and Ida’s flowers all thanked her for the nice
bed, and were kind to her, took her into the middle of the room,
where the moon shone in, and danced with her; and all the other
flowers formed a circle round her. Now Sophy was glad,-and
said they might keep her bed; she did not at all mind lying in
the drawer.

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

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

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

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



36 THE TINDER-BOX.

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

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

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

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

Then she took a little paper box, on which were painted beau-
tiful birds, and opened it, and laid the dead flowers in it.

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

These cousins were two merry boys, Their names were
Gustave and Adolphe; their father had given them two new
crossbows, and they had brought these with them to show to
Ida. She told them about the poor flowers which had died, and
then they got leave to bury them. The two boys were first, with
their crossbows on their shoulders, and little Ida followed with
the dead flowers in the pretty box. Out in the garden a little
grave was dug. Ida first kissed the flowers, and then laid them
in the earth in the box, and Adolphe and Gustave shot with their
crossbows over the grave, for they had neither guns nor cannons,

THE TINDER-BOX.

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

ave.

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

“Do you see that great tree?” quoth the witch; and she
pointed to a tree which stood beside them. “It’s quite hollow





THE TINDER-BOX. 27

inside. You must climb to the top, and then you’ll sce a hole,
through which you can let yourself down and get deep into the
tree. I'll tie a rope round your body, so that I can pull you up
again when you call me.” :

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

“ Get money,” replied the witch. ‘Listen tome. When you
come down to the earth under the tree, you will find yourself in
a great hall: it is quite light, for above three hundred lamps are
burning there. Then you wil. see three doors ; these you can
open, for the keys are hanging there. If you go into the first
chamber, you’!l see a great chest in the middle of the floor ; on
this chest sits a dog, and he’s got a pair of eyes as big as two
tea-cups. But you need not carefor that. 17ll give you my blue-
checked apron, and you can spread it out upon the floor; then go
up quickly and take the dog, and set him on my apron; then
open the chest, and take as many shillings as you like. They
are of copper: if you prefer silver, you must go into the second
chamber. But there sits a dog with a pair of eyes as big as mill-
wheels. But do not you care for that. Set him upon my apron,
and take some of the money. And if you want gold, you can
have that too—in fact, as much as you can carry—if you go into
the third chamber. But the dog that sits on the money-chest
there has two eyes as big as round towers. He is a fierce dog,
you may be sure ; but you needn’t be afraid, for all that. Only
set him on my apron, and he won’t hurt you ; and take out of
the chest as much gold as you like.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You should not stare so hard at me,” said the soldier ; “ you
might strain your eyes.” And he set the dog upon the witch’s
apron. And when he saw the silver money in the chest, he threw



28



THE TINDER-BOX.





Hlth

; Jaghene! WM}
— SS

away all the copper money he had, and filled his pockets and his
knapsack with silver only. Then he went into the third chamber.
Oh, but that was horrid! The dog there really had eyes as Vig
as towers, and they turned round and round in his head like
wheels.

“Good evening!” said the soldier; and he touched his cap,
for he had never seen such a dog as that before. When he had
looked at him a little more closely, he thought, “ That will do,”
and lifted him down to the floor,and opened the chest. Mercy!
what a quantity of gold was there! He could buy with it the
whole town, and the sugar sucking-pigs of the cake woman, and



THE TINDER-BOX. 20

all the tin soldiers, whips, and rocking-horses in the whole world.
Yes, that was a quantity of money ! Now the soldier threw away
all the silver coin with which he had filled his pockets and his
knapsack, and took gold instead : yes, all his pockets, his knap-
sack, his boots, and his cap were filled, so that he could scarcely
walk. ‘Now indeed he had plenty of money. He put the dog
on the chest, shut the door, and then called up through the tree,
“ Now pull me up, you old witch.”

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

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

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

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

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

“ Nonsense !” said the soldier. “ Tell me directly what you ’re
going to do with it, or 1 Il draw my sword and cut off your head.”

“No!” cried the witch.

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

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

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

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

“JT should like to see her,” thought the soldier ; but he could
not get leave to do so. Now he lived merrily, went to the theatre,
drove in the King’s garden, and gave much-money to the poor ;
and this was very kind of him, for he knew from old times how.
hard it is when one has not a shilling. Now he was rich, had
fine clothes, and gained many friends, who all said he was a rare
one, a true cavalier; and that pleased the soldier well. But as
he spent money every day and never earned any, he had at last



30 THE TINDER-BOX.

only two shillings left ; and he was obliged to turn out of the fine
rooms in which he had dwelt, and had to live in a little garret
under the roof, and clean his boots for himself, and mend them
with a darning-needle. None of his friends came to see him, for
there were too many stairs to climb.

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

“What are my lord’s commands?”

“What is this?” said the soldier. “That’s a famous tinder-
box, if I can get everything with it that I want ! Bring me some
money,” said he to the dog ; and wézsk / the dog was gone, and
whisk! he was back again, with a great bag full of shillings in
his mouth.

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

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

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

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

er.

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

So one of the old Court ladies had to watch the next night by
the Princess’s bed, to see if this was rea!ly a dream, or what it
might be.



THE TINDER-BOX. 31

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

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

But the Queen was an exceedingly clever woman, who could
do more than ride in a coach. She took her great gold scissors,
cut a piece of silk into pieces, and make a neat little bag: this
bag she filled with fine wheat flour, and tied it on the Princess’s
back ; and when that was done, she cut a little hole in the bag,
so that the flour would be scattered along all the way which the
Princess should take.

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

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

“Halloo, you shoemaker’s boy! you needn’t be in such a
hurry,” cried the soldier to him: “it will not begin till I come,



32 GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS.

But if you will run to where I lived, and bring me my tinder-box,
you shall have four shillings; but you must put your best leg
foremost.”

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

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

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

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

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

So they put the soldier into the King’s coach, and all the three
dogs darted on in front and cried “ Hurrah!” and the boys
whistled through their fingers, and the soldiers presented arms.
The Princess came out of the copper castle, and became Queen,
and she liked that well enough. The wedding lasted a week,
and the three dogs sat at the table too, and opened their eyes
wider than ever at all they saw.

GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS.

HERE lived two men in one village, and they had the
same name—each was called Claus ; but one had four
horses and the other only a single horse. To distinguish
them from each other, folks called him who had four horses Great
Claus, and the one who had only a single horse Little Claus,









GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS. 33

Now we shall hear what happened to each of them, for this is
a true story.

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

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

But when no one was passing Little Claus forgot that he was
not to say this, and he cried, “ Gee up, all my horses !” 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hada very long way to go, and was obliged to pass through
a great dark wood, and the weather became dreadfully bad. He
went quite astray, and before he got into the right way again it
was evening, and it was too far to get home again or even to the
town before nightfall. ‘

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

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

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

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

3



34 GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS.



Little Claus deploring the Death of his Horse.

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

“Up there I can lie,” said Little Claus, when he looked up at
the roof ; “that is a capital bed. I suppose the stork won't fly
down and bite me in the legs.” For a living stork was standing
on the roof, where he had his nest.

Now Little Claus climted up to the roof of the shed, where he
lay, and turned round to settle himself comfortably. The wooden
shutters did not cover the windows at the top, and he could look
straight into the room, ‘There was a great table, with the cloth
laid, and wine and roast meat and a glorious fish upon it. The



GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS. 35

farmer’s wife and the clerk were seated at table, and nobody
besides. She was filling his glass, and he was digging his fork
into the fish, for that was his favourite dish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The woman received them both in a very friendly way, spread
the cloth ona long table, and gave them a great dish of porridge.
The farmer was hungry, and ate with a-good appetite; but Little
Claus could not help thinking of the capital roast meat, fish, and
cake, which he knew were in the oven. Under the table, at his
feet, he had laid the’sack with the horse’s hide in it; for we know
that he had come out to sell it in the town. He did not relish
the porridge, so he trod upon the sack, and the dry skin inside
crackled quite loudly.

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

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

“Wonderful !” cried the farmer ; and he opened the oven ina
hurry, and found all the dainty provisions which his wife had
hidden there, but which, as he thought, the wizard had conjured
forth, The woman dared not say anything, but put the things
at once on the tabie; and so they both ate of the meat, the fish,

3-2



36 GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS.

and the cake. Now Little Claus again trod on his sack, and
made the hide creak.

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

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

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

“Can he conjure the demon forth?” asked the farmer. “1
should like to see him, for now I am merry.”

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

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

“Why, he’! look the very image of a clerk.”

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

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

“What does he say ?”

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

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

“Hu!” hecried, and sprang backward. “ Yes,now I 'veseen
pene he looked exactly like our clerk. Oh, that was dread-

* ful!

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

“You must sell me that conjuror,” said the farmer. “ Ask as
much as you like for him: 1’ll give youa whole bushel of money
directly.”

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

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

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



GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS. 39

That you shall have,” replied the farmer. “ But you must
take the chest yonder away with you. I will not keep it in my
house an hour. One cannot know,—perhaps he may be there
still.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, no, no!” screamed the clerk. ‘“1’ll give you a whole
bushel-full of money if you’ll let me go.”

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

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

“See, I’ve been well paid for the horse,” he said to himself
when he had got home to his own room, and was emptying all
the money into a heap in the middle of the floor. “That wil]
vex Great Claus when he hears how rich I have grown throvgt
my one horse; but I won’t tell him about it outright.”

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

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

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

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

#



38 ‘GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well,” said he, when he got home, “ Little Claus shall pay
for this. 171 kill him for it.”

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

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

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

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

The host had very, very much money; he was alsoa very good
men, but exceedingly hot, as if he had pepper and tobacco in

im.

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

“Yes,” answered Little Claus; “I’m going to town with my



GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS. 39

old grandmother: she’s sitting there on the car without. I
can’t bring her into the room. Will you give her a glass of
mead? But you must speak very loud, for she can’t hear well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s my grandmother,” answered Great Claus. “I’ve killed

€r to get a bushel of money for her.” ; a

“Heaven save us!” cried the apothecary, “you’re raving!

Don’t say such things, or you may lose your head.” And he told



40 GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS.

him earnestly what a bad deed this was that he had done, and
what a bad man he was, and that he must be punished. And
Great Claus was so frightened that he jumped out of the surgery
straight into his carriage, and whipped the horses, and drove
home. But the apothecary and all the people thought him mad,
and so they let him drive whither he would.

“You shall pay for this !” said Great Claus, when he was out
upon the high road: “yes, yes, you shall pay me for this, Little
Claus!” And directly he got home he took the biggest sack he
could find, and went over to Little Claus, and said, ‘* Now, you’ve
tricked me again! First I killed my horses, and then my old
grandmother! That’s all your fault; but you shall never trick
me any more.” And he seized Little Claus round the body, and
thrust him into the sack, and took him upon his back, and called
out to him, “ Now I shall go off with you and drown you.”

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

“Ah, yes! yes!” sighed Little Claus in the sack. And he
turned and twisted, but he found it impossible to loosen the cord.
Then there came by an old drover with snow-white hair, and a
great staff in his hand: he was driving a whole herd of cows and
oxen before him, and they stumbled against the sack in which
Little Claus was confined, so that it was overthrown,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he went to the river, which was deep and broad, threw the
sack with the old drover in it into the water, and called after him,



GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS. 41

thinking that it was Little Claus, “You lie there! Now you
shan’t trick me any more !”

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

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

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

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

“These beasts are sea-cattle,” replied Little Claus. “IIl tell
you the whole story,—and thank you for drowning me, for now
I’m at the top of the tree. I am really rich! How frightened
1 was when 1 lay huddled in the sack, and the wind whistled
about my ears when you threw me down from the bridge into the
cold water! I sank to the bottom immediately ; but I did not
knock myself, for the most splendid soft grass grows down there.
Upon that I fell; and immediately the sack was opened, and the
loveliest maiden, with snow-white garments and a green wreath
upon her wet hair, took me by the hand, and said, ‘ Are you come,
Little Claus? Here you have some cattle to begin with. A mile
farther along the road there is a whole herd more, which I will
give to you,’ And now I saw that the river formed a great high-
way for the people of the sea. Down in its bed they walked and
drove directly from the sea, and straight into the land, to where
the river ends. There it was so beautifully full of flowers and of
the freshest grass ; the fishes, which swam in the water, shot past
my ears, just as here the birds in the air. What pretty people
there were there, and what fine cattte pasturing on mounds and
in ditches !”

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

“Why,” replied Little Claus, “in that I just acted with good
policy. You heard me tell you that the sea-maiden said, ‘A mile
farther along the road ’—and by the road she meant the river, for
she can’t go anywhere else—‘ there is a whole herd of cattle for
you.’ But I know what bends the stream makes—sometimes
this, sometimes that ; there’s a long way to go round : no, the
thing can be managed in a shorter way by coming here to the
-and, and driving across the fields towards the river again. In
this manner I save myself almost half a mile, and get all the
quicker to my sea-cattle !” .

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

“Yes, I think so,” replied Little Claus. “ But I cannot carry
you in the sack as far as the river ; you are too heavy for met



42 THUMBELINA.

But if you will go there, and creep into the sack yourself, I will
throw you in with a great deal of pleasure.”

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

“Oh, no; don’t be so fierce !”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THUMBELINA.



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

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

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

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

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

“That is a beautiful flower,” said the woman; and she kissed
its yellow and red leaves. But just as she kissed it the flower



THUMBELINA. 3

opened with a Zop/ It was a real tulip, as one could now see;
but in the middle of the flower there sat upon the green velvet
stamens a little maiden, delicate and graceful to behold. She
was scarcely half a thumb’s length in height, and therefore she
was called Thumbelina.

A neat polished walnut-shell served Thumbelina for a cradle,
blue violet-leaves were her mattresses, with a rose-leaf for a
coverlet. There she slept at night; but in the day-time she
played upon the table, where the woman had put a plate with a
wreath of flowers around it, whose stalks stood in water ; on the
water swam a great tulip-leaf, and on this the little maiden could
sit, and row from one side of the plate to the other, with two
white horse-hairs for oars. That looked pretty indeed! She
could also sing, and, indeed, so delicately and sweetly, that the
like had never been heard.

Once as she lay at night in her pretty bed. there came an old
Toad creeping through the window, in which one pane was










\s = =~ yn
ti ZB EAN a
iH) DIS A SN ee
|b‘ SES
WAStee 2 oe
S e eee WA J = wm



=, — ——

Thumbelina and the Toads.



broken. The Toad was very ugly, big and damp: it hopped
straight down upon the table, where Thumbelina lay sleeping
under the rose-leaf. i

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

There ran a great broad brook; but the margin was swampy

‘ and soft, and here the Toad dwelt with her son. Ugh! he was

ugly, and looked just like his mother. ‘“Croak! croak; brek-
kek-kex !” that was all he could say when he saw the graceful
litle maiden in the walnut-shell.



44 THUMBELINA.

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

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

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

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

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

Thumbelina sailed by many cities, and the little birds which
sat in the bushes saw her, and said, “ What a lovely little girl!”
The leaf swam away with them, farther and farther ; so Thum-
belina travelled out of the country.

A graceful little white butterfly always fluttered round her, and
at last alighted on the leaf. Thumbelina pleased him, and she ©
was very glad of this, for now the Toad could not reach them ;
and it was so beautiful where she was floating along—the sun
shone upon the water, and the water glistened like the most



THUMBELINA. 45

splendid gold. She took her girdle and bound one end of it
round the butterfly, fastening the other end of the ribbon to the
leaf. The leaf now glided onward much faster, and Thumbelina
too, for she stood upon the leaf.

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

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

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

“She has not any feelers !” cried another.

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

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

The whole-summer through poor Thumbelina lived quite alone
in the great wood. She wove herself a bed out of blades of
grass, and hung it up under a shamrock, so that she was pro-
tected from the rain; she plucked the honey out of the flowers
for food, and drank of the dew which stood every morning upon
the leaves. Thus summer and autumn passed away; but now
came winter, the cold long winter. All the birds who had sung
so sweetly before her flew away ; trees and flowers shed their
leaves ; the great shamrock under which she had lived shrivelled
up, and there remained nothing of it but a yellow withered stalk ;
and she was dreadfully cold, for her clothes were torn, and she
herself was so frail and delicate—poor little Thumbelina! she
was nearly frozen. It began to snow, and every snow-flake that
fell upon her was like a whole shovel-full thrown upon one of us,
for we are tall, and she was only aninch long. Then she wrapped



46 THUMBELINA.

herself in a dry leaf, and that tore in the middle, and would not
warm her—she shivered with cold.

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

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

As she was pleased with Thumbelina, she said, “If you like
you may stay with me through the winter, but you must keep my
room clean and neat, and tell me little stories, for 1am very fond
of those.”

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

“ Now we shall soon have a visitor,” said the Field Mouse.
“My neighbour is in the habit of visiting me once a week. He
is even better off than I am, has great rooms, and a beautiful
black velvety fur. If you could only get him for your husband
you would be well provided for. You must tell him the prettiest
stories you know.”

But Thumbelina did not care about this ; she thought nothing
of the neighbour, for he was a Mole. He came and paid his
visits in his black velvet coat. The Field Mouse told how rich
and how learned he was, and how his house was more than
twenty times larger than hers; that he had learning, but that he
did not like the sun and beautiful flowers, for he had never seen
them.

Thumbelina had to sing, and she sang “ Cockchafer, fly away,”
and “ When the parson goesafield.” Then the Mole fell in love
with her, because of her delicious voice; but he said nothing, for
he was a sedate Mole.

A short time before, he had dug a long passage through the
earth from his own house to theirs; and Thumbelina and the
Field Mouse obtained leave to walk in this passage as much as
they wished. But he begged them not to be afraid of the dead
bird which was lying in the passage. It was an entire bird, with
wings and beak. It certainly must have died only a short time
before, and was now buried just where the Mole had made his
passage. :

The Mole took a bit of decayed wood in his mouth, and it



THUMBELINA. a7

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

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

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

“Perhaps it was he who sang so prettily before mein the sum-
mer,” she thought. “ How much pleasure he gave me, the dear
beautiful bird !”

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

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

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

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

‘The next night she crept out to him again—and now he was
alive, but quite weak; he could only open his eyes fora moment}



48 THUMBELINA.

and look at Thumbelina, who stood before him with a bit or
decayed wood in her hand, for she had not a lantern.

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

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

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

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

“ No, I cannot!” said Thumbelina.

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

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

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

Thumbelina had to turn the spindle, and the Mole hired four
spiders to weave for her day and night. Every evening the Mole
paid her a visit ; and he was always saying that when the summer
should draw to aclose, the sun would not shine nearly so hot, for
\that now it burned the earth almost as hard asastone. Yes,
when the summer should have gone, then he would keep his wed-
ding day with Thumbelina. But she was not glad at all, for she
did not like the tiresome Mole. Every morning when the sur



THUMBELINA. 49

rose, and every evening when it went down, she crept out at the
door ; and when the wind blew the corn-ears apart, so that she
could see the blue sky, she thought how bright and beautiful it
was out here, and wished heartily to see her dear Swallow again.
But the Swallow did not come back ; he had doubtless flown far
away, in the fair green forest. When autumn came on, Thumbe-
lina had all her outfit ready.

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

But Thumbelina wept, and declared she would not have the
tiresome Mole.

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

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

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

“ Tweet-weet ! tweet-weet ! a voice suddenly sounded over her
head. She looked up: it was the little Swallow, who was just
flying by. When he saw Thumbelina he was very glad; and
Thumbelina told him how loth she was to have the ugly Mole for
her husband, and that she was to live deep under the earth, where
the sun never shone. And she could net refrain from weeping.

“The cold winter is coming now,” said the Swallow ; “I am
going to fly far away into the warm countries. Will you come
with me? You can sit upon my back, then we shall fly from the
ugly Mole and his dark room—away, far away, over the moun-
tains, to the warm countries, where the sun shines warmer than
here, where it is always summer, and there are lovely flowers
Only fly with me, you dear little Thumbelina, you who have saved
my life when I lay frozen in the dark earthy passage.”

“Yes, I will go with you!” said Thumbelina; and she seated
herself on the bird’s back, with her feet on his outspread wing,
and bound her girdle fast to one of his strongest feathers ; then
the Swallow flew up into the air over forest and over sea, high up

over the great mountains, where the snow always lies; and
4,



50 THUMBELINA,

Thumbelina felt cold in the bleak air, but then she hid under the
bird’s warm feathers, and only put out her little head to admire
all the beauties beneath her.

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

“That is my house,” said the Swallow ; “ but 1 is not right
that you should live there. It is not yet properly arranged bya
great deal, and you will not be content with it. Select for your-
self one of the splendid flowers which grow down yonder, then I
will put you into it, and you shall have everything as nice as you
can wish.”

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

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

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

The little Prince was very much frightened at the Swallow,
for it was quite a gigantic bird to him, who was so small. But
when he saw Thumbelina, he became very glad; she was the
prettiest maiden he had ever seen. Therefore he took off his
golden crown, and put it upon her, asked her name, and if she
would be his wife, and then she should be Queen of all the flowers.
Now this was truly a different kind of man to the son of the Toad,
and the Mole with the black velvet fur. She therefore said “ Yes”
to the charming Prince. And out of every flower came a lady or
a lord, so pretty to behold that it was adelight ; each ore brought
Thumbelina a present ; but the best gift was a pair of beautiful
wings which had belonged to a great white fly ; these were fas-
tened to Thumbetina’s back, and now she could fly from flower to
flower. Then tnere was much rejoicing ; and the little Swallow



THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE. 51

sat above them in the nest, and was to sing the marriage song,
which he accordingly did as well ashe could ; but yet in his heart
he was sad, for he was so fond, oh! so fond of Thumbelina, and
would have liked never to part from her.

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

THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.
I,
A Beginning.

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

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

4-2





82 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.

in her own exalted rerson to perform her business, for thus she
knows that it is well done.

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

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




_ Ke Zk “I








Bp 'y =

\Gh





is

Nyy



y\
\





WY

The Goloshes left at the Door.

I am to bring to the human race. These goloshes have the pro-
perty that every one who puts them on is at once transported to
the time and place in which he likes best to be—every wish in
reference to time, place, and circumstance is at once fulfilled ; and
so for once man can be happy here below !”

“Believe me,” said Care, “‘he will be very unbappy, and will
bless the moment when he can get rid of the goloshes again.”

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

You see, this was the dialogue they held,



THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE. 53

Il.
What happened to the Councillor.

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

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

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

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

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

“ How they look!” he said. ‘“ They must come from a mas-
querade.”

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

“ That is the Bishop of Zealand.” .

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

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

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

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

The men stared at him.



54 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.

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

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

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

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

“Either I behold a Fata Morgana, or I am tipsy,” sighed the
councillor. ‘What can that be? what can that be?”

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

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

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

“That is dreadful!” he cried; “I don’t know East Street again.
Not one shop is to be seen; old, miserable, tumble-down huts
are all I see, as if I were at Roeskilde or Ringstedt. Oh, I am
ill! It’s no use to make ceremony. But where in all the world
is the agent’s house? It is no longer the same; but within there
are people up still. I certainly must be ill!”

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







The Councillor is alarmea,

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

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

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

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

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

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



56 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE,

leaf: it was a woodcut representing a strange appearance in the
air which had been seen in the city of Cologne.

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

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

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

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

“ Modestia is a beautiful virtue,” said the man. “ Moreover,
[ must say to your speech, ‘ mzhd secus videtur ;’ yet I will gladly
suspend my jzdicium.” ;

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

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

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

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

“This is certainly not a locus docendi,’ began the man; “ but
I beg you to take the trouble to speak. ‘You are doubtless well
read in the ancients ?” 4

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

““Every-day Stories?” said the bachelor, inquiringly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

© The first printer and publisher in Denmark under King Hans



THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE. 57

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

“ How are you now?” asked the hostess, and she plucked the
councillor by the slecve.

Now his recollection came back ; in the course of the conver-
sation he had forgotten everything that had happened.

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

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

Two girls came in. . One of them had on acap of two colours.
They poured out drink and bowed: the councillor felt a cold
shudder running all down his back. ‘“ What’s that? what’s that?”
he cried; but he was obliged to drink with them. They took
possession of the good man quite politely. He was in despair,
and when one said that he was tipsy he felt not the slightest doubt
regarding the truth of the statement, and only begged them to
procure him a droschky. Now they thought he was speaking
Muscovite.

Never had he been in such rude vulgar company.

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

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

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

“Good Heavens! have I been lying here in the street dream-



58 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.

ing?” he exclaimed. “Yes, thisis East Street sure enough ! how
splendidly bright and gay! It is terrible what an effect that one
glass of punch must have had on me!”

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

III.
The Watchman’s Adventures.

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

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

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

As he uttered this wish, the goloshes he had put on produced
their effect, and the watchman was transported into the body and
being of the lieutenant. Then he stood up in the room, and held
a little pink paper in his fingers, on which was a poem, a poem
written by the lieutenant himself. For who is there who has not
once in his life had a poetic moment? and at such a moment, if
one writes down one’s thoughts, there is poetry.

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

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

In that same moment the watchman became a watchman
again ; for through the power of the goloshes of Fortune he had



THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE. 59

assumed the personality of the lieutenant ; but then we know he
felt far less content, and preferred to be just what he had de-
spised a short time before. So the watchman became a watch-
man again.

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

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

“There went one,” said he, “ but for all that, there are enough
left. I should like to look at those things a little nearer, espe-
cially the moon, for that won’t vanish under one’s hands. The
student for whom my wife washes says that when we die we fly
from one star to another. That’s not true, but it would be very
nice. If I could only make a little spring up there, then my body
might lie here on the stairs for all I care,”

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

So far as we are concerned, we all understand the rapidity of
dispatch by steam; we have tried it either in railways, or in
steamers across the sea. But this speed is as the crawling of the
sloth or the march of the snail in comparison with the swiftness
with which lighttravels, That flies nineteen million times quicker.
Death is an electric shock we receive in our hearts, and on the
wings of electricity the liberated soul flies away. The sunlight
requires eight minutes and a few seconds for a journey of more
than ninety-five millions of miles ; on the wings of electric power
the soul requires only a few moments to accomplish the same
dight. The space between the orbs of the universe is, for her,
Mot greater than, for us, the distances between the houses of our
‘riends dwelling in the same town, and even living close together.
Yet this electric shock costs us the life of the body here below,
anless, like the watchman, we have the magic goloshes on.

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



60 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUN«.

races like sails, transparent and floating in the thin air. Ow
earth hung over his head like a great dark red ball.

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

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

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

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

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

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



THE GOLOSHES Ob FORTUNE. 67

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

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

IV.
A Great Moment.—A very Unusual Fourney.

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

The hospital is separated from the street by a tolerably high
railing, in which the thick iron rails stand so far apart, that cer-
tain very thin inmates are said to have squeezed between them,
and thus paid their little visits outside the premises. The part
of the body most difficult to get through was the head; and here,
as it often happens in the world, small heads were the most for-
tunate. This will be sufficient as an introduction.

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

“I wish to goodness I had my head outside !” cried he. And
immediately, though his head was very thick and big, it glided
easily and quickly through. The goloshes must have understood
it well ; but now the body was to slip through also, and that could
not be done. “I am too fat,” said he, “I thought my head was
the thickest. I shan’t get through.”

Now he wanted to pull his head back quickly, but he could
not manage it: he could move his neck, but that was all. His
first feeling was one of anger, and then his spirits sank down to
zero, The goloshes of Fortune had placed him in this terrible
condition, and, unfortunately, it never occurred to him to wish
himself free. No: instead af wishing. he onlv strove, and could



62 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.

not stir from the spot.- The rain poured down ; not a creature
was to be seen in the street; he could not reach the gate bell,
and how was he to get loose? He foresaw that he would have to
remain here until the morning, and then they would have to send
for a blacksmith, to file through the iron bars. But such’a busi-
ness is not to be done quickly.. The whole charity school would
be upon its legs ; the whole sailors’ quarter close by would come
up and see him standing in the pillory; and a fine crowd there
would be.

“Hu!” he cried, “the blood’s rising to my head, and I shall
go mad! Yes,1’m going mad ! If 1 were free, most likely it
would pass over.”

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

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

The idea struck him: he would have liked to possess such a
pair of spectacles. If they were used rightly, they would perhaps
enable the wearer to look into people’s hearts; and that, he

hought, would be more interesting than to see what was going
o happen in the next year ; for future events would be known in
time, but the people’s thoughts never.

“ Now I'll look at the row of ladies and gentlemen on the first
bench: if one could look directly into their hearts ! yes, that must
be a hollow, a.sort of shop. How my eyes would wander about
in that shop! In every lady’s, yonder, I should doubtless find a
great milliner’s warehouse : with this one here the shop is empty,
but it would do no harm to have it cleaned out. But would there
really be such shops? Ah, yes!” he continued, sighing, “I know
one in which all the goods are first-rate, but there’s a servant in
it already ; that’s the only drawback in the whole shop! From
one and another the word would be ‘Please to step in!’ Oh,
that 1 might oniy step in, like a neat little thought, and slip through
their hearts !”

That was the word of command for the-goloshes. The volun-



THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE. 63

teer shrivelled up, and began to take a very remarkable journey
through the hearts of the first row of spec‘ators. The first heart
through which he passed was that of alady; but he immediately
fancied himself in the Orthopeedic Institute. in the room where
the plaster casts of deformed limbs are kept hanging against the
walls ; the only difference was, that these casts were formed in
the institute when the patients came in, {svt here in the heart they
were formed and preserved after the good sersons had gone away.
For they were casts of female friends, who-e bodily and mental
faults were preserved here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now he remembered the great event of the last evening,



64 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.

how his head had been caught between the iron rails of the hos
pital.

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

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

“Hi!” he cried, and jumped down to take a plunge bath.

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

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

V.
The Transformation of the Copying Clerk.

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

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

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

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

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

There could not be a quieter, steadier person than this young
man. We grant him his little walk with all our hearts ; it will
certainly do him good after so much s'tting, At first he only



THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE. 65

walked like a vegetating creature, so the goloshes had no opportu-
nity of displaying their magic power.

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

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

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

“ But you are better off, after all,” said the copying clerk. “It
must bea pleasure to sit and write poetry. Everybody says agree-
able things to you, and then you are your own master. Ah, you
should just try it, poring over the frivolous affairs in the court.”

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

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

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

“What glorious fragrance!” he crieu. “ How it reminds me
of the viclets at aunt Laura’s! Yes, that was when I was a little
boy. I have not thought of that for a long time. The good old
lady! She lies yonder, by the canal. She always had a twig or
a couple of green shoots in the water, let the winter be as severe
as it might. The violets bloomed, while I had to put warm
farthings against the frozen window-panes to make peep-holes.
That was a pretty view. Out in the canal the ships were frozen
in, and deserted by the whole crew; a screaming crow was the
only living creature left. Then, when the spring breezes blew,
it all became lively : the ice was sawn asunder amid shouting and
cheers, the ships were tarred and rigged, and then they sailed
away to strange lands. I remained here, and must always remain,
and sit at the police office, and let others take passports for abroad.
That’s my fate Oh, yes!” and he sighed deeply. Suddenly he

5



66 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.

paused. “Good Heaven! what is come to me? I never thought
or felt as I do now. It must be the spring air: it is just as dizzy-
ing as itis charming!” He felt in his pockets for his papers.
“These will give me something else to think of,” said he, and
Jet his eyes wander over the first leaf. There heread: “‘ Dame
Sigbirth ; an original tragedy in five acts’ What is that?) And
it is my own hand. Have I written this tragedy? ‘ The Intrigue
on the Promenade, or, the Day of Penance—Vaudeville’ But
where did I get that from? It must have been put into my
pocket. Here isa letter. Yes, it was from the manager of the
theatre; the pieces were rejected, and the letter is not at all
politely worded. H’m! H’m!” said the copying clerk, and he
sat down upon a bench: his thoughts were elastic; his head was
quite soft. Involuntarily he grasped one of the nearest flowers;
it was a common little daisy. What the botanists require several
lectures to explain to us, this flower told in a minute. It told the
glory of its birth; it told of the strength of the sunlight, which
spread out the delicate leaves and made them give out fragrance.
Then he thought of the battles of life, which likewise awaken
feelings in our breasts. Air and light are the lovers of the flower,
but light is the favoured one. Towards the light it turned, and
only when the light vanished the flower rolled her leaves together
and slept in the embrace of the air.

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

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

Just by him stood a boy, knocking with his stick upon the
marshy ground. The drops of water spurted up among the green
twigs, and the copying clerk thought of the millions of infusoria
which were cast up on high with the drops, which were the same
to them, in proportion to their size, as it ‘would be to us if we
were hurled high over the region of clouds. And the copying
clerk thought of this, and of the great change which had taken
place within him; hesmiled. “I sleep and dream! it is wonderful,
though, how naturally one can dream, and yet know all the time
that it isa dream. I should like to be able to remember it all
clearly to-morrow when I wake. I seem to myself quite unusually
excited. What a clear appreciation I have of everything, and ©
how free I feel! But 1 am certain that if I remember anything of
it to-morrow, it will be nonsense. That has often been so with
me before. It is with all the clever famous things one says and
hears in dreams, as with the money of the elves under the earth;
when one receives it, it is rich and beautiful, but, looked at by
daylight, it is nothing but stones and dried leaves. Ah!” he
sighed, quite plaintively, and gazed at the chirping birds, as they
sprang merrily from bough to bough, “ they are much better off
than I. Flying is anobleart. Happy he whois born with wings.
ee I could change myself into anything, it should be into a
ark,”



THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE. - 6

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

“That is charming!” he said. “In the day-time I sit in the

sill
=



The Copying Clerk changes hands.

police office among the driest of law papers; at night I can dream
that I am flying about as a lark in the Fredericksburg Garden.
One could really write quite a popular comedy upon it.”

Now he flew down into the grass, turned his head in every
direction, and beat with his beak upon the bending stalks of grass,
which, in proportion to his size, seemed to him as long as palm
branches of Northern Africa. 4

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

wandered on with him.
5—2



68 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.

In the alley the boy met with two other boys, who belonged te
the educated classes, socially speaking ; but, according to abilities,
they ranked in the lowest class in theschool. These bought the
bird for a few Danish shillings ; and so the copying clerk was
carried back to Copenhagen.

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

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

“ Perhaps that will please Polly,” she added, and laughed at a
great Parrot swinging himself proudly in his ring in the hand-
some brass cage. ‘It’s Polly’s birthday,” she said, simply, “so
the little field bird shall congratulate him.”

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

& Sereaiiies !” said the lady ; and she threw a white handker-
chief over the cage.

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

The copying clerk, or, as the lady called him, the field bird,
was placed in a little cage close to the Canary, and not far from
the Parrot. The only human words which Polly could say, and
which often sounded very comically, were “Come, let’s be men
now!” Fverything else that he screamed out was just as unin-
telligible as the song of the Canary bird, except for the copying
clerk, who was now alse a bird, and who understood his comrades
very well.

“T flew under the green palm tree and the blossoming almond
tree!” sang the Canary. “1 flew with my brothers and sisters
over the beautiful flowers and over the bright sea, where the
plants waved in the depths. I also saw many beautiful parrots,
who told the merriest stories.”

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

“Do you remember the pretty girls who danced under the



THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE. 69

tents spread out beneath the blooming trees? Do you remember
the sweet fruits and the cooling juice in the wild plants? ”

“Oh, yes!” replied the Parrot ; “but here I am far better off.
I have good care and genteel treatment. I know I’ve a good
head, and I don’t ask for more. Let us be men now. You are
what they call a poetic soul. 1 have thorough knowledge and
wit. You have genius, but no prudence. You mount up into
those high natural notes of yours, and then you get covered up.
This is never done to me; no, no, for I cost them a little more.
I make an impression with my beak, and can cast wit round me.
Now let us be men!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ Heaven preserve me!” he cried. “ How could I have come
here and fallen so soundly asleep? That was an unquiet dream
too, that I had. The whole thing was great nonsense.”

VI.

The Best that the Goloshes brought.

On the following day, quite early in the morning, as the clerk
still lay in bed, there came a tapping at his door: it was his neigh-



70 THE GOLOSHES OF FOKTUNE.

bour who lodged on the same floor, a young theologian ; and he
came in. |

“‘ Lend me your goloshes,” said he. “ It is very wet in the gar-
den. But the sun shines gloriously, and I should lke to smoke
a pipe down there.”

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

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

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

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



“°T is a prospect as fine as heart can desire,
Before me Mont Blanc the rough:
’T is pleasant to tarry here and admire,
If only you've money enough.”

Great, grave, and dark was all nature around him. The pine
woods looked like little mosses upon the high rocks, whose sum-
mits were lost in cloudy mists ; and then it began to snow, and
the wind blew cold. :
“Hu !” he sighed; ‘if we were only on the other side of the
Alps, then it would be summer, and I should have got money on
my letter of credit: my anxiety about this prevents me from
enjoying Switzerland. Oh, if I were only at the other side!”
And then he was on the other side, in the midst of Italy, be-
tween Florence and Rome. The Lake Thrasymene lay spread



THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE 71

out in the evening light, like flaming gold among the dark blue
hills. Here, where Hannibal beat Flaminius, the grape-vines
held each other by their green fingers ; pretty half-naked children
were keeping a herd of coal-black pigs under a clump of fragrant
laurels by the way-side. If we could reproduce this scene accu-
rately, all would cry, “Glorious Italy!” But neither the theolo-
gian nor any of his travelling companions in the carriage of the
vetturino thought this.

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

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

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

The windows were opened, so that a little fresh air might find
its way in; but quicker than the fresh air came the withered
arms and the continual whining, “ J¢seradz/¢, Eccellenza! On
the walls were many inscriptions: half of them were against
“ La bella Italia.”

The supper was served. It consisted of a watery soup, seasoned



72 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.

with pepper and rancid oil. This last dainty played a chief part ina
salad ; musty eggs and roasted cocks’-combs were the best dishes,
Even the wine had a strange taste—it was a dreadful mixture.

At night the boxes were placed against the doors. One of the
travellers kept watch while the rest slept. The theologian was
the sentry. Oh, how close it was in there! The heat oppressed
him, the gnats buzzed and stung, and the m7seradclz outside
moaned in their dreams,

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

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

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

‘Thou strong, stern Death! Thy silence waketh fear :
Thou leavest mould’ring gravestones for thy traces,
Shall not the soul see Jacob's ladder here?

No resurrection type but churchyard grasses ?
‘The deepest woes escape the world’s dull eye!
Thou that alone on duty’s path hast sped,
Heavier those duties on thy heart would lie
Than lies the earth now on thy coffined head,”

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

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

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

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

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

—p——



THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER. 73

|

Ty



The Birthday present of Tin Soldiers. «

.

THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER.

9) (G3) HERE were once five and twenty tin soldiers ; thas ~vere
all brothers, for they had all been born of one old tin
spoon, They shouldered their muskets, and looked
straight before them: their uniform was red and blue, and very
splendid. The first thing they had heard in the world, when the
lid was taken off their box, had been the words * Tin soldiers!”
These words were uttered by a little boy, clapping his hands: the
soldiers had been given to him, for it was his birthday ; and





74. THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER.

now he put them upon the table. Each soldier was exactly like
the rest ; but one of them had been cast last of all, and there
had not been enough tin to finish him ; but he stood as firmly
upon his one leg as the others on their two ; and it was just this
Soldier who became remarkable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the Tin Soldier pretended not to hear him.

‘Just you wait till to-morrow !” said the Goblin.

But when the morning came, and the children got up, the Tin



THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER. 98

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly there came a great Water Rat, which lived under the
drain.
ns Dave you a passport?” said the Rat. “Give me your pass-

ort.” , }
: But the Tin Soldier kept silence, and held his musket tighter
than ever.

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

‘Hold him! hold him! He hasn’t paid toll—-he hasn’t shown
his passport !” : :

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

Now he was already so near it that he could not stop. The
boat was carried out, the poor Tin Soldier stiffening himself as
much as he could, and noone could say that he moved an eyelid.



76 THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER.

The boat whirled round three or four times, and was full of water
to the very edge—it must sink. The Tin Soldier stood up to his
neck in water, and the boat sank deeper and deeper, and the
paper was loosened more and more; and now the water closed
over the soldiers head. Then he thought of the pretty little
dancer, and how he should never see her again ; and it sounded
in the soldier’s ears :

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

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

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

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

Then one of the little boys took the Tin Soldier and flung him
into thestove. He gavenoreason for doing this, It must have
been the fault of the Goblin in the snuff-box.

The Tin Soldier stood there quite illuminated, and felt a heat |
that was terrible ; but whether this heat proceeded from the real
fire or ftom love he did not know. The colours had quite gone
off from him; but whether that had happened on the journey, or
had been caused by grief, no one could say. He looked at the
little lady, she looked at him, and he felt that he was melting ;
but he still stood firm, shouldering his musket. Then suddenly
the door flew open, and the draught of air caught the dancer, and
she flew like a sylph just into the stove to the Tin Soldier, and
flashed up in a flame, and she was gone. Then the Tin Soldier



THE STORY OF A MOTHER. 77

melted down into a lump; and when the servant-maid took the -

ashes out next day, she found him in the shape of a little tin
heart. But of the dancer nothing remained but the tinsel rose
and that was burned as black as a coal.

THE STORY OF A MOTHER.

bay,\6l) MOTHER sat by her little child: she was very sorrov-
ful, and feared that it would die. Its little face was pale,
and its eyes were closed. The child drew its breath with
difficulty, and sometimes so deeply as if it were sighing ; and
then the mother looked more sorrowfully than before on the little
creature.

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

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

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

And the old man—he was Death—nodded in such a strange
way, that it might just as well mean yes as zo. And the mother
cast down her eyes, and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her head
became heavy : for three days and three nights she had not closed
her eyes; and now she slept, but only for a minute ; then she
started up and shivered with cold. ;

“What is that?” she asked, and looked round on all sides;
but the old man was gone, and her little child was gone ; he had
taken it with him. And there in the corner the o'd clock was
humming and whirring; the heavy leaden weight ran down to
the floor— plump !—and the clock stopped. :

ath the poor mother rushed out of the house crying for her
child.

Out in the snow sat a woman in long black garments, and she
said, “ Death has been with you in your room; I saw him hasten





78 THE STORY OF A MOTHER.

away with your child : he strides faster than the wind, and never
brings back what he has taken away.”

“Only tell me which way he has gone,” said the mother.
‘** Tell me the way, and I will find him.”

“IT know him,” said the woman in the black garments ; “ but
before I tell you, you must sing me all the songs that you have
sung toyourchild. I love those songs; I have heard them before.
tam Night, and I saw your tears when you sang them.”

“T will sing them all, all!” said the mother. “But do not
detain me, that I may overtake him, and find my child.”

But Night sat dumb and still. Then the mother wrung her
hands, and sang and wept. And there were many songs, but
yet more tears, and then Night said, “ Go to the right into the
dark fir wood ; for I saw Death take that path with your little
child.”

‘Deep in the forest there was a cross road, and she did not
know which way to take. There stood a Blackthorn Bush, with
not a leaf nor a blossom upon it; for it was in the cold winter-
time, and icicles hung from the twigs.

“ Have you not seen Death go by, with my little child ?”

“Yes,” replied the Bush ; “ but I shall not tell you which way
he went unless you warm me on your bosom. I’m freezing to
death here, I’m turning to ice.”

And she pressed the Blackthorn Bush to her bosom, quite
close, that it might be well warmed. And the thorns pierced
into her flesh, and her blood oozed out in great drops. But the
Blackthorn shot out fresh green leaves, and blossomed in the
dark winter night : so warm is the heart of a sorrowing mother !
And the Blackthorn Bush told her the way that she should go.

Then she came to a great Lake, on which there was neither
ships nor boat. The Lake was not frozen enough to carry her,
nor sufficiently open to allow her to wade through, and yet she
must cross it if she was to find her child. Then she laid herself
down to drink the Lake ; and that was impossible for any one to
do, But the sorrowing mother thought that perhaps a miracle
might be wrought.

“No, that can never succeed,” said the Lake. “ Let us rather
see how we can agree. I’m fond of collecting pearls, and your
eyes are the two clearest I have ever seen: if you will weep them
out into me I will carry you over into the great greenhouse,
where Death lives and cultivate flowers and trees ; each of these
is a human life.” ;

“Oh, what would I not give to get my child!” said the afflicted
mother ; and she wept yet more, and her eyes fell into the depths
of the Lake, and became two costly pearls, But the Lake lifted
her up, as if she sat in a swing, and she was wafted to the oppo-
site shore, where stood a wonderful house, miles in length. One
could not tell if it was a mountain containing forests and caves,



THE STORY OF A MOTHER. "9

or a place vhat had been built. But the poor mother could not
see it, for she had wept her eyes out.

“Where shall I find Death, who went away with my little
child?” she asked.

“He has not arrived here yet,” said an old grey-haired woman,
who was going about and watching the hot-house of Death,
“ How have you found your way here, and who helped you?”

“The good God has helped me,” she replied. “ Heis merciful,
and you will be merciful too, Where—where shall | find my
little child?”

“T do not know it,” said the old woman, “and you cannot see.
Many flowers and trees have faded this night, and Death will
soon come and transplant them. You know very well that every
human being has his tree of life, or his flower of life, just as each
is arranged. They look like other plants, but their hearts beat.
Children’s hearts can beat too. Think of this. Perhaps you
may recognize the beating of your child’s heart. But what will
you give me if I tell you what more you must do?”

“T have nothing more to give,” said the afflicted mother.
“But I will go for you to the ends of the earth.”

“JT have nothing for you to do there,” said the old woman,
“but you can give me your long black hair. You must know
yourself that it is beautiful, and it pleases ne. You can take my
white hair for it, and that is always something.”

“Do you ask for nothing more?” asked she. “I will give you
that gladly.” And she gave her beautiful hair, and received in
exchange the old woman’s white hair.

And then they went into the great hothouse of Death, where
flowers and trees were growing marvellously intertwined. There
stood the fine hyacinths under glass bells, some quite fresh, others
somewhat sickly ; water-snakes were twining about them, and
black crabs clung tightly to the stalks. There stood gallant palm
trees, oaks, and plantains, and parsley and blooming thyme. .
Each tree and flower had its name; each was a human life: the
people were still alive, one in China, another in Greenland, scat-
tered about in the world. There were great trees thrust into
little pots, so that they stood quite crowded, and were nearly .
bursting the pots ; there was also many a little weakly flower in
rich earth, with moss round about it, cared for and tended. But
the sorrowful mother bent down over all the smallest plants, and
heard the human heart beating in each, and out of millions she
recognized that of her child.

“That is it!” she cried, and stretched out her hands over a
little crocus flower, which hung down quite sick and pale,

“Do not touch the flower,” said the old dame; “but place
yourself here; and when Death comes—I expect him every
minute—then don’t let him pull up the plant, but threaten him that
you will do the same to the other plants; then he’ll be frightened.



80 THE STORY OF A MOTHER.

He has to account for them all; not one may be pulled up till he
receives commission from Heaven.”

And all at once there was an icy cold rush through the hall,
and the blind mother felt that Death was arriving.

“ How did you find your way hither?” said he. “ How have
you been able to come quicker than 1?”

“T am a mother,” she answered.

And Death stretched out his long hands towards the little deli-
cate flower ; but she kept her hands tight about it, and held it
fast; and yet she was full of anxious care lest he should touch
one of the leaves. Then Death breathed upon her hands, and
she felt that his breatn was colder than the icy wind; and her
hands sank down powerless.

“You can do nothing against me,” said Death.

“ But the merciful God can,” she replied.

“T only do what He commands,” said Death. “I am His gar-
dener. I take all His trees and flowers, and transplant them into
the great Paradise gardens, in the unknown land. But how they
will flourish there, and how it is there, I may not tell you.”

“Give me back my child,” said the mother ; and she implored
and wept. All at once she grasped two pretty flowers with her
two hands, and called to Death, “ll tear off all your flowers,
for I am in despair.”

“Do not touch them,” said Death. “You say you are so un-
happy, and now you would make another mother just as un-
happy !”

“ Another mother?” said the poor woman; and she let the
flowers go.

“There are your eyes for you,” said Death. “I have fished
them out of the lake ; they gleamed up quite brightly. I did
not know that they were yours. Take them back—they are
clearer now than before—and then look down into the deep well
close by. I will tell you the names of the two flowers you wanted
to pull up, and you will see what you were about to frustrate and
destroy.”

And she looked down into the well, and it was a happiness to
see how one of them became a blessing to the world, how much
joy and gladness she diffused around her. And the woman
looked at the life of the other, and it was made up of care and
poverty, misery and woe.

“ Both are the will of God,” said Death.

“Which of them is the flower of misfortune, and which the
blessed one?” she asked. ‘

“That I may not tell you,” answered Death, “ but this much
you shall hear, that one of these two flowers is that of your child.
It was the fate of your child that you saw—the future ¢7 your

‘yn child.”

Then the mother screamed aloud for terror



THE DAISY. &1

“Which of them belongs to my child? Tell me that ! Release
the innocent child! Let my child free from all that misery !
Rather carry it away! Carry it into God’s kingdom! Forget
my tears, forget my entreaties, and all that I have done!”

“T do not understand you,” said Death, ‘ Will you have your
child back, or shall I carry it to that place that you know not?”

Then the mother wrung her hands, and fell on her knees, and
prayed to the good God.

“Hear me not when I pray against Thy will, which is at all
times the best! Hear me not! hear me not!” And she let ker
head sink down on her bosom.

And death went away with her child into the unknown land.

'

THE DAISY.

#10 W you shall hear !
Out in the country, close by the road-side, there was a
country house: you yourself have certainly once seen it.
Before it is a little garden with flowers, and a paling which is
painted. Close by it, by the ditch, in the midst of the most
beautiful green grass, grew a little Daisy. The sun shone as
warmly and as brightly upon it as on the great splendid garden
flowers, and so it grew from hour to hour. One morning it stood
in full bloom, with its little shining white leaves spreading like
rays round the little yellow sun in the centre. It never thought
that no man would notice it down in the grass, and that it was a
poor despised floweret ; no, it was very merry, and turned to the
warm sun, looked up at it, and listened to the Lark carolling high
in the air,
The little Daisy was as happy as if it were a great holiday, and
yet it was only a Monday. All the children were at school ; and
| while‘they sat on their benches learning, it sat on its little green
/ stalk, and learned also from the warm sun, and from all around,
how good God is, And the Daisy was very glad that everything
it silently felt was sung so loudly and charmingly by the Lark.
And the Daisy looked up with a kind of respect to the happy bird
who could sing and fly ; but it was not at all sorrowful because
it could not fly and sing also.
“1 can see and hear,” it thought: “the sun shines on me, and
the forest kisses me. Oh, how richly have I been gifted !”
Within.the palings stood many stiff, aristocratic flowers—the
less scent they-had the more they flaunted. The. penne blew





&z THE LAISY.

themselves out to be greater than the roses, but size will not de
it ; the tulips had the most splendid colours, and they knew that,
and held themselves bolt upright, that they might be seen more
plainly. They did not notice the little Daisy outside there, but
the Daisy looked at them the more, and thought, “‘ How rich and
beautiful they are! Yes, the pretty birds flies across to them and
visits them. Iam glad that I stand sonear them, for at any rate
Ican enjoy the sight of their splendour !” And just as she thought
that—* keevit!”—down came flying the Lark, but not down to
the peonies and tulips—no, down inte the grass to the lowly
Daisy, which started so with joy that it did not know what to
think. :

The little bird danced round about it, and sang,

“Oh, how soft the grass is ! and see what a lovely little flower,
with gold in its heart and silver on its dress !”

For the yellow point in the Daisy looked like gold, and the little
leaves around it shone silvery white.

How happy was the little Daisy—no one can conceive how
happy! The bird kissed it with his beak, sang to it, and then
flew up again into the blue air. A quarter of an hour passed, at
least, before the Daisy could recover itself. Half ashamed, and
yet inwardly rejoiced, it looked at the other flowers in the garden ;
for they had seen the honour and happiness it had gained, and
must understand what a joyit was, But the tulips stood up twice
as stiffas before, and they looked quite peaky in the face and
quite red, for they had been vexed. The peonies were quite
wrong-headed : it was well they could not speak, or the Daisy
would have received a good scolding. The poor little flower
could see very well that they were not in a good humour, and that
hurt it sensibly. At this moment there came into the garden a
girl with a great sharp shining knife ; she went straight up to the
tulip, and cut off one after another of them.

“ Oh!” sighed the little Daisy, “this is dreadful ; now it is all
over with them.”

Then the girl went away with the tulips. The Daisy was glad
to stand out in the grass, and to be only a poor little flower ; it
felt very grateful ; and when the sun went down it folded its leaves
and went to sleep, and dreamed all night long about the sun and
the pretty little bird.

Next morning, when the flower again happily stretched out all
its white leaves, like little arms, towards the air and the light, it
recognized the voice of the bird, but the song he was singing
sounded mournfully. Yes, the poor Lark had good reason to be
sad: he was caught, and now sat in a cage close by the open
window. He sang of free and happy roaming, sang of the young
green corn in the fields, and of the glorious journey he might
make on his wings high through the air. The poor Lark was not
in good spirits, for there he sat a prisoner in a cage.



THE DAISY. 83

aS
~o ize

1





The little Daisy wished very much to help him. But what was
it to do? Yes, that was difficult to make out. It quite forgot
how everything was beautiful around, how warm the sun shone,
and how splendidly white its own leaves were. Ah! it could think
only of the imprisoned bird, and how it was powerless to do any-
thing for him.

Just then two little boys came out of the garden. Onc cf tllem
carried in his hand the knife which the girl had used to cut off
the tulips. They went straight up to the little Daisy, which could
not at all make eut what they wanted. .

“Here we may cut a capital piece of turf for Ms Lark,” said

5—2



84 THE DAISY.

one of the boys; and he began to cut off a square patch round
about-the Daisy, so that the flower remained standing in its piece
of grass.

“ Tear off the flower!” said the other boy.

And the Daisy trembled with fear, for to be torn off would be
to lose its life ; and now it wanted particularly to live, as it was
to be given with the piece of turf to the captive Lark,

“No, let it stay,” said the other boy; “it makes such a nice
ornament.”

And so it remained, and was put into the Lark’s cage. But
the poor bird complained aloud of his lost liberty, and beat his
wings against the wires of his prison ; and the little Daisy could
not speak—could say no consoling word to him, gladly as it
would have done so. And thus the whole morning passed.

“ Here is no water,” said the captive Lark. ‘“ They are all gone
out, and have forgotten to give me anything to drink. My throat
is dry and burning. It is like fire and ice within me, and the air
is close. Oh, I must die! I must leave the warm sunshine,
the fresh green, and all the splendour that God has created!”

And then he thrust his beak into the cool turf to refresh him-
self a little with it. Then the bird’s eye fell upon the Daisy, and
he nodded to it, and kissed it with his beak, and said,

“You also must wither in here, you poor little flower. They
have given you to me with a little patch of green grass on which
you grow, instead of the whole world which was mine out there !
Every little blade of grass shall be a great tree for me, and every
one of your fragrant leaves a great flower. Ah, you only tell me
how much I have lost !”

“Tf I could only comfort him!” thought the little Daisy.

It could not stir a leaf; but the scent which streamed forth
from its delicate leaves was far stronger than is generally found
in these flowers ; the bird also noticed that, and though he was
fainting with thirst, dnd in his pain plucked up the green blades
of grass, he did not touch the flower. .__

The evening came, and yet nobody appeared to bring the poor
bird a drop of water. Then he stretched out his pretty wings
and beat the air frantically with them; his song changed to a
mournful piping, his little head sank down towards the flower,
and thebird’s heart broke with want and yearning. Then the flower
could not fold its leaves, as it had done on the previous even-
ing, and sleep ; it-drooped, sorrowful and sick, towards the earth.

Not till the text. morning did the boys come ; and when they
found the bird dead they wept—wept many tears—and dug him
a neat grave, which they adorned with leaves:of flowers. The
bird’s corpse was put into a pretty red box, for he was to be
royally buried—the poor bird! While he was alive and sang
they forgot him, and let him sit in his cage and suffer want ; but
now that he was dead he had adornment and many tears,



A GREAT GRIEP. 85

But the patch of turf with the Daisy on it was thrown out into
the high road: no one thought of the flower that had felt the
most for the little bird, and would have been so glad to console
him.

ed

A GREAT GRIFF.

HIS story really consists of two parts; the first part might
be left out, but it gives us a few particulars, and these
are useful.

We were staying in the country at a gentleman’s seat, where
it happened that the master was absent for a few days. In the
‘meantime there arrived from the next town a lady; she had a
pug dog with her, and came, she said, to dispose of shares in her
tan-yard. She had her papers with her, and we advised her to
put them in an envelope, and to write thereon the address of the
proprietor of the estate, “ General War-Commissary Knight,” &c.

She listened tousattentively, seized the pen, paused, and begged
us to repeat the direction slowly.. We complied, and she wrote ;
but in the midst of the “General War..... » she stuck fast,
sighed deeply, and said, “I am only a woman!” Her Puggie
had seated itself on the ground while she wrote, and growled;
for the dog had come with her for amusement and for the sake
of its health; and then the bare floor ought not to be offered to
a visitor. His outward appearance was characterized by a snub
nose and a very fat back.

“He doesn’t bite,” said the lady; “he has no teeth. He is
like one of the family, faithful and grumpy; but the latter is my
grandchildren’s fault, for they have teazed him: they play at
wedding, and want to give him the part of the bridesmaid, and
that’s too much for him, poor old fellow.”

And she delivered her papers, and took Puggie upon her arm,
And this is the first part of the story, which might have been left
out.

PUGGIE DIED!! That’s the second part.

It was about a week afterwards we arrived in the town, and
put up at the inn. Our windows looked into the tan-yard, which
was divided into two parts by a partition of planks; in one half
were many skins and hides, raw and tanned. Here was all the
apparatus necessary to carry on a tannery, and it belonged to
the widow. Puggie had died in the morning, and was to be
buried in this part of the yard: the grandchildren of the widow
(that is, of the tanner’s widow, for Puggie himself had ever





36 THE SHIRT COLLAR.

been married) filled up the grave, and it was a beautiful grave
—it must have been quite pleasant to lie there.

The grave was bordered with pieces of flower-pots and strewn
over with sand; quite at the top they had stuck up half a beer
bottle, with the neck upwards, and that was not at all allegorical.

_ The children danced round the grave, and the eldest of the
boys among them, a practical youngster of seven years, made a
proposition that there should bean exhibition of Puggie’s burial-
place for all who lived in the lane; the price of admission was to
be a trouser button, for every boy would be sure to have one, and
each might also give one for a little girl This proposal was
adopted by acclamation.

And all the children out of the lane—yes, even out of the little
lane at the back—flocked to the place, and each gave a button.
Many were noticed to go about on that afternoon with only one
brace, but then they had seen Puggie’s grave, and the sight was
worth much more.

- But in front of the tan-yard, close to the entrance, stood a little
girl clothed in rags, very pretty to look at, with curly hair, and
eyes so blue and clear that it was a pleasure to look into them.
The child said not a word, nor did she cry; but each time the
little door was opened she gave a iong, long look into the yard.
She had not a button—that she knew right well, and therefore
she remained standing sorrowfully outsice, till all the others had
seen the grave and had gone away; then she sat down, held her
little brown hands before her eyes, and burst into tears: this girl
alone had not seen Puggie’s grave. It wasagrief as great to her
as any grown person can experience.

We saw this from above; and, looked at from above, how many
a grief of our own and of others can make us smile! That is the
story, and whoever does not understand it may go and purchase
a share in the tan-yard from the widow.

THE SHIRT COLLAR.

HERE was once a rich cavalier whose whole effects con-
sisted of a Bootjack and a Hair-brush, but he had the
finest Shirt Collar in the world, and about this Shirt

Collar we will tell a story.

The Collar was now old enough to think of marrying, and it
happened that he was sent to the wash together with a Garter.
“ My word!” exclaimed the Shirt Collar. “I have never seen





THE SHIRT COLLAR. - 87

anything so slender and delicate, so charming and genteel. May
I ask your name?”

“T shall not tell you that,” said the Garter.

“Where is your home?” asked the Shirt Collar.

But the Garter was of rather a retiring nature, and it seemed
such a strange question to answer.

‘““T presume you are a girdle?” said the Shirt Collar—a sort
of under girdle? I see that you are useful as well as ornamental,
my little lady.”

“You are not to speak to me,” said the Garter. “I have not,
I think, given you any occasion to do so.”

“Qh! when one is as beautiful as you are,” cried the Shirt
Collar, “1 fancy that is occasion enough.”

“Got” said the Garter; ‘don’t come so near me: you look to
me qv ite like a man.”

“Tam a fine cavalier too,” said the Shirt Collar. “I possess
a bootjack and a hair-brush.”

“‘ And that was not true at all, for it was his master who owned
these things. but he was boasting.

“ Don’t come too near me,” said the Garter; “I'm not used
to that.”

“ Affectation!” cried the Shirt Collar.

And then they were taken out of the wash, and starched, and
hung over a chair in the sunshine, and then laid on the ironing-
board; and now came the hot Iron.

“Mrs. Widow!” said the Shirt Collar, “little Mrs. Widow,
I’m getting quite warm ; I’m being quite changed ; I’m losing
all my creases ; you’re burning a hole in me! Ugh! I propose
to you.”

* You old rag!” said the Iron, and rode proudly over the Shirt
Collar, for it imagined that it was a steam boiler, and that it
ought to be out on the railway dragging carriages. ‘You old
rag!” said the Iron.

The Shirt Collar was a little frayed at the edges, therefore the
Paper Scissors came to smooth away the frayed places.

“ Ho, ho!” said the Shirt Collar; “I presume you are a first-
rate dancer. How you can point your toes! no one in the world
can do that like you.”

‘“*T know that,” said the Scissors.

“You deserve to be a countess,” said the Shirt Collar. “Ali
that I possess consists of a genteel cavalier, a bootjack, and a
comb. If I had only an estate!”

“What! do you want to marry?” cried the Scissors ; and they
were angry, and gave such a deep cut that the Collar had to be
cashiered.

‘T shall have to propose to the Hair-brush,” thought the Shirt
Collar.— It is wonderful what beautiful hair you have, my little
lady. Have you never thought of engaging yourself?”



$8 THE SHIRT COLLAR.



eee

The Shirt Collar in its glory.

“Yes, you can easily imagine that,” replied the Hair- brush,
“T am engaged to the Bootjack.”

“ Engaged!” cried the Shirt Collar.

Now there was no one left to whom he could offer himself, and
50 he despised love-making.

A long time passed, and the Shirt Collar was put into the sack
of a paper dealer. There was a terribly ragged company, and
the fine ones kept to themselves, and. the coarse ones to ¢/em-
selves, as is right. They all had much to tell, but the Shirt
Collar had most of all, for he was a terrible Jack Brag.

“I have had a tremendous number of love affairs,” said the



OLE LUK-OIE, 89

Shirt Collar. “They would not leave me alone; but I was a fine
cavalier, a starched one. I had a bootjack and a hair-brush that
I never used: you should only have seen me then, when I was
turned down, I shall never forget my first love: it was a girdle;
and how delicate, how charming, how genteel it was! And my
first love threw herself into a washing-tub, and all forme! There
was also a widow desperately fond of me, but I let her stand alone
till she turned quite black. Then there was a dancer, who gave
me the wound trom which I still suffer—she was very hot tem-
pered. My own hair-brush was in love with me, and lost all her
hair from neglected love. Yes, I’ve had many experiences of this
kind; but I am most sorry for the Garter—I mean for the girdle,
that jumped into the wash-tub for love of me. I’ve a great deal
on my conscience. It’s time I was turned into white paper.”

And to that the Shirt Collar came. All the rags were turned
into white paper, but the Shirt Collar became the very piece of
paper we see here, and upon which this story has been printed,
and that was done because he boasted so dreadfully about things
that were not at all true. And this we must remember, so that
we may on no account do the same, for we cannot know at all
whether we shall not be put into the rag bag and manufactured
into white paper, on which our whole history, even the most
secret, shall be printed, so that we shail be obliged to run about
and tell it, as the Shirt Collar did.

OLE LUK-OIE.

HERE’S nobody in the whole world who knows so many
Stories as Ole Luk-Oie. He can tell capital histories.
Towards evening, when the children still sit nicely
at table, or upon their stools, Ole Luk-Oie comes. He comes
up the stairs quite softly, for he walks in his socks: he opens
the door noiselessly, and whzsk/ he squirts sweet milk in the
children’s eyes, a small, small stream, but enough to prevent
them from keeping their eyes open; and thus they cannot see
him. He creeps just among them, and blows softly upon their
necks, and this makes their heads heavy. Yes, but it doesn’t
hurt them, for Ole Luk-Oie is very fond of the children; he only
wants them to be quiet, and that they are not until they are
taken to bed: they are to be quiet in order that he may tell them
Stories. :
When the children sleep, Ole Luk-Oie sits down upon their



go ; OLE LUK-OIlE.

bed. He is well dressed : his coat is of silk, but it is impossible
to say of what colour, for it shines red, green, and blue, accord-
ing as he turns, Under each arm he carries an umbrella: the
one with pictures on it he spreads over the good children, and
then they dream all night the most glorious stories ; but on his
other umbrella nothing at all is painted: this he spreads over the
naughty children, and these sleep in a dull way. and when they
awake in the morning they have not dreamed of anything.

Now we shall hear how Ole Luk-Oie, every evening through
one whole week, came to a little boy named Hjalmar, and what
he told him. There are seven stories, for there are seven days in
the week.

MONDAY.

“ Listen,” said Ole Luk-Oie in the evening, when he had put
Hjalmar to bed; “now I’Il clear up.”

And all the flowers in the flower-pots became great trees,
stretching out their long branches under the ceiling of the room
and along the walls, so that the whole room looked just like a
beauteous bower; and all the twigs were covered with flowers,
and each flower was more beautiful than a rose, and smelt so
sweet that one wanted to eat it—it was sweeter than jam. The
fruit gleamed like gold, and there were cakes bursting with
raisins. It was incomparably beautiful. But at the same time
a terrible wail sounded from the table drawer, where Hjalmar’s
school-book lay.

“ Whatever can that be?” said Ole Luk-Oie; and he went to
the table, and opened the drawer. It was the slate, which was
suffering from convulsions, for a wrong number had got into the
sum, so that it was nearly falling in pieces ; the slate pencil tugged
and jumped at its string, as if it had been alittle dog who wanted
to help the sum; but he could not. And thus there was great
lamentation in Hjalmar’s copy-book ; it was quite terrible to hear.
On each page the great letters stood in a row, one beneath the
other, and each with a little one at its side: that was the copy;
and next to these were a few more letters which thought they
looked just like the first ; and these Hjalmar had written ; but
they lay down just as if they had tumbled over the pencil-lines
on which they were to stand.

“See, this is how you should hold yourselves,” said the Copy.
“ Look, sloping in this way, with a powerful swing !”

“Oh, we shall.be very glad to do that,” replied Hjalmar’s
Letters, “but we cannot ; we are too weakly.”

“Then you must take medicine,” said Ole Luk-Oie,

“Oh, no,” cried they ; and they immediately stood up so grace-
fully that it was beautiful to behold.

“Yes, now we cannot tell any stories,” said Ole Luk-Oie ;
“ now I must exercise them. One, two! one two !” and thus he



OLE LUK-O1E. — gr

exercised the Letters; and they stood quite slender, and as
beautiful as any copy can be. But when Old Luk-Oie went
away, and Hjalmar looked at them next morning, they were as
weak and miserable as ever.

TUESDAY.

As soon as Hjalmar was in bed, Ole Luk-Oie touched all the
furniture in the bed-room with his little magic squirt, and they
immediately began to converse together, and each one spoke of
itself, with the exception of the spittoon, which stood silent, and
was vexed that they should be so vain as to speak only of them-
selves, and think only of themselves, without any regard for him
who stood so modestly in the corner for every one’s use.

Over the chest of drawers hung a great picture in a gilt frame
—it was a landscape. One saw therein large old trees, flowers
in the grass, and a broad river which flowed round about a forest,
past many castles, and far out into the wide ocean.

Old Luk-Oie touched the painting with his magic squirt, and
the birds in it began to sing, the branches of the trees stirred,
and the clouds began to move across it; one could see their
shadows glide over the landscape.

Now Old Luk-Oie lifted little Hjalmar up to the frame, and
put the boy’s feet into the picture, just in the high grass; and
there he stood ; and the sun shone upon him through the branches
of the trees, He ran to the water, and seated himself in a little
boat which lay there; it was painted red and white; the sails
gleamed like silver, and six swans, each with a gold circlet round
its neck and a bright blue star on its forehead, drew the boat
past the great wood, where the trees tell of robbers and witches,
and the flowers tell of the graceful little elves, and of what the
butterflies have told them.

Gorgeous fishes, with scales like silver and gold, swam after
their boat : sometimes they gave a spring, so that it splashed in
the water; and birds, blue and red, little and great, flew after
them in two long rows; the gnats danced, and the cockchafers
said, “Boom! boom!” They all wanted to follow Hjalmar, and
each one had a story to tell. c

That was a pleasure voyage. Sometimes the forest was thick
and dark, sometimes like a glorious garden full of sunlight and
flowers; and there were great palaces of glass and of marble; on
the balconies stood Princesses, and these were all little girls
whom Hjalmar knew well—he had already played with them.
Each one stretched forth her hand, and held out the prettiest
sugar heart which ever a cake-woman could sell; and Hjalmar
took hold of each sugar heart as he passed by, and the Princess
held fast, so that each of them got a piece—she the smaller share,
and Hjalmar the larger. At each palace little Princes stood



9: OLE LUK-OIE.

sentry. They shouldered golden swords, and caused raisins and
tin soldiers to shower down: one could see that they were real]
Princes. Sometimes Hjalmar sailed through forests, sometimes
through halls or through the midst of azown. He also came to
the town where his nurse lived, who had always been so kind to
him; and she nodded and beckoned, and sang the pretty verse
she had made herself and had sent to Hjalmar.

“‘T’ve loved thee, and kissed thee, Hjalmar, dear boy;
I’ve watched thee waking and sleeping :
May the good Lord guard thee in sorrow, in joy,
And have thee in His keeping.”

And all the birds sang too, the flowers danced on their stalks,
and the old trees nodded, just as if Ole Luk-Oie had been telling
stories to chem.

WEDNESDAY.

How the rain was streaming down without! Hjalmar could
hear it in his sleep; and when Ole Luk-Oie opened a window,
the water stood quite up to the window-sill : there was quite a
lake outside, and a noble ship lay close by the house.

“Tf thou wilt sail with me, little Hjalmar,” said Ole Luk-Oie,
“ thou canst voyage to-night to foreign climes, and be back again
to-morrow.”

And Hjalmar suddenly stood in his Sunday clothes upon the
glorious ship, and immediately the weather became fine, and they
sailed through the streets, and steered round bythe church; and
now everything was one great wild ocean. They sailed on until
the land was no longer to be seen, and they saw a number of
storks, who also came from their home, and were travelling to-
wards the hot countries ; these storks flew in a row, one behind
the other, and they had already flown far—far! One of them
was so weary that his wings would scarcely carry him farther;
he was the very last in the row, and soon remained a great way
behind the rest; at last he sank, with outspread wings, deeper
and deeper ; he gave a few more strokes with his pinions, but it
was of no use; now he touched the rigging of the ship with his
feet, then he glided down from the sail, and—bump !—he stood
upon the deck.

Now the cabin-boy took him and put him into the hencoop
with the Fowls, Ducks,and Turkeys ; the poor Stork stood among
them quite embarrassed.

“Just look at the fellow !” said all the Fowls.

And the Turkey-cock swelled himself up as much as ever he
could,and asked the Stork who he was; and the Ducks walked
backwards and quacked to each other, ‘ Quackery ! quackery !”

And the Stork told them of hot Africa, of the pyramids, and
of the ostrich which runs like a wild horse through the desert ;



OLE LUK-OIE. 93

but the ducks did not understand what he said, and they said
to one another,

“We're all of the same opinion, namely, that he’s stupid.”

“Yes, certainly he’s stupid,” said the Turkey-cock; and he
gobbled.

Then the Stork was quite silent, and thought of his Africa.

“ Those are wonderful thin legs of yours,” said the Turkey-
cock. “ Pray, how much do they cost a yard?”

“Quack ! quack ! qua-a-ck !” grinned all the Ducks; but the
Stork pretended not to hear it at all. ;

“ You may just as well laugh too,” said the Turkey-cock to him,
“ for that was very wittily said. Or was it, perhaps, too high for
you? Yes, yes, he isn’t very penetrating. Let us continue to be
interesting among ourselves.”

And then he gobbled, and the Ducks quacked, “Gick ! gack !
gick! gack !” It was terrible how they made fun among them-
selves.

But Hjalmar, went to the hencoop, opened the back door, and
called to the Stork ; and the Stork hopped out to him on to the
deck. Now he was quite rested, and it seemed as if he nodded
at Hjalmar, to thank him. Then he spread his wings, and flew
away to the warm countries; but the Fowls clucked, and the
Ducks quacked, and the Turkey-cock became fiery red in the face.

“To-morrow we shall make songs of you,” said Hjalmar; and
so saying he awoke, and was lying in his linen bed. It was 4
wonderful journey that Ole Luk-Oie that caused him to take that
night,

THURSDAY.

“T tell you what,” said Ole Luk-Oie, “ you must not be fright-
ened. Here you shall see a little Mouse,” and he held out his
hand with the pretty little creature in it. “It has come to invite
you to a wedding. There are two little Mice here who are going
to enter into the marriage state to-night. They live under the
floor of your mother’s store-closet: that is said to be a charming
dwelling-place !” . ”

“But how can I get through the little mouse-hole in the floor?
asked Hjalmar. ‘

ot Te me manage that,” said Ole Luk-Oie. “I will make you
small,” ;

And he touched Hjalmar with his magic squirt, and the boy
began to shrink-and:shrink and shrink, until he was not.so long
as a finger, : eo

“Now you may borrow the uniform of a tin soldier: I think it
would fit you, and it looks well to wear a uniform when one is
in society.”

“Ves, certainly,” said Hjalmar.



94 OLE LUK-OlE.

And in a moment he was dressed like the spiciest of tin
soldiers. :

“Will your honour not be kind enough to take a seat in your
Mamma’s thimble?” asked the Mouse. “Then I shall have the
pleasure of drawing you.”

“Will the young lady really take so much trouble?” cried
Hjalmar.

And thus they drove to the Mouse’s wedding. First they
came into a long passage beneath the boards, which was only
just so high that they could drive through it in the thimble; and
the whole passage was lit up with rotten wood.

‘Is there not a delicious smell here?” observed the Mouse.
“ The entire road has been greased with bacon-rinds, and there
can be nothing more exquisite.”

Now they came into the festive hall. On the right hand stood
all the little lady mice; and they whispered and giggled as if
they were making fun of each other; on the left stood all the
gentlemen mice, stroking their whiskers with their fore paws;
and in the centre of the hall the bridegroom and bride might be
seen standing in a hollow cheese-rind, and kissing each other
terribly before all the guests; for this was the betrothal, and the
marriage was to follow immediately.

More and more strangers kept flocking in. One mouse was
nearly treading another to death; and the happy couple had
stationed themselves just in the little doorway, so that one could
neither come in nor go out. Like the passage, the room had
been greased with bacon-rinds, and that was the entire banquet;
but for the dessert a pea was produced, in which a mouse belong-
ing to the family had bitten the name of the betrothed pair—that
is to say, the first letter of the name: that was something quite
out of the common way.

All the mice said it was a beautiful wedding, and that the
entertainment had been very agreeable. And then Hjalmar
drove home again: he had really been in grand company; but
he had been obliged to crawl through a mouse-hole. to make
himself little, and to put on a tin soldier’s uniform.

FRIDAY.

“Tt is wonderful how many grown-up people there are who
would be very glad to haveme!” said Ole Luk-Oie; “especially
those who have done something wrong. ‘Good little Ole,’ they
say to me, ‘we cannot close our eyes, and so we lie all night and
see our evil deeds, which sit upon the bedstead like ugly little
sob'ins, and throw hot water over us; will you not come and
drive them away, so that we may have a good sleep?’—and then
they sigh deeply—‘ we would really be glad to pay for it. Good



OLE LUK-OIE. 95

night, Ole: the money lies on the window-sill.’ But I do nothing
{or money,” says Ole Luk-Oie.

“What shall we do this evening?” asked Hjalmar.

“T don’t know if you care to go to another wedding to-night.
It is a different kind from that of yesterday. Your sister’s great
doll, that looks like a man, and is called Hermann, is going to
marry the doll Bertha. Moreover, it is the dolls’ birthday, and
therefore they will receive very many presents.”

“Yes, I know that.” replied Hjalmar. “Whenever the dolls
want new clothes, my sister lets them either keep their birthday
or celebrate a wedding; that has certainly happened a hundred
times already.”

“Yes, but to night isthe hundred and first wedding; and when
number one hundred and one is past, it is all over: and that is
why it will be so splendid. Only look!”

And Hjalmar looked at the table. There stood the little card-
board house with the windows illuminated. and in front of it all
the tin soldiers were presenting arms. The bride and bridegroom
sat quite thoughtful, and with good reason, on the floor, leaning
against a leg of the table. And Ole Luk-Oie, dressed up in the
grandmother’s black gown, married them to each other. When
the ceremony was over, all the pieces of furniture struck up the
following beautiful song, which the pencil had written for them
It was sung to the melody of the soldiers’ tattoo.

“Let the song swell like the rushing wind,

In honour of those who this day are joined,

Although they stand here so stiff and bling,

Because they are both of a leathery kind.

Hurrah! hurrah! though they ’re deaf and blind,

Let the song swell like the rushing wind.”
And now they received presents—but they had declined to accept
provisions of any kind, for they intended to live on love.

“Shall we now go into a big summer lodging, or start on a
journey?” asked the bridegroom.

And the Swallow, who was a great traveller, and the old yard
Hen, who had brought up five broods of chickens, were con-
sulted on the subject. And the Swallow told of the beautiful
warm climes, where the grapes hung in ripe heavy clusters, where
the air is mild, and the mountains glow with colours unknown
here. :

“ But you have not our brown cole there!” objected the Hen.
“T was once in the country, with my children, in one summer
that lasted five weeks. There was a sand-pit, in which we could
walk about and scratch ; and we had the ev/rée to a garden where
brown cole grew: it was so hot there that one could scarcely
breathe.. And then we have not all the poisonous animals that
infest these warm countries of yours, and we are free from robbers.
He is a villian who does not consider our country the most beau-
tiful--he certainly does not deserve to be here!” And then the



96 OLE LUK-OIE.

Hen wept, and went on: “I have also travelled. 1 rode in a
coop about twelve miles; and there is no pleasure at all in
travelling !”

“Yes, the Hen is a sensible woman!” said the doll Bertha.
“T don’t think anything of travelling among mountains, for you
only have to go up, and then down again. No, we will go into
the sand-pit beyond the gate, and walk about in the cabbage
garden.”

And so it was settled.

SATURDAY.

‘Am I to hear some stories now?” asked little Hjalmar, as
soon as Ole Luk-Oie had sent him to sleep.

“ This evening we have no time for that,” replied Ole Luk-Oie;
and he spread his finest umbrella over the lad. ‘“ Only look at
these Chinamen !”

And the whole umbrella looked like a great China dish, with
blue trees and pointed bridges with little Chinamen upon them,
who stood there nodding their heads.

“We must have the whole world prettily decked out for to-
morrow morning,” said Ole Luk-Oie, “ for that will be a holiday
—it will be Sunday. I will go to the church steeples to see that
the little church goblins are polishing the bells, that they may
sound sweetly. I will go out into the field, and see if the breezes
are blowing the dust from the grass and leaves ; and, what is the
greatest work of all, I will bring down all the stars, to polish
them. I take them in my apron; but first each one must be
numbered, and the holes in which they are to be placed up there
must be numbered likewise, so that they may be placed in the
same grooves again; otherwise they would not sit fast, and we
should have too many shooting stars, for one after another would
fall down.” :

“Hark ye! Do you know, Mr. Ole Luk-Oie,” remarked an old
Portrait which hung upon the wall where Hjalmar slept, “I am
Hjalmar’s great-grandfather! I thank you for telling the boy
stories; but you must not confuse his ideas. The stars cannot
come down and be polished! The stars are world-orbs, just like
our own earth, and that is just the good thing about them.”

“YT thank you, old great-grandfather,” said Ole Luk-Oie, “I
thank you! You are the head of the family; you are the ancestral
head. But Iam older:‘than you! I am an old heathen: the
Romans and Greeks called me the Dream God. I have beenin
the noblest houses, and am admitted there still! 1 know how to
act with great people and with small! Now you may tell your
own story!” And Ole Luk-Oie took his umbrella, and went
away.

“Well, well! May one not even give an opinion now-a-days?”
grumbled the old Portrait. . And-Hjalmar awoke.



Full Text

The Baldwin Library

| University
Ki
Florida


A GS ome
Trane “ya. ea
FAIRY TALES AND STORIES


UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME,
—o—

SANDFORD AND Merton. With Sixty
Illustrations.

Tue Swiss FamILy Rosinson. Edited
by W. H. Kinston.

Rosinson Crusoz. With Fifty Illus-
trations by J. D. Watson.

GuLLiver’s TRAVELS,
Lam's TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE,

Bunyan’s Pitcrim’s Procress. With
Fifty-eight Illustrations by J. D.
Watson.

—__8



FAIRY TALES

AND

SLORIES

BY

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

TRANSLATED BY

Dr. H. W. DULCKEN



WITH SIXTY ILLUSTRATIONS BY A. W. BAYES

LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, Limitrep
BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL
MANCHESTER AND NEw YorRK

1894
PRO ~

3 CONTENTS, 22e ek























< oes
AiG Yiy SG oe ey
We SS
Page
The Silver Shilling ...........0. ea Sobdassceussessies Reelceceeuens 9
The Old Church Bell ... ae 13
The Snail and the Rose Tree ........... 18
Little Ida’s Flowers... 20
The Tinder-Box . 26
Great Claus and Little Claus ... 32
Thumbelina 42
The Goloshes of Fortune . 5r
The Hardy Tin Soldier 73
The Story ofa Mother . 77
The Daisy .....sccssecssees 8x
A Great Grief v...ccesesssesseereees sessueteesees ssbgataseteessn gsedesnistayseatiediastevecss Si den 85
The Shirt Collar .... wis . 86
Ole Luk-Oie ........4. i . 89
The Beetle 0... eececeecseeseeseenes nsednuslbasavensescassousses cassetseasi(oststonnetssvenicnss . 98
What the Old tau does is always Right 105
Good Humour ...........ccceeeeeee assacessvenes 109
Children’s Prattle............ 0+ 113
The Flying Trunk . 115
The Last Pearl.............06 ssesseueees 119
The Storks.....



Grandmother..
The Ugly Duckling.
The Loveliest Rose in the World ....
Holger Danske........
The Puppet Showman .....
A Picture from the Fortress Wall ....... iGavasasanheitesensdeeissnaiserseeedusteosasnaebaiensar , 160





tesreccccseescesscssssessecssess 43


vi CONTENTS.



Page
In the Duckeyard.: iiss sicessricesseceuxsersenceacisessonsnceaey se 147
The Red Shoes....... vitecads sbonisiahsustenescéstes tena sat 152
Soup on a Sausage- poe soeateote 158
The Shepherdess and the Chisniiey Susana ze 169
The Old Street Lamp 174



The Lovers ...
Little Tuk ...
The Flax......
The Girl who Trod on the Loaf ...
The Money-Pig ...
The Darning-Needle









Something... Saissnspadaaseataness
A Leaf from the se

The Jewish: Girl: 65. hsccschissctesapsachasveccovancsescevetecesteisectet bieesiadieldvuainseean es
The Elder Tree Mother... dads

The Farm-yard Cock and thet Weatien sek
The Old: Gravestone: scil.ceseessideiacecsceventss cteeiee ccanse tea cditeessacbaves Ga didiee doetetes
The Old Bachelor’s Nightcap
A Rose from the Grave of Homer
The Wind tells about Waldemar Daa and his Daughters ...
Five out of One Shell...
The Metal Pig....
The Snow Queen.
The Nightingale
The Neighbouring Families
The Little Match Girl
The Elf-Hill
The Buckwheat .
The Old House...,























In Seven Stories





The: Happy: Bamily oiecssc2, i000 seacsesaiseccsbeisitesecdesscdsisbvaeestionscetssctetercivernovedt

The Rose-Elf.... 330
The Shadow .... s+ 334
The Angel ....... Suesiedsd'sevsdae sus aa seuctisensty coussosteacescssseleccsedsleaecdsesedevevsvandadscueaces 345

Twelve by the Mail
What the Moon Saw ...
The Little Sea Maid

The Story of the Year
Thé Racers 4 iss iecsstaveavesas
The Wild Swans ............. eaSesedadoteeserd evousaae wabees




CONTENTS. vii

She was Good for Nothing ...
There is a Difference
Everything in its Right Place ...........c.ccccsssessessecessesseeseeesecssceseee seseecsesateceees 428
The Goblin and the Huckster
The Bond of Friendship. .
The Bottle-neck ........... beaseceesnsseceecsnssecessenaanscssecseesevoousseccosssseecenees secseceoons 445
Ib and Christine .
The Snow Man...











Under the Willow Tree ....scsscceseseesessescsenecsssecerseeseseeecsesenees teceesesasscseneeees 467

Charming 2...








The Butterfly .

Anne Lisbeth.......ccccscssssseccssssscesecssceseceseceseeseeesecseeeaeceeesaeeaeesecsesenseescsees 488
The Last Dream of the Old Oak Tree .........0. ccsceee seocrensessseesssesssesensensassecces 497
The Child in the Grave .........ccceeeeeseee

The Thorny Road of Homour wssicccesseeesseccssceceseesseesesseessseeeeaeenenees teestevenss 506

In the Uttermost Parts of the Sea .....scosse-ssssnronesensassssteensesescossserssieesseasenses 50




ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.

—>—
THE SILVER SHILLING.

HERE was once a Shilling. He came out quite bright
from the Mint, and sprang up, and rang out, “ Hurrah!
now 1’m off into the wide world.” And into the wide

world he certainly went.

The child held him with soft warm hands ; the miser clutched
him ina cold avaricious palm ; the old man turned him goodness
knows how many times before parting with him ; while careless
youth rolled him lightly away. The Shilling was of silver, and
had very little copper about him: he had been now a whole year
in the world—that is to say, in the country in which he had beer
struck. But one day he started on his foreign travels: he was
the last native coin in the purse borne by his travelling master.
The gentleman himself was not aware that he still had this coin
until he came across it by chance. ~

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

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

Several weeks had gone by, and the Shilling had travelled far
out into the world without exactly knowing where he was, though
he learned from the other coins that they were French or Italian.
One said they were in such and such a town, another that they
had reached such and such a spot ; but the Shilling could form
no idea of all this. He who has his head in a bag sees nothing ;
and this was the case with the Shilling. But one day, as he lay
there, he noticed that the purse was not shut, and so he crept


to THE SILVER SHILLING.

forward to the opening, to take a look around. He ought not to
have done so; but he was inquisitive, and people often have to
pay for that. He slipped out into the fob; and when the purse
was taken out at night the Shilling remained behind, and was
sent out into the passage with the clothes. There he fell upon
the floor: no one heard it, no one saw it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘And the woman went her way to the rich baker; but he knew
THE SILVER SHILLING.

a

S|

———S——

|
i
| Mu

————-"

SS

—=

——

S55

SS

==

my

—=

=







too well what kind of shillings would pass to take me, and he
threw me back at the woman, who got no bread forme. And I
12 THE SILVER SHILLING.

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

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

“So she bored a hole through me. It is certainly not agree-
able to have a hole bored through one ; but many things can be
borne when the intention is good. A thread was passed through
the hole, and I became a kind of medal, and was hung round the
neck of the little child ; and the child smiled at me, and kissed
me, and I slept all night on its warm, innocent neck.

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

“© A lucky shilling !? she said. ‘ Well, we shall soon see that.’

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

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

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

“1 received it as a good coin,’ said the man, and he looked
THE OLD CHURCH BELL, 13

closely at me: suddenly he smiled all over his face; and I had
never seen that expression before on any face that looked at me.
‘Why, whatever is that?’ he said. ‘That’s one of our own
country coins, a good honest shilling from my home, and they ’ve
bored a hole through him, and they call him false. Now, this is
a curious circumstance. I must keep him and take him home
with me.’ :

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

“TI was wrapped up in clean white paper, so that I should not .
be confounded with the other coins, and spent; and on festive

‘ occasions, when fellow-countrymen met together, I was shown
about, and they spoke very well of me: they said I was interest-
ing—and it is wonderful how interesting one can be without
saying a single word.

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

—

THE OLD CHURCH BELL.



GIN the German land of Wurtemberg, where the acacias

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

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

The days became shorter and gloomier; and if it was dark
out in the open air, in the little old-fashioned houses it was
' darker still. One of these houses was built with its gable end
towards the street, and stood there, with its small narrow win-
dows, humble and poor enoush in appearance; the family was
14 THE OLD CHURCH BELL

poor, too, that inhabited the little house, but good and indus-
trious, and rich in a treasure of piety concealed in the depth of
the heart. And they expected that God would soon give them
another child : the hour had come, and the mother lay in pain
and sorrow. Then from the church tower opposite the deep rich
sound of the bell came to her. It was a solemn hour, and the
song of the bell filled the heart of the praying woman with trust-
fulness and faith ; the thoughts of her inmost heart soared upward
towards the Almighty, and in the same hour she gave birth toa
son. Then she was filled with a great joy, and the bell of the
tower opposite seemed to be ringing to spread the news of her
happiness over town and country. The clear child-eyes looked
at her, and the infant’s hair gleamed like gold. Thus was the
little one ushered into the world with the ringing of the church
bell on the dark November day. The mother and father kissed
it, and wrote in their Bible: “On the roth of November, 1759,
God gave usason;” and soon afterwards the fact was added that
the child had been baptized under the name of “ Johann Christoph
Friedrich.”

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

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

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

Mother and son went into the churchyard. They stopped
where the old bell lay, and the mother told the boy how for centu-
ries this had been a very useful bell, and had rung at christen-
ings, at weddings, and at burials ; how it had spoken at one time
THE OLD CHURCH BELL. 15



The old Bell of Marbach.

to tell of feasts and rejoicings, at another to spread the alarm of
fire ; and how it had, in fact, sung the whole life of man. And
the boy never forgot what his mother told him that day. It re-
sounded and echoed at intervals in his heart, until, when he was
grown a man, he was compelled tosing it. The mother told him
also how the bell had sung of faith and comfort to her in the
time of her peril, that it had sung at the time when he, her little
son, was born. And the boy gazed, almost with a feeling of de-
votion, at the great old bell; and he bent over it and kissed it,
as it lay all rusty and broken among the long grass and nettles.

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

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

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

- The old bell was better off than he, for the bell would remain
peaceably by the churchyard wall in Marbach, safe, and almost
forgotten. The wind whistled over it,and might have tolda fine
tale of him at whose birth the bell had sounded, and over whom
the wind had but now blown cold in the forest of a neighbouring
land, where he had sunk down, exhausted by fatigue, with his
whole wealth, his only hope for the future, the written pages of
his tragedy “ Fiesco :” the wind might have told of the youth’s
only patrons, men who were artists, and who yet slunk away to
amuse themselves at skittles while his play was being read: the
wind could have told of the pale fugitive, who sat for weary weeks
and months in the wretched tavern, where the host brawled and
drank, and coarse boozing was going on while he sang of the
ideal. Heavy days, dark days! The heart must suffer and
endure for itself the trials it is to sing.

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

How fared it with the old bell? The bell was carried far away,
farther than its sound could have been heard from the lofty tower
in which it had once hung. And the youth? The bell in his
heart sounded farther than his eye should ever see or his foot
should ever wander ; it is sounding and sounding on, over the
ocean, round the whole earth. But let us first speak of the belfry
bell. It was carried away from Marbach, was sold for old metal,
and destined for the melting furnace in Bavaria. But whenand
how did this happen? In the capital of Bavaria, many years
after the bell had fallen from the tower, there was a talk of its
being melted down, to be used in the manufacture of a memorial
in honour of one of the great ones of the German land. And
behold how suitable this was—how strangely and wonderfully
things happened in the world! In Denmark, on one of those
green islands where the beech woods rustle, and the many Huns’
Graves are to be seen, quite a poor boy had been born. He had
been accustomed to walk about in wooden shoes, and to carry
a dinner wrapped in an old handkerchief to his father, who carved
figureheads on the ship-builders’ wharves ; but this poor lad had
become the pride of his country, for Thorwaldsen knew how to
hew marble blocks into such glorious shapes as made-the whole
world wonder, and to him had been awarded the honourable
commission that he should fashion of clay a noble form that was
to be cast in bronze—a statue of him whose name the father in
Marbach had inscribed in the old Bible as Johann Christoph
Friedrich.

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

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

2
18

THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE TREE.

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

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

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

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

When the next year came, the Snail lay almost in the same
spot, in the sunshine under the Rose Tree, which again bore
buds that bloomed into roses, until the snow fell and the weather
became raw and cold ; then the Rose Tree bowed its head and
the Snail crept into the ground.

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

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

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

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

“No,” answered the Rose Tree. “1 bloomed in gladness,
because I could not do anything else. The sun shone and
warmed me, and the air refreshed me. I drank the pure dew
and the fresh rain, and I lived, I breathed. Out of the earth
there arose a power within me, from above there came down a
strength: I perceived a new ever-increasing happiness, and
consequently I was obliged to bloom over and over again ; that
was my life: I could not do otherwise.”

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

“Certainly. Everything I have was given to me,” said the
Rose Tree. “ But more still was given to you. You are one of


LHE SNAIL AND THE ROSE TREE. 19

those deep thoughtful characters, one of those highly gifted
spirits, which will cause the world to marvel.”

“T’ve no intention of doing anything of the kind,” cried the
Snail. “The world is nothing to me. What have I to do wit:
the world? I have enough of myself and in myself.”

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

‘“¢ What have I given-—what do I intend to give? I spit at it.
It’s worth nothing, It’sno business of mine. Continue to give
your roses, if you like: you can’t do anything better. Let the
hazel bush bear nuts, and the cows and ewes give milk: they
have their public; but I have mine within myself—TI retire
within myself, and there I remain ; the world is nothing to me.”

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

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

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

And years rolled by.

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

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

2--2
20

LITTLE IDA’S FLOWERS.

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

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

“ But flowers cannot dance !” cried little Ida.

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

“Can children go to this ball ?” ‘

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

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

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

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

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

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


LITTLE 1DA’S FLOWERS. at







Lhe Student telling little [da the story of the Flowers,

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

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

“Yes,” said the student ; “only remember, when you go out
again, to peep through the window; then you will see them.
22 LITTLE IDA’S FLOWERS.

That is what 1 did to-day. There was a long yellow lily lying
on the sofa and stretching herself. She was a Court lady.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How can any one put such notions into a child’s head >
said the tiresome privy councillor, who had come to pay a visit,
and was sitting on the sofa. He did not like the student, and
always grumbled when he saw him cutting out the merry funny
pictures—sometimes a man hanging on a gibbet and holding a
heart in his hand, to show that he stole hearts ; sometimes an
old witch riding on a broom and carrying her husband on her
LITTLE [DA’S FLOWERS, 23

nose. The councillor could not bear this, and then he said, just
as he did now, “ How can any one put such notions into a child's
head? Those are stupid fancies !”

But, to little Ida, what the student told about her flowers

‘seemed very droll; and she thought much about it. The flowers
hung their heads, for they were tired, because they had danced
all night : they were certainly ill, Then she went with them to
her other toys, which stood on a pretty little table, and the whole
drawer was full of beautiful things. In the doll’s bed lay her
doll Sophy, asleep; but little Ida said to her,

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

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

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

When she was in bed she lay for a long time thinking how
pretty it must be to see the beautiful flowers dancing out in the
King’s castle. ‘I wonder if my flowers have really been there?”
And then she fell asleep. In the night she woke again: she
had dreamed of the flowers, and of the student with whom the
councillor found fault. It was quite quiet in the bed-room where
Ida lay; the night-lamp burned on the table, and father and
mother were asleep.

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

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

“1f they would only come in!” thought she. But the flowers
24 LITTLE IDA’S FLOWERS.

did not come, and the music continued to play beautifully ; then
she could not bear it any longer, for it was too pretty ; she crept
out of her little bed, and went quietly to the door, and looked
into the room. Oh, how splendid it was, what she saw!

There was no night-lamp burning, but still it was quite light :
the moon shone through the window into the middle of the floor;
it was almost like day. All the hyacinths and tulips stood in
two long rows in the room; there were none at all left at the
window. There stood the empty flower-pots. On the floor all
the flowers were dancing very gracefully round each other, making
perfect turns, and holding each other by the long green leaves as
they swunground. But at the piano sat a great yellow lily, which
little Ida had certainly seen in summer, for she remembered how
the student had said, “ How like that oneis to Miss Lina.” Then
he had been laughed at by all; but now it seemed really to little
Ida as if the long yellow flower looked like the young lady ; and
it had just her manners in playing— sometimes bending its long
yellow face to one side, sometimes to the other, and nodding in
tune to the charming music! No one noticed little Ida. Then
she saw a great blue crocus hop into the middle of the table,
where the toys stood, and go to the doll’s bed and pull the cur-
tains aside: there lay the sick flowers, but they got up directly,
and nodded to the others, to say that they wanted to dance too.
The old chimney-sweep doll, whose under lip was broken off,
stood up and bowed to the pretty flowers: these did not look at
allillnow; they jumped down to the others, and were very merry.

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

The wax doll on the birch rod all at once became quite great
and long, turned itself over the paper flowers, and said, “ How
can one put such things in a child’s head? those are stupid
fancies !” and then the wax doll was exactly like the councillor
with the broad hat, and looked just as yellow and cross as he.
But the paper flowers hit him on his thin legs, and then he shrank
up again, and became quite a little wax doll. That was very
amusing to see ; and little Ida could not restrain her laughter.
The birch rod went on dancing, and the councillor was obliged
to dance too j It was no use, he might make himself great and
long, or remain the little yellow wax doll with the big black hat.
then the other flowers put in a good word for him, especially
those who had lain in the doll’s bed, and then the birch rod gave
LITTLE IDA'’S FLOWERS. 25

over. At the same moment there was a loud knocking at the
drawer, inside where Ida’s doll, Sophy, lay with many other toys.
The chimney-sweep ran to the edge of the table, lay flat down
on his stomach, and began to pull the drawer out a little. Then
Sophy raised herself, and looked round quite astonished.

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

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

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

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

As none of the flowers seemed to notice Sophy, she let herself
fall down from the drawer straight upon the floor, so that there
was a great noise. The flowers now all came running up, to ask
if she had not hurt herself ; and they were all very polite to her,
especially the flowers that had lain in her bed. But she had not
hurt herself at all ; and Ida’s flowers all thanked her for the nice
bed, and were kind to her, took her into the middle of the room,
where the moon shone in, and danced with her; and all the other
flowers formed a circle round her. Now Sophy was glad,-and
said they might keep her bed; she did not at all mind lying in
the drawer.

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

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

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

At last the flowers wished one another good night ; then little
Ida, too, crept to bed, where she dreamed of all she had seen.
36 THE TINDER-BOX.

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

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

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

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

Then she took a little paper box, on which were painted beau-
tiful birds, and opened it, and laid the dead flowers in it.

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

These cousins were two merry boys, Their names were
Gustave and Adolphe; their father had given them two new
crossbows, and they had brought these with them to show to
Ida. She told them about the poor flowers which had died, and
then they got leave to bury them. The two boys were first, with
their crossbows on their shoulders, and little Ida followed with
the dead flowers in the pretty box. Out in the garden a little
grave was dug. Ida first kissed the flowers, and then laid them
in the earth in the box, and Adolphe and Gustave shot with their
crossbows over the grave, for they had neither guns nor cannons,

THE TINDER-BOX.

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

ave.

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

“Do you see that great tree?” quoth the witch; and she
pointed to a tree which stood beside them. “It’s quite hollow


THE TINDER-BOX. 27

inside. You must climb to the top, and then you’ll sce a hole,
through which you can let yourself down and get deep into the
tree. I'll tie a rope round your body, so that I can pull you up
again when you call me.” :

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

“ Get money,” replied the witch. ‘Listen tome. When you
come down to the earth under the tree, you will find yourself in
a great hall: it is quite light, for above three hundred lamps are
burning there. Then you wil. see three doors ; these you can
open, for the keys are hanging there. If you go into the first
chamber, you’!l see a great chest in the middle of the floor ; on
this chest sits a dog, and he’s got a pair of eyes as big as two
tea-cups. But you need not carefor that. 17ll give you my blue-
checked apron, and you can spread it out upon the floor; then go
up quickly and take the dog, and set him on my apron; then
open the chest, and take as many shillings as you like. They
are of copper: if you prefer silver, you must go into the second
chamber. But there sits a dog with a pair of eyes as big as mill-
wheels. But do not you care for that. Set him upon my apron,
and take some of the money. And if you want gold, you can
have that too—in fact, as much as you can carry—if you go into
the third chamber. But the dog that sits on the money-chest
there has two eyes as big as round towers. He is a fierce dog,
you may be sure ; but you needn’t be afraid, for all that. Only
set him on my apron, and he won’t hurt you ; and take out of
the chest as much gold as you like.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You should not stare so hard at me,” said the soldier ; “ you
might strain your eyes.” And he set the dog upon the witch’s
apron. And when he saw the silver money in the chest, he threw
28



THE TINDER-BOX.





Hlth

; Jaghene! WM}
— SS

away all the copper money he had, and filled his pockets and his
knapsack with silver only. Then he went into the third chamber.
Oh, but that was horrid! The dog there really had eyes as Vig
as towers, and they turned round and round in his head like
wheels.

“Good evening!” said the soldier; and he touched his cap,
for he had never seen such a dog as that before. When he had
looked at him a little more closely, he thought, “ That will do,”
and lifted him down to the floor,and opened the chest. Mercy!
what a quantity of gold was there! He could buy with it the
whole town, and the sugar sucking-pigs of the cake woman, and
THE TINDER-BOX. 20

all the tin soldiers, whips, and rocking-horses in the whole world.
Yes, that was a quantity of money ! Now the soldier threw away
all the silver coin with which he had filled his pockets and his
knapsack, and took gold instead : yes, all his pockets, his knap-
sack, his boots, and his cap were filled, so that he could scarcely
walk. ‘Now indeed he had plenty of money. He put the dog
on the chest, shut the door, and then called up through the tree,
“ Now pull me up, you old witch.”

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

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

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

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

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

“ Nonsense !” said the soldier. “ Tell me directly what you ’re
going to do with it, or 1 Il draw my sword and cut off your head.”

“No!” cried the witch.

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

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

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

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

“JT should like to see her,” thought the soldier ; but he could
not get leave to do so. Now he lived merrily, went to the theatre,
drove in the King’s garden, and gave much-money to the poor ;
and this was very kind of him, for he knew from old times how.
hard it is when one has not a shilling. Now he was rich, had
fine clothes, and gained many friends, who all said he was a rare
one, a true cavalier; and that pleased the soldier well. But as
he spent money every day and never earned any, he had at last
30 THE TINDER-BOX.

only two shillings left ; and he was obliged to turn out of the fine
rooms in which he had dwelt, and had to live in a little garret
under the roof, and clean his boots for himself, and mend them
with a darning-needle. None of his friends came to see him, for
there were too many stairs to climb.

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

“What are my lord’s commands?”

“What is this?” said the soldier. “That’s a famous tinder-
box, if I can get everything with it that I want ! Bring me some
money,” said he to the dog ; and wézsk / the dog was gone, and
whisk! he was back again, with a great bag full of shillings in
his mouth.

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

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

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

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

er.

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

So one of the old Court ladies had to watch the next night by
the Princess’s bed, to see if this was rea!ly a dream, or what it
might be.
THE TINDER-BOX. 31

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

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

But the Queen was an exceedingly clever woman, who could
do more than ride in a coach. She took her great gold scissors,
cut a piece of silk into pieces, and make a neat little bag: this
bag she filled with fine wheat flour, and tied it on the Princess’s
back ; and when that was done, she cut a little hole in the bag,
so that the flour would be scattered along all the way which the
Princess should take.

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

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

“Halloo, you shoemaker’s boy! you needn’t be in such a
hurry,” cried the soldier to him: “it will not begin till I come,
32 GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS.

But if you will run to where I lived, and bring me my tinder-box,
you shall have four shillings; but you must put your best leg
foremost.”

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

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

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

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

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

So they put the soldier into the King’s coach, and all the three
dogs darted on in front and cried “ Hurrah!” and the boys
whistled through their fingers, and the soldiers presented arms.
The Princess came out of the copper castle, and became Queen,
and she liked that well enough. The wedding lasted a week,
and the three dogs sat at the table too, and opened their eyes
wider than ever at all they saw.

GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS.

HERE lived two men in one village, and they had the
same name—each was called Claus ; but one had four
horses and the other only a single horse. To distinguish
them from each other, folks called him who had four horses Great
Claus, and the one who had only a single horse Little Claus,



GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS. 33

Now we shall hear what happened to each of them, for this is
a true story.

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

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

But when no one was passing Little Claus forgot that he was
not to say this, and he cried, “ Gee up, all my horses !” 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hada very long way to go, and was obliged to pass through
a great dark wood, and the weather became dreadfully bad. He
went quite astray, and before he got into the right way again it
was evening, and it was too far to get home again or even to the
town before nightfall. ‘

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

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

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

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

3
34 GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS.



Little Claus deploring the Death of his Horse.

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

“Up there I can lie,” said Little Claus, when he looked up at
the roof ; “that is a capital bed. I suppose the stork won't fly
down and bite me in the legs.” For a living stork was standing
on the roof, where he had his nest.

Now Little Claus climted up to the roof of the shed, where he
lay, and turned round to settle himself comfortably. The wooden
shutters did not cover the windows at the top, and he could look
straight into the room, ‘There was a great table, with the cloth
laid, and wine and roast meat and a glorious fish upon it. The
GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS. 35

farmer’s wife and the clerk were seated at table, and nobody
besides. She was filling his glass, and he was digging his fork
into the fish, for that was his favourite dish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The woman received them both in a very friendly way, spread
the cloth ona long table, and gave them a great dish of porridge.
The farmer was hungry, and ate with a-good appetite; but Little
Claus could not help thinking of the capital roast meat, fish, and
cake, which he knew were in the oven. Under the table, at his
feet, he had laid the’sack with the horse’s hide in it; for we know
that he had come out to sell it in the town. He did not relish
the porridge, so he trod upon the sack, and the dry skin inside
crackled quite loudly.

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

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

“Wonderful !” cried the farmer ; and he opened the oven ina
hurry, and found all the dainty provisions which his wife had
hidden there, but which, as he thought, the wizard had conjured
forth, The woman dared not say anything, but put the things
at once on the tabie; and so they both ate of the meat, the fish,

3-2
36 GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS.

and the cake. Now Little Claus again trod on his sack, and
made the hide creak.

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

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

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

“Can he conjure the demon forth?” asked the farmer. “1
should like to see him, for now I am merry.”

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

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

“Why, he’! look the very image of a clerk.”

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

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

“What does he say ?”

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

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

“Hu!” hecried, and sprang backward. “ Yes,now I 'veseen
pene he looked exactly like our clerk. Oh, that was dread-

* ful!

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

“You must sell me that conjuror,” said the farmer. “ Ask as
much as you like for him: 1’ll give youa whole bushel of money
directly.”

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

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

“Well,” said Little Claus, at last, “as you have been so kind
as to give me shelter for the night, I will Jet it be so. You shall
have the conjuror for a bushel of money; but I must have the
bushel heaped up.”
GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS. 39

That you shall have,” replied the farmer. “ But you must
take the chest yonder away with you. I will not keep it in my
house an hour. One cannot know,—perhaps he may be there
still.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, no, no!” screamed the clerk. ‘“1’ll give you a whole
bushel-full of money if you’ll let me go.”

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

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

“See, I’ve been well paid for the horse,” he said to himself
when he had got home to his own room, and was emptying all
the money into a heap in the middle of the floor. “That wil]
vex Great Claus when he hears how rich I have grown throvgt
my one horse; but I won’t tell him about it outright.”

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

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

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

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

#
38 ‘GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well,” said he, when he got home, “ Little Claus shall pay
for this. 171 kill him for it.”

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

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

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

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

The host had very, very much money; he was alsoa very good
men, but exceedingly hot, as if he had pepper and tobacco in

im.

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

“Yes,” answered Little Claus; “I’m going to town with my
GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS. 39

old grandmother: she’s sitting there on the car without. I
can’t bring her into the room. Will you give her a glass of
mead? But you must speak very loud, for she can’t hear well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s my grandmother,” answered Great Claus. “I’ve killed

€r to get a bushel of money for her.” ; a

“Heaven save us!” cried the apothecary, “you’re raving!

Don’t say such things, or you may lose your head.” And he told
40 GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS.

him earnestly what a bad deed this was that he had done, and
what a bad man he was, and that he must be punished. And
Great Claus was so frightened that he jumped out of the surgery
straight into his carriage, and whipped the horses, and drove
home. But the apothecary and all the people thought him mad,
and so they let him drive whither he would.

“You shall pay for this !” said Great Claus, when he was out
upon the high road: “yes, yes, you shall pay me for this, Little
Claus!” And directly he got home he took the biggest sack he
could find, and went over to Little Claus, and said, ‘* Now, you’ve
tricked me again! First I killed my horses, and then my old
grandmother! That’s all your fault; but you shall never trick
me any more.” And he seized Little Claus round the body, and
thrust him into the sack, and took him upon his back, and called
out to him, “ Now I shall go off with you and drown you.”

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

“Ah, yes! yes!” sighed Little Claus in the sack. And he
turned and twisted, but he found it impossible to loosen the cord.
Then there came by an old drover with snow-white hair, and a
great staff in his hand: he was driving a whole herd of cows and
oxen before him, and they stumbled against the sack in which
Little Claus was confined, so that it was overthrown,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he went to the river, which was deep and broad, threw the
sack with the old drover in it into the water, and called after him,
GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS. 41

thinking that it was Little Claus, “You lie there! Now you
shan’t trick me any more !”

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

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

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

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

“These beasts are sea-cattle,” replied Little Claus. “IIl tell
you the whole story,—and thank you for drowning me, for now
I’m at the top of the tree. I am really rich! How frightened
1 was when 1 lay huddled in the sack, and the wind whistled
about my ears when you threw me down from the bridge into the
cold water! I sank to the bottom immediately ; but I did not
knock myself, for the most splendid soft grass grows down there.
Upon that I fell; and immediately the sack was opened, and the
loveliest maiden, with snow-white garments and a green wreath
upon her wet hair, took me by the hand, and said, ‘ Are you come,
Little Claus? Here you have some cattle to begin with. A mile
farther along the road there is a whole herd more, which I will
give to you,’ And now I saw that the river formed a great high-
way for the people of the sea. Down in its bed they walked and
drove directly from the sea, and straight into the land, to where
the river ends. There it was so beautifully full of flowers and of
the freshest grass ; the fishes, which swam in the water, shot past
my ears, just as here the birds in the air. What pretty people
there were there, and what fine cattte pasturing on mounds and
in ditches !”

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

“Why,” replied Little Claus, “in that I just acted with good
policy. You heard me tell you that the sea-maiden said, ‘A mile
farther along the road ’—and by the road she meant the river, for
she can’t go anywhere else—‘ there is a whole herd of cattle for
you.’ But I know what bends the stream makes—sometimes
this, sometimes that ; there’s a long way to go round : no, the
thing can be managed in a shorter way by coming here to the
-and, and driving across the fields towards the river again. In
this manner I save myself almost half a mile, and get all the
quicker to my sea-cattle !” .

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

“Yes, I think so,” replied Little Claus. “ But I cannot carry
you in the sack as far as the river ; you are too heavy for met
42 THUMBELINA.

But if you will go there, and creep into the sack yourself, I will
throw you in with a great deal of pleasure.”

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

“Oh, no; don’t be so fierce !”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THUMBELINA.



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

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

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

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

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

“That is a beautiful flower,” said the woman; and she kissed
its yellow and red leaves. But just as she kissed it the flower
THUMBELINA. 3

opened with a Zop/ It was a real tulip, as one could now see;
but in the middle of the flower there sat upon the green velvet
stamens a little maiden, delicate and graceful to behold. She
was scarcely half a thumb’s length in height, and therefore she
was called Thumbelina.

A neat polished walnut-shell served Thumbelina for a cradle,
blue violet-leaves were her mattresses, with a rose-leaf for a
coverlet. There she slept at night; but in the day-time she
played upon the table, where the woman had put a plate with a
wreath of flowers around it, whose stalks stood in water ; on the
water swam a great tulip-leaf, and on this the little maiden could
sit, and row from one side of the plate to the other, with two
white horse-hairs for oars. That looked pretty indeed! She
could also sing, and, indeed, so delicately and sweetly, that the
like had never been heard.

Once as she lay at night in her pretty bed. there came an old
Toad creeping through the window, in which one pane was










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Thumbelina and the Toads.



broken. The Toad was very ugly, big and damp: it hopped
straight down upon the table, where Thumbelina lay sleeping
under the rose-leaf. i

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

There ran a great broad brook; but the margin was swampy

‘ and soft, and here the Toad dwelt with her son. Ugh! he was

ugly, and looked just like his mother. ‘“Croak! croak; brek-
kek-kex !” that was all he could say when he saw the graceful
litle maiden in the walnut-shell.
44 THUMBELINA.

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

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

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

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

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

Thumbelina sailed by many cities, and the little birds which
sat in the bushes saw her, and said, “ What a lovely little girl!”
The leaf swam away with them, farther and farther ; so Thum-
belina travelled out of the country.

A graceful little white butterfly always fluttered round her, and
at last alighted on the leaf. Thumbelina pleased him, and she ©
was very glad of this, for now the Toad could not reach them ;
and it was so beautiful where she was floating along—the sun
shone upon the water, and the water glistened like the most
THUMBELINA. 45

splendid gold. She took her girdle and bound one end of it
round the butterfly, fastening the other end of the ribbon to the
leaf. The leaf now glided onward much faster, and Thumbelina
too, for she stood upon the leaf.

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

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

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

“She has not any feelers !” cried another.

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

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

The whole-summer through poor Thumbelina lived quite alone
in the great wood. She wove herself a bed out of blades of
grass, and hung it up under a shamrock, so that she was pro-
tected from the rain; she plucked the honey out of the flowers
for food, and drank of the dew which stood every morning upon
the leaves. Thus summer and autumn passed away; but now
came winter, the cold long winter. All the birds who had sung
so sweetly before her flew away ; trees and flowers shed their
leaves ; the great shamrock under which she had lived shrivelled
up, and there remained nothing of it but a yellow withered stalk ;
and she was dreadfully cold, for her clothes were torn, and she
herself was so frail and delicate—poor little Thumbelina! she
was nearly frozen. It began to snow, and every snow-flake that
fell upon her was like a whole shovel-full thrown upon one of us,
for we are tall, and she was only aninch long. Then she wrapped
46 THUMBELINA.

herself in a dry leaf, and that tore in the middle, and would not
warm her—she shivered with cold.

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

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

As she was pleased with Thumbelina, she said, “If you like
you may stay with me through the winter, but you must keep my
room clean and neat, and tell me little stories, for 1am very fond
of those.”

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

“ Now we shall soon have a visitor,” said the Field Mouse.
“My neighbour is in the habit of visiting me once a week. He
is even better off than I am, has great rooms, and a beautiful
black velvety fur. If you could only get him for your husband
you would be well provided for. You must tell him the prettiest
stories you know.”

But Thumbelina did not care about this ; she thought nothing
of the neighbour, for he was a Mole. He came and paid his
visits in his black velvet coat. The Field Mouse told how rich
and how learned he was, and how his house was more than
twenty times larger than hers; that he had learning, but that he
did not like the sun and beautiful flowers, for he had never seen
them.

Thumbelina had to sing, and she sang “ Cockchafer, fly away,”
and “ When the parson goesafield.” Then the Mole fell in love
with her, because of her delicious voice; but he said nothing, for
he was a sedate Mole.

A short time before, he had dug a long passage through the
earth from his own house to theirs; and Thumbelina and the
Field Mouse obtained leave to walk in this passage as much as
they wished. But he begged them not to be afraid of the dead
bird which was lying in the passage. It was an entire bird, with
wings and beak. It certainly must have died only a short time
before, and was now buried just where the Mole had made his
passage. :

The Mole took a bit of decayed wood in his mouth, and it
THUMBELINA. a7

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

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

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

“Perhaps it was he who sang so prettily before mein the sum-
mer,” she thought. “ How much pleasure he gave me, the dear
beautiful bird !”

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

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

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

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

‘The next night she crept out to him again—and now he was
alive, but quite weak; he could only open his eyes fora moment}
48 THUMBELINA.

and look at Thumbelina, who stood before him with a bit or
decayed wood in her hand, for she had not a lantern.

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

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

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

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

“ No, I cannot!” said Thumbelina.

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

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

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

Thumbelina had to turn the spindle, and the Mole hired four
spiders to weave for her day and night. Every evening the Mole
paid her a visit ; and he was always saying that when the summer
should draw to aclose, the sun would not shine nearly so hot, for
\that now it burned the earth almost as hard asastone. Yes,
when the summer should have gone, then he would keep his wed-
ding day with Thumbelina. But she was not glad at all, for she
did not like the tiresome Mole. Every morning when the sur
THUMBELINA. 49

rose, and every evening when it went down, she crept out at the
door ; and when the wind blew the corn-ears apart, so that she
could see the blue sky, she thought how bright and beautiful it
was out here, and wished heartily to see her dear Swallow again.
But the Swallow did not come back ; he had doubtless flown far
away, in the fair green forest. When autumn came on, Thumbe-
lina had all her outfit ready.

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

But Thumbelina wept, and declared she would not have the
tiresome Mole.

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

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

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

“ Tweet-weet ! tweet-weet ! a voice suddenly sounded over her
head. She looked up: it was the little Swallow, who was just
flying by. When he saw Thumbelina he was very glad; and
Thumbelina told him how loth she was to have the ugly Mole for
her husband, and that she was to live deep under the earth, where
the sun never shone. And she could net refrain from weeping.

“The cold winter is coming now,” said the Swallow ; “I am
going to fly far away into the warm countries. Will you come
with me? You can sit upon my back, then we shall fly from the
ugly Mole and his dark room—away, far away, over the moun-
tains, to the warm countries, where the sun shines warmer than
here, where it is always summer, and there are lovely flowers
Only fly with me, you dear little Thumbelina, you who have saved
my life when I lay frozen in the dark earthy passage.”

“Yes, I will go with you!” said Thumbelina; and she seated
herself on the bird’s back, with her feet on his outspread wing,
and bound her girdle fast to one of his strongest feathers ; then
the Swallow flew up into the air over forest and over sea, high up

over the great mountains, where the snow always lies; and
4,
50 THUMBELINA,

Thumbelina felt cold in the bleak air, but then she hid under the
bird’s warm feathers, and only put out her little head to admire
all the beauties beneath her.

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

“That is my house,” said the Swallow ; “ but 1 is not right
that you should live there. It is not yet properly arranged bya
great deal, and you will not be content with it. Select for your-
self one of the splendid flowers which grow down yonder, then I
will put you into it, and you shall have everything as nice as you
can wish.”

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

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

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

The little Prince was very much frightened at the Swallow,
for it was quite a gigantic bird to him, who was so small. But
when he saw Thumbelina, he became very glad; she was the
prettiest maiden he had ever seen. Therefore he took off his
golden crown, and put it upon her, asked her name, and if she
would be his wife, and then she should be Queen of all the flowers.
Now this was truly a different kind of man to the son of the Toad,
and the Mole with the black velvet fur. She therefore said “ Yes”
to the charming Prince. And out of every flower came a lady or
a lord, so pretty to behold that it was adelight ; each ore brought
Thumbelina a present ; but the best gift was a pair of beautiful
wings which had belonged to a great white fly ; these were fas-
tened to Thumbetina’s back, and now she could fly from flower to
flower. Then tnere was much rejoicing ; and the little Swallow
THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE. 51

sat above them in the nest, and was to sing the marriage song,
which he accordingly did as well ashe could ; but yet in his heart
he was sad, for he was so fond, oh! so fond of Thumbelina, and
would have liked never to part from her.

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

THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.
I,
A Beginning.

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

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

4-2


82 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.

in her own exalted rerson to perform her business, for thus she
knows that it is well done.

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

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




_ Ke Zk “I








Bp 'y =

\Gh





is

Nyy



y\
\





WY

The Goloshes left at the Door.

I am to bring to the human race. These goloshes have the pro-
perty that every one who puts them on is at once transported to
the time and place in which he likes best to be—every wish in
reference to time, place, and circumstance is at once fulfilled ; and
so for once man can be happy here below !”

“Believe me,” said Care, “‘he will be very unbappy, and will
bless the moment when he can get rid of the goloshes again.”

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

You see, this was the dialogue they held,
THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE. 53

Il.
What happened to the Councillor.

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

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

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

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

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

“ How they look!” he said. ‘“ They must come from a mas-
querade.”

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

“ That is the Bishop of Zealand.” .

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

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

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

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

The men stared at him.
54 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.

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

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

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

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

“Either I behold a Fata Morgana, or I am tipsy,” sighed the
councillor. ‘What can that be? what can that be?”

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

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

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

“That is dreadful!” he cried; “I don’t know East Street again.
Not one shop is to be seen; old, miserable, tumble-down huts
are all I see, as if I were at Roeskilde or Ringstedt. Oh, I am
ill! It’s no use to make ceremony. But where in all the world
is the agent’s house? It is no longer the same; but within there
are people up still. I certainly must be ill!”

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




The Councillor is alarmea,

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

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

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

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

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

She did not understand what he meant, but handed him the
56 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE,

leaf: it was a woodcut representing a strange appearance in the
air which had been seen in the city of Cologne.

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

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

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

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

“ Modestia is a beautiful virtue,” said the man. “ Moreover,
[ must say to your speech, ‘ mzhd secus videtur ;’ yet I will gladly
suspend my jzdicium.” ;

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

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

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

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

“This is certainly not a locus docendi,’ began the man; “ but
I beg you to take the trouble to speak. ‘You are doubtless well
read in the ancients ?” 4

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

““Every-day Stories?” said the bachelor, inquiringly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

© The first printer and publisher in Denmark under King Hans
THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE. 57

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

“ How are you now?” asked the hostess, and she plucked the
councillor by the slecve.

Now his recollection came back ; in the course of the conver-
sation he had forgotten everything that had happened.

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

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

Two girls came in. . One of them had on acap of two colours.
They poured out drink and bowed: the councillor felt a cold
shudder running all down his back. ‘“ What’s that? what’s that?”
he cried; but he was obliged to drink with them. They took
possession of the good man quite politely. He was in despair,
and when one said that he was tipsy he felt not the slightest doubt
regarding the truth of the statement, and only begged them to
procure him a droschky. Now they thought he was speaking
Muscovite.

Never had he been in such rude vulgar company.

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

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

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

“Good Heavens! have I been lying here in the street dream-
58 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.

ing?” he exclaimed. “Yes, thisis East Street sure enough ! how
splendidly bright and gay! It is terrible what an effect that one
glass of punch must have had on me!”

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

III.
The Watchman’s Adventures.

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

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

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

As he uttered this wish, the goloshes he had put on produced
their effect, and the watchman was transported into the body and
being of the lieutenant. Then he stood up in the room, and held
a little pink paper in his fingers, on which was a poem, a poem
written by the lieutenant himself. For who is there who has not
once in his life had a poetic moment? and at such a moment, if
one writes down one’s thoughts, there is poetry.

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

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

In that same moment the watchman became a watchman
again ; for through the power of the goloshes of Fortune he had
THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE. 59

assumed the personality of the lieutenant ; but then we know he
felt far less content, and preferred to be just what he had de-
spised a short time before. So the watchman became a watch-
man again.

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

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

“There went one,” said he, “ but for all that, there are enough
left. I should like to look at those things a little nearer, espe-
cially the moon, for that won’t vanish under one’s hands. The
student for whom my wife washes says that when we die we fly
from one star to another. That’s not true, but it would be very
nice. If I could only make a little spring up there, then my body
might lie here on the stairs for all I care,”

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

So far as we are concerned, we all understand the rapidity of
dispatch by steam; we have tried it either in railways, or in
steamers across the sea. But this speed is as the crawling of the
sloth or the march of the snail in comparison with the swiftness
with which lighttravels, That flies nineteen million times quicker.
Death is an electric shock we receive in our hearts, and on the
wings of electricity the liberated soul flies away. The sunlight
requires eight minutes and a few seconds for a journey of more
than ninety-five millions of miles ; on the wings of electric power
the soul requires only a few moments to accomplish the same
dight. The space between the orbs of the universe is, for her,
Mot greater than, for us, the distances between the houses of our
‘riends dwelling in the same town, and even living close together.
Yet this electric shock costs us the life of the body here below,
anless, like the watchman, we have the magic goloshes on.

In a few seconds the watchman had traversed the distance of
two hundred and sixty thousand miles to the moon, which body,
as we know, consists of a much lighter material than that of our
earth, and is, as we should say, soft as new-fallen snow. He
found himself on one of the many ring mountains with which we
are familiar with Dr. MAdler’s great map of the moon. Within
the ring a great bowl-shaped hollow went down to the depth of a
couple of miles. At the base of the hollow lay a town, of whose
appearance we can only form an idea by pouring the white of an
egg into a glass of water: the substance here was just as soft as
white of egg, and formed similar towers. and cupolas, and ter-
60 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUN«.

races like sails, transparent and floating in the thin air. Ow
earth hung over his head like a great dark red ball.

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

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

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

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

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

That would be a pretty jest for the soul if it should chance to
come back, and probably seek its body in the East Street, and
not find it! Most likely it would go first to the police and after-
wards to the address office, that inquiries might be made from
thence respecting the missing goods ; and then it would wander
out to the hospital. But we may console ourselves with the idea
that the soul is most clever when it acts upon its own account ;
it is the body that makes it stupid.
THE GOLOSHES Ob FORTUNE. 67

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

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

IV.
A Great Moment.—A very Unusual Fourney.

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

The hospital is separated from the street by a tolerably high
railing, in which the thick iron rails stand so far apart, that cer-
tain very thin inmates are said to have squeezed between them,
and thus paid their little visits outside the premises. The part
of the body most difficult to get through was the head; and here,
as it often happens in the world, small heads were the most for-
tunate. This will be sufficient as an introduction.

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

“I wish to goodness I had my head outside !” cried he. And
immediately, though his head was very thick and big, it glided
easily and quickly through. The goloshes must have understood
it well ; but now the body was to slip through also, and that could
not be done. “I am too fat,” said he, “I thought my head was
the thickest. I shan’t get through.”

Now he wanted to pull his head back quickly, but he could
not manage it: he could move his neck, but that was all. His
first feeling was one of anger, and then his spirits sank down to
zero, The goloshes of Fortune had placed him in this terrible
condition, and, unfortunately, it never occurred to him to wish
himself free. No: instead af wishing. he onlv strove, and could
62 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.

not stir from the spot.- The rain poured down ; not a creature
was to be seen in the street; he could not reach the gate bell,
and how was he to get loose? He foresaw that he would have to
remain here until the morning, and then they would have to send
for a blacksmith, to file through the iron bars. But such’a busi-
ness is not to be done quickly.. The whole charity school would
be upon its legs ; the whole sailors’ quarter close by would come
up and see him standing in the pillory; and a fine crowd there
would be.

“Hu!” he cried, “the blood’s rising to my head, and I shall
go mad! Yes,1’m going mad ! If 1 were free, most likely it
would pass over.”

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

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

The idea struck him: he would have liked to possess such a
pair of spectacles. If they were used rightly, they would perhaps
enable the wearer to look into people’s hearts; and that, he

hought, would be more interesting than to see what was going
o happen in the next year ; for future events would be known in
time, but the people’s thoughts never.

“ Now I'll look at the row of ladies and gentlemen on the first
bench: if one could look directly into their hearts ! yes, that must
be a hollow, a.sort of shop. How my eyes would wander about
in that shop! In every lady’s, yonder, I should doubtless find a
great milliner’s warehouse : with this one here the shop is empty,
but it would do no harm to have it cleaned out. But would there
really be such shops? Ah, yes!” he continued, sighing, “I know
one in which all the goods are first-rate, but there’s a servant in
it already ; that’s the only drawback in the whole shop! From
one and another the word would be ‘Please to step in!’ Oh,
that 1 might oniy step in, like a neat little thought, and slip through
their hearts !”

That was the word of command for the-goloshes. The volun-
THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE. 63

teer shrivelled up, and began to take a very remarkable journey
through the hearts of the first row of spec‘ators. The first heart
through which he passed was that of alady; but he immediately
fancied himself in the Orthopeedic Institute. in the room where
the plaster casts of deformed limbs are kept hanging against the
walls ; the only difference was, that these casts were formed in
the institute when the patients came in, {svt here in the heart they
were formed and preserved after the good sersons had gone away.
For they were casts of female friends, who-e bodily and mental
faults were preserved here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now he remembered the great event of the last evening,
64 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.

how his head had been caught between the iron rails of the hos
pital.

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

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

“Hi!” he cried, and jumped down to take a plunge bath.

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

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

V.
The Transformation of the Copying Clerk.

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

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

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

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

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

There could not be a quieter, steadier person than this young
man. We grant him his little walk with all our hearts ; it will
certainly do him good after so much s'tting, At first he only
THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE. 65

walked like a vegetating creature, so the goloshes had no opportu-
nity of displaying their magic power.

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

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

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

“ But you are better off, after all,” said the copying clerk. “It
must bea pleasure to sit and write poetry. Everybody says agree-
able things to you, and then you are your own master. Ah, you
should just try it, poring over the frivolous affairs in the court.”

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

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

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

“What glorious fragrance!” he crieu. “ How it reminds me
of the viclets at aunt Laura’s! Yes, that was when I was a little
boy. I have not thought of that for a long time. The good old
lady! She lies yonder, by the canal. She always had a twig or
a couple of green shoots in the water, let the winter be as severe
as it might. The violets bloomed, while I had to put warm
farthings against the frozen window-panes to make peep-holes.
That was a pretty view. Out in the canal the ships were frozen
in, and deserted by the whole crew; a screaming crow was the
only living creature left. Then, when the spring breezes blew,
it all became lively : the ice was sawn asunder amid shouting and
cheers, the ships were tarred and rigged, and then they sailed
away to strange lands. I remained here, and must always remain,
and sit at the police office, and let others take passports for abroad.
That’s my fate Oh, yes!” and he sighed deeply. Suddenly he

5
66 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.

paused. “Good Heaven! what is come to me? I never thought
or felt as I do now. It must be the spring air: it is just as dizzy-
ing as itis charming!” He felt in his pockets for his papers.
“These will give me something else to think of,” said he, and
Jet his eyes wander over the first leaf. There heread: “‘ Dame
Sigbirth ; an original tragedy in five acts’ What is that?) And
it is my own hand. Have I written this tragedy? ‘ The Intrigue
on the Promenade, or, the Day of Penance—Vaudeville’ But
where did I get that from? It must have been put into my
pocket. Here isa letter. Yes, it was from the manager of the
theatre; the pieces were rejected, and the letter is not at all
politely worded. H’m! H’m!” said the copying clerk, and he
sat down upon a bench: his thoughts were elastic; his head was
quite soft. Involuntarily he grasped one of the nearest flowers;
it was a common little daisy. What the botanists require several
lectures to explain to us, this flower told in a minute. It told the
glory of its birth; it told of the strength of the sunlight, which
spread out the delicate leaves and made them give out fragrance.
Then he thought of the battles of life, which likewise awaken
feelings in our breasts. Air and light are the lovers of the flower,
but light is the favoured one. Towards the light it turned, and
only when the light vanished the flower rolled her leaves together
and slept in the embrace of the air.

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

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

Just by him stood a boy, knocking with his stick upon the
marshy ground. The drops of water spurted up among the green
twigs, and the copying clerk thought of the millions of infusoria
which were cast up on high with the drops, which were the same
to them, in proportion to their size, as it ‘would be to us if we
were hurled high over the region of clouds. And the copying
clerk thought of this, and of the great change which had taken
place within him; hesmiled. “I sleep and dream! it is wonderful,
though, how naturally one can dream, and yet know all the time
that it isa dream. I should like to be able to remember it all
clearly to-morrow when I wake. I seem to myself quite unusually
excited. What a clear appreciation I have of everything, and ©
how free I feel! But 1 am certain that if I remember anything of
it to-morrow, it will be nonsense. That has often been so with
me before. It is with all the clever famous things one says and
hears in dreams, as with the money of the elves under the earth;
when one receives it, it is rich and beautiful, but, looked at by
daylight, it is nothing but stones and dried leaves. Ah!” he
sighed, quite plaintively, and gazed at the chirping birds, as they
sprang merrily from bough to bough, “ they are much better off
than I. Flying is anobleart. Happy he whois born with wings.
ee I could change myself into anything, it should be into a
ark,”
THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE. - 6

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

“That is charming!” he said. “In the day-time I sit in the

sill
=



The Copying Clerk changes hands.

police office among the driest of law papers; at night I can dream
that I am flying about as a lark in the Fredericksburg Garden.
One could really write quite a popular comedy upon it.”

Now he flew down into the grass, turned his head in every
direction, and beat with his beak upon the bending stalks of grass,
which, in proportion to his size, seemed to him as long as palm
branches of Northern Africa. 4

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

wandered on with him.
5—2
68 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.

In the alley the boy met with two other boys, who belonged te
the educated classes, socially speaking ; but, according to abilities,
they ranked in the lowest class in theschool. These bought the
bird for a few Danish shillings ; and so the copying clerk was
carried back to Copenhagen.

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

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

“ Perhaps that will please Polly,” she added, and laughed at a
great Parrot swinging himself proudly in his ring in the hand-
some brass cage. ‘It’s Polly’s birthday,” she said, simply, “so
the little field bird shall congratulate him.”

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

& Sereaiiies !” said the lady ; and she threw a white handker-
chief over the cage.

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

The copying clerk, or, as the lady called him, the field bird,
was placed in a little cage close to the Canary, and not far from
the Parrot. The only human words which Polly could say, and
which often sounded very comically, were “Come, let’s be men
now!” Fverything else that he screamed out was just as unin-
telligible as the song of the Canary bird, except for the copying
clerk, who was now alse a bird, and who understood his comrades
very well.

“T flew under the green palm tree and the blossoming almond
tree!” sang the Canary. “1 flew with my brothers and sisters
over the beautiful flowers and over the bright sea, where the
plants waved in the depths. I also saw many beautiful parrots,
who told the merriest stories.”

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

“Do you remember the pretty girls who danced under the
THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE. 69

tents spread out beneath the blooming trees? Do you remember
the sweet fruits and the cooling juice in the wild plants? ”

“Oh, yes!” replied the Parrot ; “but here I am far better off.
I have good care and genteel treatment. I know I’ve a good
head, and I don’t ask for more. Let us be men now. You are
what they call a poetic soul. 1 have thorough knowledge and
wit. You have genius, but no prudence. You mount up into
those high natural notes of yours, and then you get covered up.
This is never done to me; no, no, for I cost them a little more.
I make an impression with my beak, and can cast wit round me.
Now let us be men!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ Heaven preserve me!” he cried. “ How could I have come
here and fallen so soundly asleep? That was an unquiet dream
too, that I had. The whole thing was great nonsense.”

VI.

The Best that the Goloshes brought.

On the following day, quite early in the morning, as the clerk
still lay in bed, there came a tapping at his door: it was his neigh-
70 THE GOLOSHES OF FOKTUNE.

bour who lodged on the same floor, a young theologian ; and he
came in. |

“‘ Lend me your goloshes,” said he. “ It is very wet in the gar-
den. But the sun shines gloriously, and I should lke to smoke
a pipe down there.”

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

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

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

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



“°T is a prospect as fine as heart can desire,
Before me Mont Blanc the rough:
’T is pleasant to tarry here and admire,
If only you've money enough.”

Great, grave, and dark was all nature around him. The pine
woods looked like little mosses upon the high rocks, whose sum-
mits were lost in cloudy mists ; and then it began to snow, and
the wind blew cold. :
“Hu !” he sighed; ‘if we were only on the other side of the
Alps, then it would be summer, and I should have got money on
my letter of credit: my anxiety about this prevents me from
enjoying Switzerland. Oh, if I were only at the other side!”
And then he was on the other side, in the midst of Italy, be-
tween Florence and Rome. The Lake Thrasymene lay spread
THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE 71

out in the evening light, like flaming gold among the dark blue
hills. Here, where Hannibal beat Flaminius, the grape-vines
held each other by their green fingers ; pretty half-naked children
were keeping a herd of coal-black pigs under a clump of fragrant
laurels by the way-side. If we could reproduce this scene accu-
rately, all would cry, “Glorious Italy!” But neither the theolo-
gian nor any of his travelling companions in the carriage of the
vetturino thought this.

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

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

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

The windows were opened, so that a little fresh air might find
its way in; but quicker than the fresh air came the withered
arms and the continual whining, “ J¢seradz/¢, Eccellenza! On
the walls were many inscriptions: half of them were against
“ La bella Italia.”

The supper was served. It consisted of a watery soup, seasoned
72 THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.

with pepper and rancid oil. This last dainty played a chief part ina
salad ; musty eggs and roasted cocks’-combs were the best dishes,
Even the wine had a strange taste—it was a dreadful mixture.

At night the boxes were placed against the doors. One of the
travellers kept watch while the rest slept. The theologian was
the sentry. Oh, how close it was in there! The heat oppressed
him, the gnats buzzed and stung, and the m7seradclz outside
moaned in their dreams,

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

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

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

‘Thou strong, stern Death! Thy silence waketh fear :
Thou leavest mould’ring gravestones for thy traces,
Shall not the soul see Jacob's ladder here?

No resurrection type but churchyard grasses ?
‘The deepest woes escape the world’s dull eye!
Thou that alone on duty’s path hast sped,
Heavier those duties on thy heart would lie
Than lies the earth now on thy coffined head,”

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

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

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

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

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

—p——
THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER. 73

|

Ty



The Birthday present of Tin Soldiers. «

.

THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER.

9) (G3) HERE were once five and twenty tin soldiers ; thas ~vere
all brothers, for they had all been born of one old tin
spoon, They shouldered their muskets, and looked
straight before them: their uniform was red and blue, and very
splendid. The first thing they had heard in the world, when the
lid was taken off their box, had been the words * Tin soldiers!”
These words were uttered by a little boy, clapping his hands: the
soldiers had been given to him, for it was his birthday ; and


74. THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER.

now he put them upon the table. Each soldier was exactly like
the rest ; but one of them had been cast last of all, and there
had not been enough tin to finish him ; but he stood as firmly
upon his one leg as the others on their two ; and it was just this
Soldier who became remarkable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the Tin Soldier pretended not to hear him.

‘Just you wait till to-morrow !” said the Goblin.

But when the morning came, and the children got up, the Tin
THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER. 98

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly there came a great Water Rat, which lived under the
drain.
ns Dave you a passport?” said the Rat. “Give me your pass-

ort.” , }
: But the Tin Soldier kept silence, and held his musket tighter
than ever.

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

‘Hold him! hold him! He hasn’t paid toll—-he hasn’t shown
his passport !” : :

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

Now he was already so near it that he could not stop. The
boat was carried out, the poor Tin Soldier stiffening himself as
much as he could, and noone could say that he moved an eyelid.
76 THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER.

The boat whirled round three or four times, and was full of water
to the very edge—it must sink. The Tin Soldier stood up to his
neck in water, and the boat sank deeper and deeper, and the
paper was loosened more and more; and now the water closed
over the soldiers head. Then he thought of the pretty little
dancer, and how he should never see her again ; and it sounded
in the soldier’s ears :

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

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

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

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

Then one of the little boys took the Tin Soldier and flung him
into thestove. He gavenoreason for doing this, It must have
been the fault of the Goblin in the snuff-box.

The Tin Soldier stood there quite illuminated, and felt a heat |
that was terrible ; but whether this heat proceeded from the real
fire or ftom love he did not know. The colours had quite gone
off from him; but whether that had happened on the journey, or
had been caused by grief, no one could say. He looked at the
little lady, she looked at him, and he felt that he was melting ;
but he still stood firm, shouldering his musket. Then suddenly
the door flew open, and the draught of air caught the dancer, and
she flew like a sylph just into the stove to the Tin Soldier, and
flashed up in a flame, and she was gone. Then the Tin Soldier
THE STORY OF A MOTHER. 77

melted down into a lump; and when the servant-maid took the -

ashes out next day, she found him in the shape of a little tin
heart. But of the dancer nothing remained but the tinsel rose
and that was burned as black as a coal.

THE STORY OF A MOTHER.

bay,\6l) MOTHER sat by her little child: she was very sorrov-
ful, and feared that it would die. Its little face was pale,
and its eyes were closed. The child drew its breath with
difficulty, and sometimes so deeply as if it were sighing ; and
then the mother looked more sorrowfully than before on the little
creature.

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

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

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

And the old man—he was Death—nodded in such a strange
way, that it might just as well mean yes as zo. And the mother
cast down her eyes, and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her head
became heavy : for three days and three nights she had not closed
her eyes; and now she slept, but only for a minute ; then she
started up and shivered with cold. ;

“What is that?” she asked, and looked round on all sides;
but the old man was gone, and her little child was gone ; he had
taken it with him. And there in the corner the o'd clock was
humming and whirring; the heavy leaden weight ran down to
the floor— plump !—and the clock stopped. :

ath the poor mother rushed out of the house crying for her
child.

Out in the snow sat a woman in long black garments, and she
said, “ Death has been with you in your room; I saw him hasten


78 THE STORY OF A MOTHER.

away with your child : he strides faster than the wind, and never
brings back what he has taken away.”

“Only tell me which way he has gone,” said the mother.
‘** Tell me the way, and I will find him.”

“IT know him,” said the woman in the black garments ; “ but
before I tell you, you must sing me all the songs that you have
sung toyourchild. I love those songs; I have heard them before.
tam Night, and I saw your tears when you sang them.”

“T will sing them all, all!” said the mother. “But do not
detain me, that I may overtake him, and find my child.”

But Night sat dumb and still. Then the mother wrung her
hands, and sang and wept. And there were many songs, but
yet more tears, and then Night said, “ Go to the right into the
dark fir wood ; for I saw Death take that path with your little
child.”

‘Deep in the forest there was a cross road, and she did not
know which way to take. There stood a Blackthorn Bush, with
not a leaf nor a blossom upon it; for it was in the cold winter-
time, and icicles hung from the twigs.

“ Have you not seen Death go by, with my little child ?”

“Yes,” replied the Bush ; “ but I shall not tell you which way
he went unless you warm me on your bosom. I’m freezing to
death here, I’m turning to ice.”

And she pressed the Blackthorn Bush to her bosom, quite
close, that it might be well warmed. And the thorns pierced
into her flesh, and her blood oozed out in great drops. But the
Blackthorn shot out fresh green leaves, and blossomed in the
dark winter night : so warm is the heart of a sorrowing mother !
And the Blackthorn Bush told her the way that she should go.

Then she came to a great Lake, on which there was neither
ships nor boat. The Lake was not frozen enough to carry her,
nor sufficiently open to allow her to wade through, and yet she
must cross it if she was to find her child. Then she laid herself
down to drink the Lake ; and that was impossible for any one to
do, But the sorrowing mother thought that perhaps a miracle
might be wrought.

“No, that can never succeed,” said the Lake. “ Let us rather
see how we can agree. I’m fond of collecting pearls, and your
eyes are the two clearest I have ever seen: if you will weep them
out into me I will carry you over into the great greenhouse,
where Death lives and cultivate flowers and trees ; each of these
is a human life.” ;

“Oh, what would I not give to get my child!” said the afflicted
mother ; and she wept yet more, and her eyes fell into the depths
of the Lake, and became two costly pearls, But the Lake lifted
her up, as if she sat in a swing, and she was wafted to the oppo-
site shore, where stood a wonderful house, miles in length. One
could not tell if it was a mountain containing forests and caves,
THE STORY OF A MOTHER. "9

or a place vhat had been built. But the poor mother could not
see it, for she had wept her eyes out.

“Where shall I find Death, who went away with my little
child?” she asked.

“He has not arrived here yet,” said an old grey-haired woman,
who was going about and watching the hot-house of Death,
“ How have you found your way here, and who helped you?”

“The good God has helped me,” she replied. “ Heis merciful,
and you will be merciful too, Where—where shall | find my
little child?”

“T do not know it,” said the old woman, “and you cannot see.
Many flowers and trees have faded this night, and Death will
soon come and transplant them. You know very well that every
human being has his tree of life, or his flower of life, just as each
is arranged. They look like other plants, but their hearts beat.
Children’s hearts can beat too. Think of this. Perhaps you
may recognize the beating of your child’s heart. But what will
you give me if I tell you what more you must do?”

“T have nothing more to give,” said the afflicted mother.
“But I will go for you to the ends of the earth.”

“JT have nothing for you to do there,” said the old woman,
“but you can give me your long black hair. You must know
yourself that it is beautiful, and it pleases ne. You can take my
white hair for it, and that is always something.”

“Do you ask for nothing more?” asked she. “I will give you
that gladly.” And she gave her beautiful hair, and received in
exchange the old woman’s white hair.

And then they went into the great hothouse of Death, where
flowers and trees were growing marvellously intertwined. There
stood the fine hyacinths under glass bells, some quite fresh, others
somewhat sickly ; water-snakes were twining about them, and
black crabs clung tightly to the stalks. There stood gallant palm
trees, oaks, and plantains, and parsley and blooming thyme. .
Each tree and flower had its name; each was a human life: the
people were still alive, one in China, another in Greenland, scat-
tered about in the world. There were great trees thrust into
little pots, so that they stood quite crowded, and were nearly .
bursting the pots ; there was also many a little weakly flower in
rich earth, with moss round about it, cared for and tended. But
the sorrowful mother bent down over all the smallest plants, and
heard the human heart beating in each, and out of millions she
recognized that of her child.

“That is it!” she cried, and stretched out her hands over a
little crocus flower, which hung down quite sick and pale,

“Do not touch the flower,” said the old dame; “but place
yourself here; and when Death comes—I expect him every
minute—then don’t let him pull up the plant, but threaten him that
you will do the same to the other plants; then he’ll be frightened.
80 THE STORY OF A MOTHER.

He has to account for them all; not one may be pulled up till he
receives commission from Heaven.”

And all at once there was an icy cold rush through the hall,
and the blind mother felt that Death was arriving.

“ How did you find your way hither?” said he. “ How have
you been able to come quicker than 1?”

“T am a mother,” she answered.

And Death stretched out his long hands towards the little deli-
cate flower ; but she kept her hands tight about it, and held it
fast; and yet she was full of anxious care lest he should touch
one of the leaves. Then Death breathed upon her hands, and
she felt that his breatn was colder than the icy wind; and her
hands sank down powerless.

“You can do nothing against me,” said Death.

“ But the merciful God can,” she replied.

“T only do what He commands,” said Death. “I am His gar-
dener. I take all His trees and flowers, and transplant them into
the great Paradise gardens, in the unknown land. But how they
will flourish there, and how it is there, I may not tell you.”

“Give me back my child,” said the mother ; and she implored
and wept. All at once she grasped two pretty flowers with her
two hands, and called to Death, “ll tear off all your flowers,
for I am in despair.”

“Do not touch them,” said Death. “You say you are so un-
happy, and now you would make another mother just as un-
happy !”

“ Another mother?” said the poor woman; and she let the
flowers go.

“There are your eyes for you,” said Death. “I have fished
them out of the lake ; they gleamed up quite brightly. I did
not know that they were yours. Take them back—they are
clearer now than before—and then look down into the deep well
close by. I will tell you the names of the two flowers you wanted
to pull up, and you will see what you were about to frustrate and
destroy.”

And she looked down into the well, and it was a happiness to
see how one of them became a blessing to the world, how much
joy and gladness she diffused around her. And the woman
looked at the life of the other, and it was made up of care and
poverty, misery and woe.

“ Both are the will of God,” said Death.

“Which of them is the flower of misfortune, and which the
blessed one?” she asked. ‘

“That I may not tell you,” answered Death, “ but this much
you shall hear, that one of these two flowers is that of your child.
It was the fate of your child that you saw—the future ¢7 your

‘yn child.”

Then the mother screamed aloud for terror
THE DAISY. &1

“Which of them belongs to my child? Tell me that ! Release
the innocent child! Let my child free from all that misery !
Rather carry it away! Carry it into God’s kingdom! Forget
my tears, forget my entreaties, and all that I have done!”

“T do not understand you,” said Death, ‘ Will you have your
child back, or shall I carry it to that place that you know not?”

Then the mother wrung her hands, and fell on her knees, and
prayed to the good God.

“Hear me not when I pray against Thy will, which is at all
times the best! Hear me not! hear me not!” And she let ker
head sink down on her bosom.

And death went away with her child into the unknown land.

'

THE DAISY.

#10 W you shall hear !
Out in the country, close by the road-side, there was a
country house: you yourself have certainly once seen it.
Before it is a little garden with flowers, and a paling which is
painted. Close by it, by the ditch, in the midst of the most
beautiful green grass, grew a little Daisy. The sun shone as
warmly and as brightly upon it as on the great splendid garden
flowers, and so it grew from hour to hour. One morning it stood
in full bloom, with its little shining white leaves spreading like
rays round the little yellow sun in the centre. It never thought
that no man would notice it down in the grass, and that it was a
poor despised floweret ; no, it was very merry, and turned to the
warm sun, looked up at it, and listened to the Lark carolling high
in the air,
The little Daisy was as happy as if it were a great holiday, and
yet it was only a Monday. All the children were at school ; and
| while‘they sat on their benches learning, it sat on its little green
/ stalk, and learned also from the warm sun, and from all around,
how good God is, And the Daisy was very glad that everything
it silently felt was sung so loudly and charmingly by the Lark.
And the Daisy looked up with a kind of respect to the happy bird
who could sing and fly ; but it was not at all sorrowful because
it could not fly and sing also.
“1 can see and hear,” it thought: “the sun shines on me, and
the forest kisses me. Oh, how richly have I been gifted !”
Within.the palings stood many stiff, aristocratic flowers—the
less scent they-had the more they flaunted. The. penne blew


&z THE LAISY.

themselves out to be greater than the roses, but size will not de
it ; the tulips had the most splendid colours, and they knew that,
and held themselves bolt upright, that they might be seen more
plainly. They did not notice the little Daisy outside there, but
the Daisy looked at them the more, and thought, “‘ How rich and
beautiful they are! Yes, the pretty birds flies across to them and
visits them. Iam glad that I stand sonear them, for at any rate
Ican enjoy the sight of their splendour !” And just as she thought
that—* keevit!”—down came flying the Lark, but not down to
the peonies and tulips—no, down inte the grass to the lowly
Daisy, which started so with joy that it did not know what to
think. :

The little bird danced round about it, and sang,

“Oh, how soft the grass is ! and see what a lovely little flower,
with gold in its heart and silver on its dress !”

For the yellow point in the Daisy looked like gold, and the little
leaves around it shone silvery white.

How happy was the little Daisy—no one can conceive how
happy! The bird kissed it with his beak, sang to it, and then
flew up again into the blue air. A quarter of an hour passed, at
least, before the Daisy could recover itself. Half ashamed, and
yet inwardly rejoiced, it looked at the other flowers in the garden ;
for they had seen the honour and happiness it had gained, and
must understand what a joyit was, But the tulips stood up twice
as stiffas before, and they looked quite peaky in the face and
quite red, for they had been vexed. The peonies were quite
wrong-headed : it was well they could not speak, or the Daisy
would have received a good scolding. The poor little flower
could see very well that they were not in a good humour, and that
hurt it sensibly. At this moment there came into the garden a
girl with a great sharp shining knife ; she went straight up to the
tulip, and cut off one after another of them.

“ Oh!” sighed the little Daisy, “this is dreadful ; now it is all
over with them.”

Then the girl went away with the tulips. The Daisy was glad
to stand out in the grass, and to be only a poor little flower ; it
felt very grateful ; and when the sun went down it folded its leaves
and went to sleep, and dreamed all night long about the sun and
the pretty little bird.

Next morning, when the flower again happily stretched out all
its white leaves, like little arms, towards the air and the light, it
recognized the voice of the bird, but the song he was singing
sounded mournfully. Yes, the poor Lark had good reason to be
sad: he was caught, and now sat in a cage close by the open
window. He sang of free and happy roaming, sang of the young
green corn in the fields, and of the glorious journey he might
make on his wings high through the air. The poor Lark was not
in good spirits, for there he sat a prisoner in a cage.
THE DAISY. 83

aS
~o ize

1





The little Daisy wished very much to help him. But what was
it to do? Yes, that was difficult to make out. It quite forgot
how everything was beautiful around, how warm the sun shone,
and how splendidly white its own leaves were. Ah! it could think
only of the imprisoned bird, and how it was powerless to do any-
thing for him.

Just then two little boys came out of the garden. Onc cf tllem
carried in his hand the knife which the girl had used to cut off
the tulips. They went straight up to the little Daisy, which could
not at all make eut what they wanted. .

“Here we may cut a capital piece of turf for Ms Lark,” said

5—2
84 THE DAISY.

one of the boys; and he began to cut off a square patch round
about-the Daisy, so that the flower remained standing in its piece
of grass.

“ Tear off the flower!” said the other boy.

And the Daisy trembled with fear, for to be torn off would be
to lose its life ; and now it wanted particularly to live, as it was
to be given with the piece of turf to the captive Lark,

“No, let it stay,” said the other boy; “it makes such a nice
ornament.”

And so it remained, and was put into the Lark’s cage. But
the poor bird complained aloud of his lost liberty, and beat his
wings against the wires of his prison ; and the little Daisy could
not speak—could say no consoling word to him, gladly as it
would have done so. And thus the whole morning passed.

“ Here is no water,” said the captive Lark. ‘“ They are all gone
out, and have forgotten to give me anything to drink. My throat
is dry and burning. It is like fire and ice within me, and the air
is close. Oh, I must die! I must leave the warm sunshine,
the fresh green, and all the splendour that God has created!”

And then he thrust his beak into the cool turf to refresh him-
self a little with it. Then the bird’s eye fell upon the Daisy, and
he nodded to it, and kissed it with his beak, and said,

“You also must wither in here, you poor little flower. They
have given you to me with a little patch of green grass on which
you grow, instead of the whole world which was mine out there !
Every little blade of grass shall be a great tree for me, and every
one of your fragrant leaves a great flower. Ah, you only tell me
how much I have lost !”

“Tf I could only comfort him!” thought the little Daisy.

It could not stir a leaf; but the scent which streamed forth
from its delicate leaves was far stronger than is generally found
in these flowers ; the bird also noticed that, and though he was
fainting with thirst, dnd in his pain plucked up the green blades
of grass, he did not touch the flower. .__

The evening came, and yet nobody appeared to bring the poor
bird a drop of water. Then he stretched out his pretty wings
and beat the air frantically with them; his song changed to a
mournful piping, his little head sank down towards the flower,
and thebird’s heart broke with want and yearning. Then the flower
could not fold its leaves, as it had done on the previous even-
ing, and sleep ; it-drooped, sorrowful and sick, towards the earth.

Not till the text. morning did the boys come ; and when they
found the bird dead they wept—wept many tears—and dug him
a neat grave, which they adorned with leaves:of flowers. The
bird’s corpse was put into a pretty red box, for he was to be
royally buried—the poor bird! While he was alive and sang
they forgot him, and let him sit in his cage and suffer want ; but
now that he was dead he had adornment and many tears,
A GREAT GRIEP. 85

But the patch of turf with the Daisy on it was thrown out into
the high road: no one thought of the flower that had felt the
most for the little bird, and would have been so glad to console
him.

ed

A GREAT GRIFF.

HIS story really consists of two parts; the first part might
be left out, but it gives us a few particulars, and these
are useful.

We were staying in the country at a gentleman’s seat, where
it happened that the master was absent for a few days. In the
‘meantime there arrived from the next town a lady; she had a
pug dog with her, and came, she said, to dispose of shares in her
tan-yard. She had her papers with her, and we advised her to
put them in an envelope, and to write thereon the address of the
proprietor of the estate, “ General War-Commissary Knight,” &c.

She listened tousattentively, seized the pen, paused, and begged
us to repeat the direction slowly.. We complied, and she wrote ;
but in the midst of the “General War..... » she stuck fast,
sighed deeply, and said, “I am only a woman!” Her Puggie
had seated itself on the ground while she wrote, and growled;
for the dog had come with her for amusement and for the sake
of its health; and then the bare floor ought not to be offered to
a visitor. His outward appearance was characterized by a snub
nose and a very fat back.

“He doesn’t bite,” said the lady; “he has no teeth. He is
like one of the family, faithful and grumpy; but the latter is my
grandchildren’s fault, for they have teazed him: they play at
wedding, and want to give him the part of the bridesmaid, and
that’s too much for him, poor old fellow.”

And she delivered her papers, and took Puggie upon her arm,
And this is the first part of the story, which might have been left
out.

PUGGIE DIED!! That’s the second part.

It was about a week afterwards we arrived in the town, and
put up at the inn. Our windows looked into the tan-yard, which
was divided into two parts by a partition of planks; in one half
were many skins and hides, raw and tanned. Here was all the
apparatus necessary to carry on a tannery, and it belonged to
the widow. Puggie had died in the morning, and was to be
buried in this part of the yard: the grandchildren of the widow
(that is, of the tanner’s widow, for Puggie himself had ever


36 THE SHIRT COLLAR.

been married) filled up the grave, and it was a beautiful grave
—it must have been quite pleasant to lie there.

The grave was bordered with pieces of flower-pots and strewn
over with sand; quite at the top they had stuck up half a beer
bottle, with the neck upwards, and that was not at all allegorical.

_ The children danced round the grave, and the eldest of the
boys among them, a practical youngster of seven years, made a
proposition that there should bean exhibition of Puggie’s burial-
place for all who lived in the lane; the price of admission was to
be a trouser button, for every boy would be sure to have one, and
each might also give one for a little girl This proposal was
adopted by acclamation.

And all the children out of the lane—yes, even out of the little
lane at the back—flocked to the place, and each gave a button.
Many were noticed to go about on that afternoon with only one
brace, but then they had seen Puggie’s grave, and the sight was
worth much more.

- But in front of the tan-yard, close to the entrance, stood a little
girl clothed in rags, very pretty to look at, with curly hair, and
eyes so blue and clear that it was a pleasure to look into them.
The child said not a word, nor did she cry; but each time the
little door was opened she gave a iong, long look into the yard.
She had not a button—that she knew right well, and therefore
she remained standing sorrowfully outsice, till all the others had
seen the grave and had gone away; then she sat down, held her
little brown hands before her eyes, and burst into tears: this girl
alone had not seen Puggie’s grave. It wasagrief as great to her
as any grown person can experience.

We saw this from above; and, looked at from above, how many
a grief of our own and of others can make us smile! That is the
story, and whoever does not understand it may go and purchase
a share in the tan-yard from the widow.

THE SHIRT COLLAR.

HERE was once a rich cavalier whose whole effects con-
sisted of a Bootjack and a Hair-brush, but he had the
finest Shirt Collar in the world, and about this Shirt

Collar we will tell a story.

The Collar was now old enough to think of marrying, and it
happened that he was sent to the wash together with a Garter.
“ My word!” exclaimed the Shirt Collar. “I have never seen


THE SHIRT COLLAR. - 87

anything so slender and delicate, so charming and genteel. May
I ask your name?”

“T shall not tell you that,” said the Garter.

“Where is your home?” asked the Shirt Collar.

But the Garter was of rather a retiring nature, and it seemed
such a strange question to answer.

‘““T presume you are a girdle?” said the Shirt Collar—a sort
of under girdle? I see that you are useful as well as ornamental,
my little lady.”

“You are not to speak to me,” said the Garter. “I have not,
I think, given you any occasion to do so.”

“Qh! when one is as beautiful as you are,” cried the Shirt
Collar, “1 fancy that is occasion enough.”

“Got” said the Garter; ‘don’t come so near me: you look to
me qv ite like a man.”

“Tam a fine cavalier too,” said the Shirt Collar. “I possess
a bootjack and a hair-brush.”

“‘ And that was not true at all, for it was his master who owned
these things. but he was boasting.

“ Don’t come too near me,” said the Garter; “I'm not used
to that.”

“ Affectation!” cried the Shirt Collar.

And then they were taken out of the wash, and starched, and
hung over a chair in the sunshine, and then laid on the ironing-
board; and now came the hot Iron.

“Mrs. Widow!” said the Shirt Collar, “little Mrs. Widow,
I’m getting quite warm ; I’m being quite changed ; I’m losing
all my creases ; you’re burning a hole in me! Ugh! I propose
to you.”

* You old rag!” said the Iron, and rode proudly over the Shirt
Collar, for it imagined that it was a steam boiler, and that it
ought to be out on the railway dragging carriages. ‘You old
rag!” said the Iron.

The Shirt Collar was a little frayed at the edges, therefore the
Paper Scissors came to smooth away the frayed places.

“ Ho, ho!” said the Shirt Collar; “I presume you are a first-
rate dancer. How you can point your toes! no one in the world
can do that like you.”

‘“*T know that,” said the Scissors.

“You deserve to be a countess,” said the Shirt Collar. “Ali
that I possess consists of a genteel cavalier, a bootjack, and a
comb. If I had only an estate!”

“What! do you want to marry?” cried the Scissors ; and they
were angry, and gave such a deep cut that the Collar had to be
cashiered.

‘T shall have to propose to the Hair-brush,” thought the Shirt
Collar.— It is wonderful what beautiful hair you have, my little
lady. Have you never thought of engaging yourself?”
$8 THE SHIRT COLLAR.



eee

The Shirt Collar in its glory.

“Yes, you can easily imagine that,” replied the Hair- brush,
“T am engaged to the Bootjack.”

“ Engaged!” cried the Shirt Collar.

Now there was no one left to whom he could offer himself, and
50 he despised love-making.

A long time passed, and the Shirt Collar was put into the sack
of a paper dealer. There was a terribly ragged company, and
the fine ones kept to themselves, and. the coarse ones to ¢/em-
selves, as is right. They all had much to tell, but the Shirt
Collar had most of all, for he was a terrible Jack Brag.

“I have had a tremendous number of love affairs,” said the
OLE LUK-OIE, 89

Shirt Collar. “They would not leave me alone; but I was a fine
cavalier, a starched one. I had a bootjack and a hair-brush that
I never used: you should only have seen me then, when I was
turned down, I shall never forget my first love: it was a girdle;
and how delicate, how charming, how genteel it was! And my
first love threw herself into a washing-tub, and all forme! There
was also a widow desperately fond of me, but I let her stand alone
till she turned quite black. Then there was a dancer, who gave
me the wound trom which I still suffer—she was very hot tem-
pered. My own hair-brush was in love with me, and lost all her
hair from neglected love. Yes, I’ve had many experiences of this
kind; but I am most sorry for the Garter—I mean for the girdle,
that jumped into the wash-tub for love of me. I’ve a great deal
on my conscience. It’s time I was turned into white paper.”

And to that the Shirt Collar came. All the rags were turned
into white paper, but the Shirt Collar became the very piece of
paper we see here, and upon which this story has been printed,
and that was done because he boasted so dreadfully about things
that were not at all true. And this we must remember, so that
we may on no account do the same, for we cannot know at all
whether we shall not be put into the rag bag and manufactured
into white paper, on which our whole history, even the most
secret, shall be printed, so that we shail be obliged to run about
and tell it, as the Shirt Collar did.

OLE LUK-OIE.

HERE’S nobody in the whole world who knows so many
Stories as Ole Luk-Oie. He can tell capital histories.
Towards evening, when the children still sit nicely
at table, or upon their stools, Ole Luk-Oie comes. He comes
up the stairs quite softly, for he walks in his socks: he opens
the door noiselessly, and whzsk/ he squirts sweet milk in the
children’s eyes, a small, small stream, but enough to prevent
them from keeping their eyes open; and thus they cannot see
him. He creeps just among them, and blows softly upon their
necks, and this makes their heads heavy. Yes, but it doesn’t
hurt them, for Ole Luk-Oie is very fond of the children; he only
wants them to be quiet, and that they are not until they are
taken to bed: they are to be quiet in order that he may tell them
Stories. :
When the children sleep, Ole Luk-Oie sits down upon their
go ; OLE LUK-OIlE.

bed. He is well dressed : his coat is of silk, but it is impossible
to say of what colour, for it shines red, green, and blue, accord-
ing as he turns, Under each arm he carries an umbrella: the
one with pictures on it he spreads over the good children, and
then they dream all night the most glorious stories ; but on his
other umbrella nothing at all is painted: this he spreads over the
naughty children, and these sleep in a dull way. and when they
awake in the morning they have not dreamed of anything.

Now we shall hear how Ole Luk-Oie, every evening through
one whole week, came to a little boy named Hjalmar, and what
he told him. There are seven stories, for there are seven days in
the week.

MONDAY.

“ Listen,” said Ole Luk-Oie in the evening, when he had put
Hjalmar to bed; “now I’Il clear up.”

And all the flowers in the flower-pots became great trees,
stretching out their long branches under the ceiling of the room
and along the walls, so that the whole room looked just like a
beauteous bower; and all the twigs were covered with flowers,
and each flower was more beautiful than a rose, and smelt so
sweet that one wanted to eat it—it was sweeter than jam. The
fruit gleamed like gold, and there were cakes bursting with
raisins. It was incomparably beautiful. But at the same time
a terrible wail sounded from the table drawer, where Hjalmar’s
school-book lay.

“ Whatever can that be?” said Ole Luk-Oie; and he went to
the table, and opened the drawer. It was the slate, which was
suffering from convulsions, for a wrong number had got into the
sum, so that it was nearly falling in pieces ; the slate pencil tugged
and jumped at its string, as if it had been alittle dog who wanted
to help the sum; but he could not. And thus there was great
lamentation in Hjalmar’s copy-book ; it was quite terrible to hear.
On each page the great letters stood in a row, one beneath the
other, and each with a little one at its side: that was the copy;
and next to these were a few more letters which thought they
looked just like the first ; and these Hjalmar had written ; but
they lay down just as if they had tumbled over the pencil-lines
on which they were to stand.

“See, this is how you should hold yourselves,” said the Copy.
“ Look, sloping in this way, with a powerful swing !”

“Oh, we shall.be very glad to do that,” replied Hjalmar’s
Letters, “but we cannot ; we are too weakly.”

“Then you must take medicine,” said Ole Luk-Oie,

“Oh, no,” cried they ; and they immediately stood up so grace-
fully that it was beautiful to behold.

“Yes, now we cannot tell any stories,” said Ole Luk-Oie ;
“ now I must exercise them. One, two! one two !” and thus he
OLE LUK-O1E. — gr

exercised the Letters; and they stood quite slender, and as
beautiful as any copy can be. But when Old Luk-Oie went
away, and Hjalmar looked at them next morning, they were as
weak and miserable as ever.

TUESDAY.

As soon as Hjalmar was in bed, Ole Luk-Oie touched all the
furniture in the bed-room with his little magic squirt, and they
immediately began to converse together, and each one spoke of
itself, with the exception of the spittoon, which stood silent, and
was vexed that they should be so vain as to speak only of them-
selves, and think only of themselves, without any regard for him
who stood so modestly in the corner for every one’s use.

Over the chest of drawers hung a great picture in a gilt frame
—it was a landscape. One saw therein large old trees, flowers
in the grass, and a broad river which flowed round about a forest,
past many castles, and far out into the wide ocean.

Old Luk-Oie touched the painting with his magic squirt, and
the birds in it began to sing, the branches of the trees stirred,
and the clouds began to move across it; one could see their
shadows glide over the landscape.

Now Old Luk-Oie lifted little Hjalmar up to the frame, and
put the boy’s feet into the picture, just in the high grass; and
there he stood ; and the sun shone upon him through the branches
of the trees, He ran to the water, and seated himself in a little
boat which lay there; it was painted red and white; the sails
gleamed like silver, and six swans, each with a gold circlet round
its neck and a bright blue star on its forehead, drew the boat
past the great wood, where the trees tell of robbers and witches,
and the flowers tell of the graceful little elves, and of what the
butterflies have told them.

Gorgeous fishes, with scales like silver and gold, swam after
their boat : sometimes they gave a spring, so that it splashed in
the water; and birds, blue and red, little and great, flew after
them in two long rows; the gnats danced, and the cockchafers
said, “Boom! boom!” They all wanted to follow Hjalmar, and
each one had a story to tell. c

That was a pleasure voyage. Sometimes the forest was thick
and dark, sometimes like a glorious garden full of sunlight and
flowers; and there were great palaces of glass and of marble; on
the balconies stood Princesses, and these were all little girls
whom Hjalmar knew well—he had already played with them.
Each one stretched forth her hand, and held out the prettiest
sugar heart which ever a cake-woman could sell; and Hjalmar
took hold of each sugar heart as he passed by, and the Princess
held fast, so that each of them got a piece—she the smaller share,
and Hjalmar the larger. At each palace little Princes stood
9: OLE LUK-OIE.

sentry. They shouldered golden swords, and caused raisins and
tin soldiers to shower down: one could see that they were real]
Princes. Sometimes Hjalmar sailed through forests, sometimes
through halls or through the midst of azown. He also came to
the town where his nurse lived, who had always been so kind to
him; and she nodded and beckoned, and sang the pretty verse
she had made herself and had sent to Hjalmar.

“‘T’ve loved thee, and kissed thee, Hjalmar, dear boy;
I’ve watched thee waking and sleeping :
May the good Lord guard thee in sorrow, in joy,
And have thee in His keeping.”

And all the birds sang too, the flowers danced on their stalks,
and the old trees nodded, just as if Ole Luk-Oie had been telling
stories to chem.

WEDNESDAY.

How the rain was streaming down without! Hjalmar could
hear it in his sleep; and when Ole Luk-Oie opened a window,
the water stood quite up to the window-sill : there was quite a
lake outside, and a noble ship lay close by the house.

“Tf thou wilt sail with me, little Hjalmar,” said Ole Luk-Oie,
“ thou canst voyage to-night to foreign climes, and be back again
to-morrow.”

And Hjalmar suddenly stood in his Sunday clothes upon the
glorious ship, and immediately the weather became fine, and they
sailed through the streets, and steered round bythe church; and
now everything was one great wild ocean. They sailed on until
the land was no longer to be seen, and they saw a number of
storks, who also came from their home, and were travelling to-
wards the hot countries ; these storks flew in a row, one behind
the other, and they had already flown far—far! One of them
was so weary that his wings would scarcely carry him farther;
he was the very last in the row, and soon remained a great way
behind the rest; at last he sank, with outspread wings, deeper
and deeper ; he gave a few more strokes with his pinions, but it
was of no use; now he touched the rigging of the ship with his
feet, then he glided down from the sail, and—bump !—he stood
upon the deck.

Now the cabin-boy took him and put him into the hencoop
with the Fowls, Ducks,and Turkeys ; the poor Stork stood among
them quite embarrassed.

“Just look at the fellow !” said all the Fowls.

And the Turkey-cock swelled himself up as much as ever he
could,and asked the Stork who he was; and the Ducks walked
backwards and quacked to each other, ‘ Quackery ! quackery !”

And the Stork told them of hot Africa, of the pyramids, and
of the ostrich which runs like a wild horse through the desert ;
OLE LUK-OIE. 93

but the ducks did not understand what he said, and they said
to one another,

“We're all of the same opinion, namely, that he’s stupid.”

“Yes, certainly he’s stupid,” said the Turkey-cock; and he
gobbled.

Then the Stork was quite silent, and thought of his Africa.

“ Those are wonderful thin legs of yours,” said the Turkey-
cock. “ Pray, how much do they cost a yard?”

“Quack ! quack ! qua-a-ck !” grinned all the Ducks; but the
Stork pretended not to hear it at all. ;

“ You may just as well laugh too,” said the Turkey-cock to him,
“ for that was very wittily said. Or was it, perhaps, too high for
you? Yes, yes, he isn’t very penetrating. Let us continue to be
interesting among ourselves.”

And then he gobbled, and the Ducks quacked, “Gick ! gack !
gick! gack !” It was terrible how they made fun among them-
selves.

But Hjalmar, went to the hencoop, opened the back door, and
called to the Stork ; and the Stork hopped out to him on to the
deck. Now he was quite rested, and it seemed as if he nodded
at Hjalmar, to thank him. Then he spread his wings, and flew
away to the warm countries; but the Fowls clucked, and the
Ducks quacked, and the Turkey-cock became fiery red in the face.

“To-morrow we shall make songs of you,” said Hjalmar; and
so saying he awoke, and was lying in his linen bed. It was 4
wonderful journey that Ole Luk-Oie that caused him to take that
night,

THURSDAY.

“T tell you what,” said Ole Luk-Oie, “ you must not be fright-
ened. Here you shall see a little Mouse,” and he held out his
hand with the pretty little creature in it. “It has come to invite
you to a wedding. There are two little Mice here who are going
to enter into the marriage state to-night. They live under the
floor of your mother’s store-closet: that is said to be a charming
dwelling-place !” . ”

“But how can I get through the little mouse-hole in the floor?
asked Hjalmar. ‘

ot Te me manage that,” said Ole Luk-Oie. “I will make you
small,” ;

And he touched Hjalmar with his magic squirt, and the boy
began to shrink-and:shrink and shrink, until he was not.so long
as a finger, : eo

“Now you may borrow the uniform of a tin soldier: I think it
would fit you, and it looks well to wear a uniform when one is
in society.”

“Ves, certainly,” said Hjalmar.
94 OLE LUK-OlE.

And in a moment he was dressed like the spiciest of tin
soldiers. :

“Will your honour not be kind enough to take a seat in your
Mamma’s thimble?” asked the Mouse. “Then I shall have the
pleasure of drawing you.”

“Will the young lady really take so much trouble?” cried
Hjalmar.

And thus they drove to the Mouse’s wedding. First they
came into a long passage beneath the boards, which was only
just so high that they could drive through it in the thimble; and
the whole passage was lit up with rotten wood.

‘Is there not a delicious smell here?” observed the Mouse.
“ The entire road has been greased with bacon-rinds, and there
can be nothing more exquisite.”

Now they came into the festive hall. On the right hand stood
all the little lady mice; and they whispered and giggled as if
they were making fun of each other; on the left stood all the
gentlemen mice, stroking their whiskers with their fore paws;
and in the centre of the hall the bridegroom and bride might be
seen standing in a hollow cheese-rind, and kissing each other
terribly before all the guests; for this was the betrothal, and the
marriage was to follow immediately.

More and more strangers kept flocking in. One mouse was
nearly treading another to death; and the happy couple had
stationed themselves just in the little doorway, so that one could
neither come in nor go out. Like the passage, the room had
been greased with bacon-rinds, and that was the entire banquet;
but for the dessert a pea was produced, in which a mouse belong-
ing to the family had bitten the name of the betrothed pair—that
is to say, the first letter of the name: that was something quite
out of the common way.

All the mice said it was a beautiful wedding, and that the
entertainment had been very agreeable. And then Hjalmar
drove home again: he had really been in grand company; but
he had been obliged to crawl through a mouse-hole. to make
himself little, and to put on a tin soldier’s uniform.

FRIDAY.

“Tt is wonderful how many grown-up people there are who
would be very glad to haveme!” said Ole Luk-Oie; “especially
those who have done something wrong. ‘Good little Ole,’ they
say to me, ‘we cannot close our eyes, and so we lie all night and
see our evil deeds, which sit upon the bedstead like ugly little
sob'ins, and throw hot water over us; will you not come and
drive them away, so that we may have a good sleep?’—and then
they sigh deeply—‘ we would really be glad to pay for it. Good
OLE LUK-OIE. 95

night, Ole: the money lies on the window-sill.’ But I do nothing
{or money,” says Ole Luk-Oie.

“What shall we do this evening?” asked Hjalmar.

“T don’t know if you care to go to another wedding to-night.
It is a different kind from that of yesterday. Your sister’s great
doll, that looks like a man, and is called Hermann, is going to
marry the doll Bertha. Moreover, it is the dolls’ birthday, and
therefore they will receive very many presents.”

“Yes, I know that.” replied Hjalmar. “Whenever the dolls
want new clothes, my sister lets them either keep their birthday
or celebrate a wedding; that has certainly happened a hundred
times already.”

“Yes, but to night isthe hundred and first wedding; and when
number one hundred and one is past, it is all over: and that is
why it will be so splendid. Only look!”

And Hjalmar looked at the table. There stood the little card-
board house with the windows illuminated. and in front of it all
the tin soldiers were presenting arms. The bride and bridegroom
sat quite thoughtful, and with good reason, on the floor, leaning
against a leg of the table. And Ole Luk-Oie, dressed up in the
grandmother’s black gown, married them to each other. When
the ceremony was over, all the pieces of furniture struck up the
following beautiful song, which the pencil had written for them
It was sung to the melody of the soldiers’ tattoo.

“Let the song swell like the rushing wind,

In honour of those who this day are joined,

Although they stand here so stiff and bling,

Because they are both of a leathery kind.

Hurrah! hurrah! though they ’re deaf and blind,

Let the song swell like the rushing wind.”
And now they received presents—but they had declined to accept
provisions of any kind, for they intended to live on love.

“Shall we now go into a big summer lodging, or start on a
journey?” asked the bridegroom.

And the Swallow, who was a great traveller, and the old yard
Hen, who had brought up five broods of chickens, were con-
sulted on the subject. And the Swallow told of the beautiful
warm climes, where the grapes hung in ripe heavy clusters, where
the air is mild, and the mountains glow with colours unknown
here. :

“ But you have not our brown cole there!” objected the Hen.
“T was once in the country, with my children, in one summer
that lasted five weeks. There was a sand-pit, in which we could
walk about and scratch ; and we had the ev/rée to a garden where
brown cole grew: it was so hot there that one could scarcely
breathe.. And then we have not all the poisonous animals that
infest these warm countries of yours, and we are free from robbers.
He is a villian who does not consider our country the most beau-
tiful--he certainly does not deserve to be here!” And then the
96 OLE LUK-OIE.

Hen wept, and went on: “I have also travelled. 1 rode in a
coop about twelve miles; and there is no pleasure at all in
travelling !”

“Yes, the Hen is a sensible woman!” said the doll Bertha.
“T don’t think anything of travelling among mountains, for you
only have to go up, and then down again. No, we will go into
the sand-pit beyond the gate, and walk about in the cabbage
garden.”

And so it was settled.

SATURDAY.

‘Am I to hear some stories now?” asked little Hjalmar, as
soon as Ole Luk-Oie had sent him to sleep.

“ This evening we have no time for that,” replied Ole Luk-Oie;
and he spread his finest umbrella over the lad. ‘“ Only look at
these Chinamen !”

And the whole umbrella looked like a great China dish, with
blue trees and pointed bridges with little Chinamen upon them,
who stood there nodding their heads.

“We must have the whole world prettily decked out for to-
morrow morning,” said Ole Luk-Oie, “ for that will be a holiday
—it will be Sunday. I will go to the church steeples to see that
the little church goblins are polishing the bells, that they may
sound sweetly. I will go out into the field, and see if the breezes
are blowing the dust from the grass and leaves ; and, what is the
greatest work of all, I will bring down all the stars, to polish
them. I take them in my apron; but first each one must be
numbered, and the holes in which they are to be placed up there
must be numbered likewise, so that they may be placed in the
same grooves again; otherwise they would not sit fast, and we
should have too many shooting stars, for one after another would
fall down.” :

“Hark ye! Do you know, Mr. Ole Luk-Oie,” remarked an old
Portrait which hung upon the wall where Hjalmar slept, “I am
Hjalmar’s great-grandfather! I thank you for telling the boy
stories; but you must not confuse his ideas. The stars cannot
come down and be polished! The stars are world-orbs, just like
our own earth, and that is just the good thing about them.”

“YT thank you, old great-grandfather,” said Ole Luk-Oie, “I
thank you! You are the head of the family; you are the ancestral
head. But Iam older:‘than you! I am an old heathen: the
Romans and Greeks called me the Dream God. I have beenin
the noblest houses, and am admitted there still! 1 know how to
act with great people and with small! Now you may tell your
own story!” And Ole Luk-Oie took his umbrella, and went
away.

“Well, well! May one not even give an opinion now-a-days?”
grumbled the old Portrait. . And-Hjalmar awoke.
OLE LUK-OIE. 97

SUNDAY.

“Good evening!” said Ole Luk-Oie; and Hjalmar nodded,
and then ran and turned his great-grandfather’s Portrait against
the wall, that it might not interrupt them, as it had done yester-
day.

“ Now you must tell me stories—about the five green peas that
lived in one shell, and about the cock’s foot that paid court to
the hen’s foot, and of the darning-needle who gave herself such
airs because she thought herself a-working-needle.”

“There may be too much of a good thing !” said Ole Luk-Oie.
“You know that I prefer showing you something. I will show
you my own brother. His name, like mine, is Ole Luk-Oie, but
he never comes to any one more than once; and he takes him
to whom he comes upon his horse, and tells him stories. He only
knows two. One of these is so exceedingly beautiful that no one
in the world can imagine it, and the other so horrible and dread-
ful that it cannot be described.”

And then Ole Luk-Oie lifted little Hjalmar up to the window,
and said,

“There you will see my brother, the other Ole Luk-Oie. They
also call him Death! Do you see? he does not look so terrible
as they make him in the picture-books, where he is only a skeleton,
No, that is silver embroidery that he has on his coat; that isa
splendid hussar’s uniform; a mantle of black velvet flies behind
him over the horse. See how he gallops along!”

And Hjalmar saw how this Ole Luk-Oie rode away, and took
young people as well as old upon his horse. Some of them he
put before him, and some behind; but he always asked first—
“ How stands it with the mark-book?” “ Well,” they all replied.
“Yes, let me see it myself,” he said. And then each one had to
show him the book; and those who had “very well” and “ re-
markably well” written in their books, were placed in front of
his horse, and a lovely story was told to them; while those who
had “middling” or “tolerably well,” had to sit up behind, and
hear a very terrible story indeed. They trembled and wept, and
wanted to jump off the horse, but this they could not do, for they
had all, as it were, grown fast to it.

“But Death is a most splendid Olé Luk-Oie,” said Hjalmar.
“T am not afraid of him!”

“Nor need you be,” replied Ole Luk-Oie; “‘ but see that you
have a good mark-book!”

“Yes, that is improving!” muttered the great-grandfather’s
Picture. “It is of some use giving one’s opinion.” And now he
was Satisfied.

You see, that is the story of Ole Luk-Oie; and now he may
tell you more himself, this evening!

7
98

THE BEETLE.

HE Emperor’s favourite horse was shod with gold. It
i had a golden shoe on each of its feet.
And why was this? :

He was a beautiful creature, with delicate legs, bright intelli-
gent eyes, and a mane that hung down over his neck like a veil.
He had carried his master through the fire and smoke of battle,
and heard the bullets whistling around him, had kicked, bitten,
and taken part in the fight when the enemy advanced, and had
sprung with his master on his back over the fallen foe, and had
saved the crown of red gold, and the life of the Emperor, which
was even more valuable than the red gold ; and that is why the
Emperor’s horse had golden shoes,

And a Beetle came creeping forth.

“First the great ones,” said he, “and then the little ones; but
greatness is not the only thing that does it.” And so saying, he
stretched out his thin legs.

“ And pray what do you want?” asked the smith.

“Golden shoes, to be sure,” replied the Beetle.

“ Why, you must be out of your senses!” cried the smith. ‘‘ Do
you want to have golden shoes too?”

“Golden shoes? certainly,” replied the Beetle. “Am I not
just as good as that big creature yonder, that is waited on, and
brushed, and has meat and drink put before him? Don't I
belong to the imperial stable ?”

“ But why is the horse to have golden shoes? Don’t you under-
stand that?” asked the smith.

“Understand? I understand that itis a personal slight offered
to myself,” cried the Beetle. It is done to annoy me, and there-
fore I am going into the world to seek my fortune.”

“Go along!” said the smith.

“You’re a rude fellow!” cried the Beetle: and then he went
out of the stable, flew a little way, and soon afterwards found
himself in a beautiful flower garden, all fragrant with roses and
lavender.

“Ts it not beautiful here?” asked one of the little Lady-Birds
that flew about, with their delicate wings and their red-and-black
shields on their backs. “ How sweet it is here—how beautiful
it is!”

“T?m accustomed to better things,” said the Beetle. “ Do you
call ¢4zs beautiful? Why, there is not so much as a dung-heap.”

Then he went on, under the shadow of a great stack, and
found a Caterpillar crawling along.

“ How beautiful the world is!” said the Caterpillar: “the sun
THE BEETLE. 99

is so warm, and everything so enjoyable! And when I go to
sleep, and die, as they call it, I shall wake up as a butterfly, with
beautiful wings to fly with.”

“ How conceited you are!” exclaimed the Beetle.. “ You fly
about as a butterfly, indeed! I’ve come out of the stable of the
Emperor, and no one there—-not even the Emperor’s favourite
horse, that, by the way, wears my cast-off golden shoes—has any
such idea. . To have wings to fly! why, we can fly now.” And
he spread his wings and flew away. ‘I don’t want to be annoyed,
and yet I am annoyed,” he said, as he flew off.

Soon afterwards he fell down upon a great lawn. For awhile
he lay there and feigned slumber; at last he really fell asleep in
earnest.

Suddenly a heavy shower of rain came falling from the clouds.
The Beetle woke up at the noise, and wanted to escape into the
earth, but could not. , He was tumbled over and over: some-
times he was swimming on his stomach, sometimes on his back,
and as for flying, that was out of the question; he doubted
whether he should escape from the place with his life. He there-
fore remained lying where he was.

When the weather had moderated a little, and the Beetle had
rubbed the water out of his eyes, he saw something gleaming. It
was linen that had been placed there to bleach. He managed to
make his way up to it, and crept into a fold of the damp linen.
Certainly the place was not so comfortable to lie in as the warm
stable; but there was no better to be had, and therefore he re-
mained lying there for a whole day and a whole night, and the
rain kept on during all the time. Towards morning he crept
forth: he was very much out of temper about the climate.

On the linen two Frogs were sitting. Their bright eyes abso-
lutely gleamed with pleasure.

“ Wonderful weather this!” one of them cried. “ How refresh-
ing! And the linen keeps the water together so beautifully. My
hind legs seem to quiver as if I were going to swim.”

“T should like to know,” said the second, “if the swallow, who
flies so far round, in her many journeys in foreign lands ever
meets with a better climate than this. What delicious dampness!
It is really as if one were lying in a wet ditch. Whoever does
not rejoice in this, certainly does not love his fatherland.”

“Have you been in the Emperor’s stable?” asked the Bettle;
“there the dampness is warm and refreshing. That’s the climate
for me; but I cannot take it with me on my journey. Is there
never a muck-heap, here in the garden, where a person of rank,
‘ike myself, can feel himself at home, and take up his quarters?”

But the Frogs either did not or would not understand him.

“J never ask a question twice!” said the Beetle, after he had
already asked this one three times without receiving any answer.

Then he went a little farther, and stumbled against a fragment

7—2
100 THE BEETLE.

of pottery, that certainly ought not to have been lying there; but
as it was once there, it gave a good shelter against wind and
weather. Here dwelt several families of Earwigs; and these did
not require much, only sociality. The female members of the
community were full of the purest maternal affection, and accord-
ingly each one considered her owa child the most beautiful and
cleverest of all.

“Our son has engaged himself,” said one mother. “ Dear, in-
nocent boy! His greatest hope is that he may creep one day
into a clergyman’s ear. It’s very artless and lovable, that ; and
being engaged will keep him steady. What joy for a mother!”

“ Our son,” said another mother, “had scarcely crept out of
the egg, when he was already off on his travels. He’s all life
and spirits; he’li run his horns off! What joy that is for a
mother! Is it not so, Mr. Beetle?” for she knew the stranger
by his horny coat.

“You are both quite right,” said he; so they begged him to
walk in ; that is to say, to come as far as he could under the bit
of pottery.

“ Now you also see my little earwig,” observed a third mother
and a fourth; “they are lovely little things, and highly amusing.
They are never ill behaved, except when they are uncomfortable
in their inside; but, unfortunately, one is very subject to that at
their age.”

Thus each mother spoke of her baby; and the babies talked
among themselves, and made use of the little nippers they have
in their tails to nip the beard of the Beetle.

“Yes, they are always busy about something, the little rogues!”
said the mothers; and they quite beamed with maternal pride;
but the Beetle felt bored by that, and therefore he inquired how
far it was to the nearest muck-heap.

“That is quite out in the big world, on the other side of the
ditch,” answered an Earwig. “I hope none of my children will
go so far, for it would be the death of me.”

“ But I shall try to get so far,” said the Beetle ; and he went
off without taking formal leave; for that is considered the polite
thing todo. And by the ditch he met several friends; Beetles,
all of them.

“Here we live,” they said. ‘We are very comfortable here.
Might we ask you to step down into this rich mud? You must
be fatigued after your journey.”

“Certainly,” replied the Beetle. “I have been exposed to the
rain, and have had to lie upon linen, and cleanliness is a thing that
greatly exhausts me. I have also pains in one of my wings, from
standing in a draught under a fragment of pottery. It is really
quite refreshing to be among one’s companions once more.”

“Perhaps you come from a muck heap?” observed the oldest
of them.
THE BEETLE. 101

“ indeed, I come from a much higher place,” replied the Beetle.
“T came from the Emperor’s stable, where I was born with golden
shoes on my feet. I am travelling on a secret embassy. You
must not ask me any questions, for I can’t betray my secret.”

With this the Beetle stepped down into the rich mud? There
sat three young maiden Beetles; and they tittered, because they
did not know what to say.

“Not one of them is engaged yet,” said their mother; and the
Beetle maidens tittered again, this time from embarrassment.

“T have never seen greater beauties in the royal stables,” ex-
claimed the Beetle, who was now resting himself.

“ Don’t spoil my girls,” said the mother; “and don’t talk to
them, please, unless you have serious intentions. But of course
your intentions are serious, and therefore I give you my blessing.”

“ Hurrah !” eried all the other Beetles together ; and our friend
was engaged. Immediately after the betrothal came the mar-
riage, for there was no reason for delay.

The following day passed very pleasantly, and the next in
tolerable comfort ; but on the third it was time to think of food
for the wife, and perhaps also for children.

“T have allowed myself to be taken in,” said our Beetle to
himself. ‘And now there’s nothing for it but to take zem in,
in turn.”

So said, so done. Away he went, and he stayed away all day,
and stayed away all night ; and hiswife sat there,a forsaken widow.

“ Oh,” said the other Bettles, “this fellow whom we received
into our family is nothing more than a thorough vagabond. He
is gone away, and has left his wife a burden upon our hands.”

“Well, then, she shall be unmarried again, and sit here among
my daughters,” said the mother. “ Fie on the villain who for-
sook her!”

In the meantime the Beetle had been journeying on, and had
sailed across the ditch on a cabbage-leaf. In the morning two
persons came to the ditch. When they saw him, they took him
up, and turned him over and over, and looked very learned,
especially one of them—a boy.

‘Allah sees the black beetle in the black stone and in the
black rock. Is not that written in the Koran?” Then he trans-
lated the Beetle’s name into Latin, and enlarged upon the crea-
ture’s nature and history. The second person, an older scholar,
voted for carrying him home. He said they wanted just such
good specimens; and this seemed an uncivil speech to our
Beetle, and in consequence he flew suddenly out of the speaker’s
hand. As he had now dry wings, he flew a tolerable distance,
and reached a hotbed, where a sash of the glass roof was partly
open, so he quietly slipped in and buried himself in the warm earth,

“Very comfortable it is here,” said he.

Soon after he went to sleep, and dreamed that the Emperor’s
102 THE BEETLE,



al

The Scholars find the Beetle.



favourite horse had fallen, and had given him his golden shoes,
with the promise that he should have two more.

That was all very charming. When the Beetle woke up, he
crept forth and looked around him. What splendour was in the
hothouse! In the background great palm trees growing up on
high; the sun made them look transparent ; and beneath them
what a luxuriance of green, and of beaming flowers, red as fire,
yellow as amber, or white as fresh-fallen snow !

“This is an incomparable plenty of plants,” cried the Beetle.
“ How goad they will taste when they are decayed! A capital
store-room this ! There must certainly be relations of mine living
THE BEETLE. . 103

here. I will just see if I can find any one with whom I may
associate. I’m proud, certainly, and I’m proud of being so.”

And so he prowled about in the earth, and thought what a
pleasant dream that was about the dying horse, and the golden
shoes he had inherited.

Suddenly a hand seized the Beetle, and pressed him, and
turned him round and round.

The gardener’s little son and a companion had come to the
hotbed, and espied the Beetle, and wanted to have their fun with
him. First he was wrapped in a vine-leaf, and then put into
warm trousers pocket. He cribbled and crabbled about there
with all his might ; but he got a good pressing from the boy’s
hand for this, which served as a hint to him to keep quiet. Then
the boy went rapidly towards the great lake that lay at the end
of the garden. Here the Beetle was put in an old broken wooden
shoe, on which a little stick was placed upright for a mast, and to
this mast the Beetle was bound with a woollen thread. Now he
was a sailor, and had to sail away.

The lake was not very large, but to the Beetle it seemed an
ocean ; and he was so astonished at its extent, that he fell over
on his back and kicked out with his legs.

The little ship sailed away. The current of the water seized
it ; but whenever he went too far from the shore, one of the boys
turned up his trousers and went in after it, and brought it back
to the land. But at length, just as it went merrily out again, the
two boys were called away, and very harshly, so that they hurried
to obey the summons, ran away from the lake,-and left the little
ship to its fate. Thus it drove away from the shore, farther and
farther into the open sea: it was terrible work for the Beetle, for
he could not get away in consequence of being bound to the mast.

Then a Fly came and paid him a visit.

“What beautiful weather!” said the Fly. “I’ll rest here, and
sun myself. You have an agreeable time of it.”

“You speak without knowing the facts,” replied the Beetle.
“Don’t you see that I’m a prisoner ?”

“Ah! but I’m not a prisoner,” observed the Fly ; and he flew
away accordingly. ,

“ Well, now I know the world,” said the Beetle to himself. ‘It
is an abominable world. I’m the only honest person in it. First,
they refuse me my golden shoes ; then I have to lie on wet linen,
and to stand in the draught ; and, to crown all, they fasten a wife
upon me. Then, when I’ve taken a quick step out into the
world, and found out how one can have it there, and how I
wished to have it, one of those human boys comes and ties me
up, and leaves me to the mercy of the wild waves, while the Em-
peror’s horse prances about proudly in golden shoes. ‘That is
what annoys me more than all, But one must not look for sym-
pathy in this world! My career has been very interesting ; but
104. THE BEETLE.

what’s the use of that, if nobody knows it? The world does
not deserve to be made acquainted with my history, for it ought
to have given me golden shoes, when the Emperor’s horse was
shod, and I stretched out my feet to be shod too. If I had re-
ceived golden shoes, I should have become an ornament to the
stable. Now the stable has lost me, and the world has lost me.
It is all over!”

But all was not over yet. A boat, in which there were a few
young girls, came rowing up.

“ Look, yonder is an old wooden shoe sailing along,” said one
of the girls.

“ There’s a little creature bound fast to it,” said another.

The boat came quite close to the Beetle’s ship, and the young
girls fishes him out of the water. One of them drew a small pair
of scissors from her pocket, and cut the woollen thread, without
hurting the Beetle ; and when she stepped on shore, she put him
down on the grass.

“ Creep, creep—fly, fly—if thou canst,” she said. “ Liberty is
a splendid thing.”

And the Beetle flew up, and straight through the open window
of agreat building ; there he sank down, tired and exhausted,
exactly on the mane of the Emperor’s favourite horse, who stood
in the stable when he was at home, and the Beetle also. The
Beetle clung fast to the mane, end sat there a short time to re-
cover himself.

“ Here I’m sitting on the Empeyor’s favourite horse—sitting
on him just like the Emperor himself!” he cried. “ But what
was I saying? Yes, now I remember. That’s a good thought,
and quite correct. The smith asked me why the golden shoes
were given to the horse. Now I’m quite clear about the answer.
They were given to the horse on my account.”

And now the Beetle was in a good temper again.

“Travelling expands the mind rarely,” said he.

The sun’s rays came streaming into the stable, and shone
upon him, and made the place lively and bright.

“The world is not so bad upon the whole,” said the Beetle ;
‘hut one must know how to take things as they come.”
105

WHAT THE OLD MAN DOES IS ALWAYS
RIGHT.



[Gi] WILL tell you the story which was told to me when I
iC By was a little boy. Every time I thought of the story, it
seemed to me to become more and more charming ; for
it is with stories as it is with many people—they become better
as they grow older.

I take it for granted that you have been in the country, and
seen a very old farm-house with a thatched roof, and mosses and
small plants growing wild upon the thatch. There is a stork’s
nest on the summit of the gable; for we can’t do without the
stork. The walls of the house are sloping, and the windows are
low, and only one of the latter is made so that it will open. The
baking-oven sticks out of the wall like a little fat body. The
elder tree hangs over the paling, and beneath its branches, at
the foot of the paling, is a pool of water in which a few ducks
are disporting themselves. There is a yard dog too, who barks
at all comers. ‘

Just such a farm-house stood out in the country ; and in this
house dwelt an old couple—a peasant and his wife. Small as
was their property, there was one article among it that they
could do without—a horse, which made a living out of the grass
it found by the side of the high road. The old peasant rode into
the town on this horse ; and often his neighbours borrowed it of
him, and rendered the old couple some service in return for the
loan of it. Butthey thought it would be best if they sold the
horse, or exchanged it for something that might be more useful
tothem. But what might this something be?

“ You ’ll know that best, old man,” said the wife. “It is fair-
day to-day, so ride into town, and get rid of the horse for money,
or make a good exchange: whichever you do will be right to me.
Ride off to the fair.”

And she fastened his neckerchief for him, for she could do that
better than he could; and she tied it ina double bow, for she
could do that very prettily. Then she brushed his hat round and
round with the palm of her hand, and gave him a kiss. So he
rode away upon the horse that was to be sold or to be bartered
for something else. Yes, the old man knew what he was about.

The sun shone hotly down, and not a cloud was.to be seen in
the sky. The road was very dusty, for many people who were
all bound for the fair were driving, or riding, or walking upon it.
There was no shelter anywhere from the sunbeams.

Among the rest, 2 man was trudging along, and driving a cow
106 WHAT THE OLD MAN DOES 1S ALWAYS RIGHT.

to the fair. The cow was as beautiful a creature as any cow
can be.

“She gives good milk, I’m sure,” said the peasant. “ That
would be a very good exchange—the cow for the horse.”

“ Hallo, you there with the cow!” hesaid ; “I tell you what—
I fancy a horse costs more than a cow, but I don’t care for that ;
a cow would be more useful to me. If you like, we’ll exchange.”

“To be sure I will,” returned the man ; and they exchanged
accordingly.

So that was settled, and the peasant might have turned back,
for he had done the business he came to do; but has he had once
made up his mind to go to the fair, he determined to proceed,
merely to have a look at it; and so he went on to the town with
his cow.

Leading the animal, he strode sturdily on; and after a short
time, he overtook a man who was driving a sheep. It was a
good fat sheep, with a fine fleece on its back.

“T should like to have that fellow,” said our peasant to himself.
“ He would find plenty of grass by our palings, and in the winter
we could keep him in the room with us. Perhaps it would be more
practical to have a sheep instead of a cow. Shall we exchange ?”

The man with the sheep was quite ready, and the bargain was
struck. So our peasant went on in the high road with his sheep.

Soon he overtook another man, who came into the road from
a field, carrying a great goose under his arm.

“That ’s a heavy thing you have there. It has plenty of feathers
and plenty of fat, and would look well tied to a string, and paddling
in the water at our place. That would be something for my old
woman; she could make all kinds of profit out of it. How often
she has said, ‘If we only had a goose!’ Now, perhaps, she can
have one ; and, if possible, it shall be hers. Shall we exchange ;
I’ll give you my sheep for your goose, and thank you into the
bargain.” .

The other man had not the least objection; and accordingly
they exchanged, and our peasant became proprietor of the
goose.

By this time he was very near the town. The crowd on the
high road became greater and greater; there was quite a crush
of men and cattle. They walked in the road, and close by the
palings ; and at the barrier they even walked into the toll-man’s
potato-field, where his own fowl was strutting about with a string
to its legs, lest it should take fright at the crowd, and stray away,
and so be lost. This fowl had short tail-feathers. and winked
with both its eyes, and looked very cunning. “ Cluck, cluck !”
said the fowl. What it thought when it said this I cannot tell
you ; but directly our good man saw it, he thought, ‘‘ That’s the
finest fowl I’ve ever seen in my life! Why, it’s finer than our
parson’s brood hen. On my word, I should like to have that
WHAT THE OLD MAN DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT. 107

fowl. A fowl can always find a grain or two, and can almost
keep itself. Ithink it would be a good exchange if I could get
that for my goose.

“ Shall we exchange?” he asked the toll-taker.

“Exchange !” repeated the man; “well, that would not be a
bad thing.”

And so they exchanged : the toll-taker at the barrier kept the
goose, and the peasant carried away the fowl.

Now, he had done a good deal of business on his way to the
fair, and he was hot and tired. He wanted something to eat, and
a glass of brandy to drink ; and soon he was in front of the inn
He was just about to step in, when the hostler came out, so they
met at the door. The hostler was carrying a sack.

“What have you in that sack?” asked the peasant.

“ Rotten apples,” answered the hostler ; “a whole sack-full of
them—enough to feed the pigs with.”

“Why, that’s terrible waste! I should like to take them to
my old woman at home. Last year the old tree by the turf-hole
only bore a single apple, and we kept it in the cupboard till it was
quite rotten and spoiled. ‘ It was always property,’ my old woman
said ; but here she could see a quantity of property—a whole sack-
full. Yes, I shall be glad to show them to her.”

“What will you give me for the sack-full ?” asked the hostler.

“What will I give? I will give my fowl in exchange.”

And hegave the fowl accordingly, and received theapples, which
he carried into the guest-room. He leaned the sack carefully by
the stove, and then went to thetable, But the stove was hot: he
had not thought of that. Many guests were present—horse dealers,
ox-herds, and two Englishmen—and the two Englishmen were so
rich that their pockets bulged out with gold coins, and almost
burst ; and they could bet too, as you shall hear.

Hiss-s-s ! hiss-s-s ! What was that by the stove? The apples
were beginning to roast.

“ What is that?”

“Why, do you know—” said our peasant.

And he told the whole story of the horse that he had ee
for a cow, and all the rest of it down to the apples.

“ Well, your old woman will give it you wellwhen you get home,”
said one of the Englishmen. “ There will be a disturbance.”

“What ?—give me what?” said the peasant. “She will kiss
me, and say, ‘ What the old man does is always right.’”

“ Shall we wager?” said the Englishman. ‘“We’ll wager coined
gold by the ton——a hundred pounds to the hundredweight !”

“ A bushel will be enough,” replied the peasant. “I can only
set the bushel of apples against it ; and I’ll throw myselfand my
old woman into the bargain—and I fancy that’s piling up the
measure.”

“ Done—taken !”
108 WHAT THE OLD MAN DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT.

And the bet was made. The host’s carriage came up, and the
Englishmen got in, and the peasant got in ; away they went, and
soon they stopped before the peasant’s hut,

“ Good evening, old woman.”

“ Good evening, old man.”

“ T ve made exchange.” :

“Yes, you understand what you’re about,” said the woman.

And she embraced him, and paid no attention to the stranger
guests, nor did she notice the sack. ;

“T got a cow in exchange for the horse,” said he.

“Heaven be thanked!” said she. ‘‘ What glorious milk we
shall now have, and butter and cheese upon the table! That
was a most capital exchange !”

“Yes, but I change the cow for a sheep.”

“ Ah, that’s better still!” cried the wife. ‘“ You always think
of everything : we have just pasture enough for a sheep. Ewe’s-
milk and cheese, and woollen jackets and stockings! The cow
cannot give those, and her hairs will only come off. How you
think of everything !”

“ But I changed away the sheep for a goose.”

“Then this year we shall really have roast goose to eat, my
dear old man. You are always thinking of something to give me
pleasure. How charming that is! We can let the goose walk
about with a string to her leg, and she’ll grow fatter still before
we roast her.” ,

“ But I gave away the goose for a fowl,” said the man.

“A fowl? That was a good exchange!” replied the woman.
“The fowl will lay eggs and hatch them,and we shall soon have
chickens : we shall have a whole poultry-yard: Oh, that’s just
what I was wishing for.”

“Yes, but I exchanged the fowl for a sack of shrivelled apples.”

“ What !—I must positively kiss you for that,” exclaimed the
wife. “ My dear, good husband! Now I'll tell you something.
Do you know, you had hardly left me this morning, before I
began thinking how I could give you something very nice this
evening. I thought it should be pancakes with savoury herbs,
I had eggs, and bacon too; but I wanted herbs. So I went over
to the schoolmaster’s—they have herbs there, I know—but the
schoolmistress is a mean woman, though she looks so sweet, I
begged her to lend mea handful ofherbs, ‘Lend!’ she answered
me; ‘nothing at all grows in our garden, not even a shrivelled
apple. I could not even lend you a shrivelled apple, my dear
woman.’ But now J can lend her twenty, or a whole sack-full,
That I’m very glad of ; that makes me laugh!” And with that
she gave him a sounding kiss.

“T like that!” exclaimed both the Englishmen together.

“Always going down-hill, and always merry ; that’s worth the
money.”
GOOD HUMOUR. 109

So they paida hundredweight of gold to the peasant, who was
not scolded, but kissed.

Yes, it always pays, when the wife sees and always asserts that
her husband knows best, and that whatever he does is right.

You see, that is my story. Iheard it when I was a child ; and
now you have heard it too, and know that “ What the old man
does is always right.”

GOOD HUMOUR.

Y father left me the best inheritance, to wit—good humour.
And who was my father? Why, that has nothing to do
with the humour. He was lively and stout, round and
fat ; and his outer and inner man was in direct contradiction to
his.calling. And pray what was he by profession and calling in
civil society? Yes, if this were to be written down and printed
in the very beginning of a book, it is probable that many when
they read it would lay the book aside, and say, “It looks so
uncomfortable ; I don’t lixe anything of that sort.” And yet my
father was neither a horse slaughterer nor an executioner ; on
the contrary, his office placed him at the head of the most respect-
able gentry of the town; and he held his place by right, for it
was his right place. He had to go first before the bishop even, and
before the Princes of the Blood. He always went first—for he
was the driver of the hearse !

There, now it’s out! And I will confess that when people saw
my father sitting perched up on the omnibus of death, dressed
in his long, wide, black cloak, and with his black-bordered three-
cornered hat on his head—and then his face, exactly as the sun
is drawn, round and jocund—it was difficult for them to think of
the grave and of sorrow. The face said, “It doesn’t matter ; it
doesn’t matter: it will be better than one thinks.”

You see, I have inherited my good humour from him, and also
the habit of going often to the churchyard, which is a good thing
to do if it be done in the right spirit; and then I take in the
“ Intelligencer,” just as he used to do.

I am not quite young. I have neither wife, nor children, nor
a librar: ; but, as aforesaid, I take in the “ Intelligencer,” and
that’s my favourite newspaper, as it was also my father’s. It is
very useful, and contains everything that a man needs to know—
such as who preaches in the church in the new books. And then
what a lot of charity, and what a numoer af innocent, harmless


110 GOOD HUMOUR.

verses are found in it! Advertisements for husbands and wives,
and requests for interviews—all quite simple and natural. Cer-
tainly, one may live merrily and be contentedly buried if one takes
in the “Intelligencer.” And, as a concluding advantage, by the
end of his life a man will have such a capital store of paper, that
he may use it as a soft bed, unless he prefers to rest upon wood-
shavings. :

The newspaper and my walk to the churchyard were always
my most exciting occupations—they were like bathing-places for
my good humour. :

The newspaper every one can read for himself. But please
come with me to the churchyard; let us wander there where the
sun shines and the trees grow green. Each of the narrow houses
is like a closed book, with the back placed uppermost, so that
one can only read the title and judge what the book contains, but
can tell nothing about it; but I knowsomething about them. I
heard it from my father, or found it out myself. I have it all
down in my record that I wrote out for my own use and pleasure:
all that lie here, and a few more too, are chronicled in it.

Now we are in the churchyard.

Here, behind the white railing, where once a rose tree grew—
it is gone now, but a little evergreen from the next grave stretches
out its green fingers to make a show—there rests a very unhappy
man; and yet, when he lived, he was in what they call a good
position, He had enough to live upon, and something over; but
worldly cares, or, to speak more correctly, his great artistic taste,
weighed heavily upon him. If in the evening he sat in the the- -
atre to enjoy himself thorougly, he would be quite put out if the
machinist had put too strong a light into one side of the moon,
or if the sky-pieces hung down over the scenes when they ought
to have hung behind them, or when a palm tree was introduced
into a scene representing the Berlin Zoological Gardens, or a
cactus in a view of the Tyrol, or a beech tree in the far north
of Norway. As if that was of any consequence, It is not quite
immaterial? Who would fidget about such a trifle? It’s only
make-believe, after all, and every one is expected to be amused.
Then sometimes the public applauded too much to suit his taste,
and sometimes too little, “They ’re like wet wood this evening,”
he would say ; “they won’t kindle at all!” And then he would
look round to seeawhat kind of people they were; and sometimes
he would find them laughing at the wrong time, when they ought
not to have laughed, and that vexed him: and he fretted, and
was an unhappy man, and at last fretted himself into his grave.

Here rests a very happy man. That is to say, a very grand
man. He was of high birth, and that was lucky for him, for
otherwise he would never have been anything worth speaking of;
and nature orders all that very wisely, so that it’s quite charm-
GOOD HUMOUR, © rr















ey m ps ’ 4

Nw a yy, Too

Zhe Churchyard narration.



ing when we think of it. Ue used to go about in a coat em-
broidered back and front, and appeared in the saloons of society
just like one of those costly, pearl-embroidered bell-pulls, which
have always a good, thick, serviceable cord behind them to do
the work, He likewise had a good stout cord behind him, in
the shape of a substitute, who did his duty, and who still con-
112 GOOD HUMOUR.

tinues to do it behind another embroidered bell-pull. Every-
thing is so nicely managed, it’s enough to put one into a good
humour. ;

Here rests—well, it’s a very mournful reflection—here rests a
man who spent sixty-seven years considering how he should get
a good idea. The sole object of his life was to say a good thing,
and at last he felt convinced in his own mind that he had got
one, was so glad of it that he died of pure joy at having caught
an idea at last. Nobody derived any benefit from it, and nobody
even heard what the good thing was. Now, I can fancy that
this same good thing won’t let him lie quiet in his grave ; for let
us suppose that it is a good thing which can only be broyght out
at breakfast if it is to make an effect, and that he, according to
the received opinion concerning ghosts, can only rise and walk
at midnight. Why, then the good thing would not suit the time,
and the man must carry his good idea down with him again.
What an unhappy man he must be! en

Here rests a remarkably stingy woman. During her lifetime
she used to get up at night and mew, so that the neighbours
might think she kept a cat—she was so remarkably stingy.

Here is a maiden of another kind. When the canary bird of
the heart begins to chirp, reason puts her fingers in her ears,
The maiden was going to be married, but—well, it’s an every-
day story, and we will let the dead rest.

Here sleeps a widow, who carried melody in her mouth and
gall in her heart. She used to go out for prey in the families
round about; and the prey she hunted was her neighbours’ faults,
and she was an indefatigable hunter.

Here’s a family sepulchre. Every member of this family held
so firmly to the opinions of the rest, that if all the world, and the
newspapers into the bargain, said of a certain thing it is so and
so, and the little boy came home from school, and said, “I’ve
learned it thus and thus,” they declared his opinion to be the
only true one, because he belonged to the family. And it is an
acknowledged fact, that if the yard cock of the family crowed at
midnight, they would declare it was morning, though the watch-
men and all the clocks in the city were crying out that it was
twelve o’clock at night.

The great poet Goéthe concludes his “ Faust” with the words
“may be continued ;” and our wanderings in the churchyard
may be continued too. If any of my friends, or my non-friends,
go on too fast for me, I go out to my favourite spot, and select a
mound, and bury him or her there—bury that person who is yet
alive ; and there those I bury must stay till they come back as
new and improved characters, I inscribe their life and their
deeds, looked at in my fashion, in my record; and that’s what
all people ought to do. They ought not to be vexed when any
one goes on ridiculously, but bury him directly, and maintain
CHILDREN’S PRATTLE. 113
their good humour, and keep to the “ Intelligencer,” which is
often a book written by the people with its hand guided.

When the time comes for me to be bound with my history in

the boards of the grave, I hope they will put up as my epitaph,
“ A good-humoured one.” And that’s my story.

CHILDREN’S PRATTLE.

fay\@l|T the rich merchant’s there was a children’s party: rich
a) people’s children and grand people’s children were there.
The merchant wac a learned man: he had once gone
through the college examinarion, for his honest father had kept
him to this, his father who had at first only been a cattle dealer,
but always an honest and industrious man. The trade had
brought money, and the merchant had managed to increase the
store. Clever he was, and he had also a heart, but there was less
said of his heart than of his money. At the merchant’s, grand
people went in and out—people of blood, as it is called, and
people of intellect, and people who had both of these, and people
who had neither. Now there was a children’s party there, and
children’s prattle, and children speak frankly from the heart.
Among the rest there was a beautiful little girl, but the little one
was terribly proud; but the servants had taught her that, not her
parents, who were far too sensible people. Her father was a
Groom of the Bed-chamber, and that is a very grand office, and
she knew it.

“Tam a child of the bed-chamber,” she said.

Now she might just as well have been a child of the cellar,
for nobody can help his birth; and then she told the other chil-
dren that she was “well born,” and said that no one who was
not well born could get on far in the world: it was of no use to
read and to be industrious, if one was not well born one could
not achieve anything.

“And those whose names end with ‘sen,’” said she, “ they
cannot beanything at all. One must put one’s arms akimbo and
make the elbows quite pointed, and keep them at a great dis-
tance, these ‘ sen!’” :

And she stuck out her pretty little arms, and made her elbows
quite pointed, to show how it was to be done, and her little arms
were very pretty. She was a sweet little girl.

But the little daughter of the merchant became very angry at
this speech, for her father’s name was Petersen, and ie knew


fig CHILDREN’S PRATTLE,

that the name ended in “sen;” and therefore she said, as proudly
as ever she could,

“ But my papa can buy *. hundred dollars’ worth of bon-bons,
and throw them to the children! Can your papa do that ?”

“Yes, but my papa,” said an author’s little daughter, “my papa
can put your papa and everybody’s papa into the newspaper. All
people are afraid of him, my mamma says, for it is my father
who rules in the paper.”

And the little maiden looked exceedingly proud, as though she
had been a real Princess, who is expected to look proud.

But outside at the door, which was ajar, stood a poor boy,
peeping through the crack of the door. He was of such lowly
station that he was not even allowed to enter the room. He had
turned the spit for the cook, and she had allowed him to stand
behind the door, and to look at the well-dressed children who
i. making a merry day within, and for him that was a great

eal.

“Oh, to be one of them!” thought he; and then he heard what
was said, which was certainly calculated to make him very un-
happy. His parents at home had not a penny to spare to buy a
newspaper, much less could they write one; and what was worst
of all, his father’s name, and consequently his own, ended com-
pletely in “sen,” and so he could not turn out well. That was
terrible. But, after all, he had been born, and very well born as
it seemed to him; that could not be otherwise.

And that is what was done on that evening,

Many years have elapsed since then, and in the course of years
children became grown-up persons.

In the town stood a splendid house ; it was filled with all kinds
of beautiful objects and treasures, and all people wished to see
it; even people who dwelt out of town came to see it. Which of
the children of whom we have told might call this house his own?
To know that is very easy. No, no; it isnot so very easy. The
house belonged to the poor little boy who had stood on that night
behind the door, and he had become something great, although
his name ended in “ sen,”—THORWALDSEN.

And the three other children? the children of d/ood and of
money, and of spiritual pride? Well, they had nothing where-
with to reproach each other—they turned out well enough, for
they had been well dowered by bountiful nature 3 and what they

had thought and spoken on that evenii
childen’s prattle. NEB S80 SES
115

THE FLYING TRUNK.

HERE was once a merchant, who was so rich that he
could pave the whole street with gold, and almost have
enough left for a little lane. But he did not do that; he
knew how to employ his money differently. When he spent a
shilling he got back a crown, such a clever merchant was he ;
and this continued till he died.

His son now got all this money ; and he lived merrily, going
to the masquerade every evening, making kites out of dollar
notes, and playing at ducks and drakes on the sea-coast with
gold pieces instead of pebbles, In this way the money might
soon be spent, and indeed it was so. At last he had no more
than four shillings left, and no clothes to wear but a pair of
slippers and an old dressing-gown. Now his friends did not
trouble themselves any more about him, as they could not walk
with him in the street, but one of them, who was good-natured
sent him an old trunk, with the remark, “ Pack up!” Yes, that
was all very well, but he had nothing to pack, therefore he seated
himself in the trunk.

That was a wonderful trunk. So soon as any one pressed the
lock, the trunk could fly. He pressed it, and whir7 / away flew
the trunk with him through the chimney and over the clouds,
farther and farther away. But as often as the bottom of the trunk
cracked a little he was in great fear lest it might go to pieces,
and then he would have flung a fine somersault ! In that way
he came to the land of the Turks. He hid the trunk in a wood
under some dry leaves, and then went into the town. He could
do that very well, for among the Turks all the people went
dressed like himself in dressing-gown and slippers. Then he met
a nurse with a little child.

“Here, you Turkishnurse,” he began,” “ what kind ofagreat castle
is that close by the town, in which the windows are so high up ?”

“There dwells the Sultan’s daughter,” replied she. “ It is pro-
phesied that she will be very unhappy respecting a lover ; and
therefore nobody may go to her, unless the Sultan and Sultana
are there too.”

“Thank you !” said the merchant’s son ; and he went out into
the forest, seated himself in his trunk, flew on the roof, and crept
through the window into the Princess’s room.

She was lying asleep on the sofa, and she was so beautiful that
the merchant’s son was compelled to kiss her. Then she awoke,
and was very much startled; but he said he was a Turkish angel
who had come down to her through the air, and that pleased her.

They sat down side by side, and he told her stories about her
eyes ; he told her they were the most glorious dark lakes, and
8—2


x16 THE FLYING TRUNK.

that thoughts were swimming about in them like mermaids. And
he told her about her forehead ; that it was a snowy mountain
with the most splendid halls and pictures. And he told her about
the stork who brings the lovely little children. : ;

Yes, those were fine histories! Then he asked the Princess if
she would marry him, and she said “ Yes,” directly.

“ But you must come here on Saturday,” said she. “ Then the
Sultan and the Sultana will be here to tea, They will be very
proud that I am to marry a Turkish angel. But take care that
you know a very pretty story, for both my parents are very fond.
indeed of stories. My mother likes them high-flown and moral,
but my father likes them merry, so that one can laugh.”

“Yes, I shall bringno marriage gift but a story,” said he ; and
so they parted. But the Princess gave him a sabre, the sheath
embroidered with gold pieces, and that was very useful to him.

Now he flew away, bought a new dressing-gown, and sat in
the forest and made up a story; it was to be ready by Saturday,
and that was not an easy thing.

By the time he had finished it Saturday had come. The Sultan
and his wife and all the Court were at the Princess’s to tea, He
was received very graciously.

“Will you relate us a story?” said the Sultana ; one that is
deep and edifying.”

“Yes, but one that we can laugh at,” said the Sultan.

“Certainly,” he replied ; and began. And now listen well.

“‘There was once a bundle of Matches, and these Matches were
particularly proud of their high descent. Their genealogical tree,
that is to say, the great fir tree of which each of them was alittle
splinter, had been a great old tree out in the forest. The Matches
now lay between a Tinder-Box and an old iron Pot; and they
were telling about the days of their youth. ‘Yes, when we were
upon the green boughs,’ they said, ‘ then we really were upon the
green boughs! Every morning and evening there was diamond
tea for us’ (meaning dew) ; ‘we had sunshine all day long when-
ever the sun shone, and all the little birds had to tell stories. We
could see very well that we were rich, for the other trees were only
dressed out in summer, while our family had the means to wear
green dresses in the winter as well. But then the woodcutter came,
like a great revolution, and our family was broken up. The head
of the family got an appointment as mainmast in a first-rate shi P,
which could sail round the world if necessary ; the other branches
went to other places, and now we have the office of kindling alight
for the vulgar herd. That’s how we grand people came to be in
the kitchen,’

“* My fate was of a different kind,’ said the iron Pot which stood
next to the Matches. ‘From the beginning, ever since I came
into the world, there has been a great deal of scouring and cook-
ing done in me, I look after the practical part, and am the first
THE FLYING TRUNK 117

here in the house. My only pleasure is to sit in my place after
dinner, very clean and neat, and to carry on a sensible conversa-
tion with my comrades. But except the Water-Pot, which some-
times is taken down into the courtyard, we always live within our
four walls. Our only newsmonger is the Market Basket ; but he
speaks very uneasily about the government and the people. Yes,
the other day there was an old pot that fell down from fright, and
burst. He’s liberal, I can tell you!’ ‘Now you’re talking toa
much,’ the Tinder-Box interrupted, and the steel struck against
the flint, so that sparks flew out. ‘Shall we not have a merry
evening?’

“«Yes, let us talk about who is the grandest,’ said the Matches.

“¢No, I don’t like to talk about myself) retorted the Pot. ‘Let
us get up an evening entertainment. I will begin. I will tell a
story from real life, something that every one has experienced, so
that we can easily imagine the situation, and take pleasure in it,
On the Baltic, by the Danish shore—’

“* That’s a pretty beginning!’ cried all the Plates. ‘ That will
be a story we shall like.’

» “Yes, it happened to me in my youth, when I lived in a quiet
family where the furniture was polished, and the floors scoured,
and new curtains were put up every fortnight.’

““* What an interesting way you have of telling a story !? said
the Carpet Broom. ‘One can tell directly that a man is speaking
who has been in woman’s society, There’s something pure runs
through it.’

“And the Pot went on telling his story, and the end was as
good as the beginning.

‘All the Plates rattled with joy, and the Carpet Broom brought
some green parsley out of the dust-hole, and put it like a wreath
on the Pot, for he knew that it would vex the others, ‘If I crown
him to-day,’ it thought, ‘he will crown me to-morrow, |

““Now I'll dance, said the Fire Tongs, and they danced.
Preserve us! how that implement could lift up oneleg! The old
Chair-cushion burst to see it. ‘ Shall I be crowned too ?’ thought
the Tongs ; and indeed a wreath was awarded.

“They ’re only common people, after all!’ thought the Matches.

Now the Tea-Urn was to sing; but she said she had taken cold,
and could not sing unless she felt boiling within. But that was
only affectation ; she did not want to sing, except when she was
in the parlour with the grand people.

“Tn the window sat an old Quill Pen, with which the maid
generally wrote: there was nothing remarkable about this pen,
except that it had been dipped too deep into the ink, but she was
proud of that. ‘If the Tea-Urn won’t sing,’ she said ‘she may
leave it alone. Outside hangs a nightingale ina cage, and he can
sing. He hasn’t had any education, but this evening we’ll say
nothing about that,’
118 THE FLYING TRUNK.

“(T think it very wrong,” said the Tea-Kettle—he was the
kitchen singer, anal half-brother to the Tea-Urn—‘ that that rich
and foreign bird should be listened to. Isthat patriotic? Let the
Market Basket decide.’ : ;

“°T am vexed,’ said the Market Basket. ‘ No one can irnagine
how muchI amsecretly vexed. Is that a proper way of spending
the evening? Would it not be more sensible to put the house in
order? Let each one go to his own place, and I would arrange
the whole game. That would be quite another thing,’

“Ves, let us make a disturbance,’ criedthey all. Then the door
opened and the maid came in, and they all stood still ; not one
stirred. But there was not one pot among them who did not know
what he could do, and how grand he was. ‘Yes, if I had liked,’
each one thought, ‘it might have been a very merry evening.”

“The servant girl took the Matches and lighted the fire with
them. Mercy! how they sputtered and burst out into flame !
‘ Now every one can see, thought they, ‘that we are the first,
How we shine! what a light !’—and they burned out.”

“That was a capital story,” said the Sultana. “I feel myself
quite carried away to the kitchen, to the Matches. Yes, now thou
shalt marry our daughter.”

“Yes, certainly,” said the Sultan, “thou shall marry our
daughter on Monday.”

And they called him zo because he was to belong to the
family.

The wedding was decided on, and on the evening before it the
whole city was illuminated. Biscuits and cakes were thrown
among the people, the street boys stood upon their toes, called
out “Hurrah !” and whistled on their fingers. It was uncommonly
splendid.

“Yes, I shall have to give something as a treat,” thought the
merchant’s son. So he bought rockets and crackers, and every
imaginable sort of firework, put them all into his trunk, and flew
up into the air.

“Crack!” how they went, and how they went off! All the
Turks hopped up with such a start that their slippers flew about
their ears; such a meteor they had never yet seen. Now they
could understand that it must be a Turkish angel who was going
to marry the Princess.

_ What stories people tell! Every one whom he asked about
it had seen it in a different way; but one and all thought it fine.
_“T saw the Turkish angel himself,” said one. “He had eyes
like glowing Stars, and a beard like foaming water.”

. “He flew in a fiery mantle,” said another ; “the most lovely
little cherub peeped forth from among the folds.”

Yes, they were wonderful things that he heard; and on the
following day he was to be married,

Now he went back to the forest to rest himself in his trunk.
THE LAST PEARL. : 119

But what had become of that? A spark from the fire:-vorks had
set fire to it, and the trunk was burned to ashes. He could not
fly any more, and could not get to his bride.

She stood all day on the roof waiting; and most likely she is
waiting still, But he wanders through the world telling fairy
tales; but they are not so merry as that one he told about the
Matches,

THE LAST PEARL.

WA|E are in a rich, a happy house; all are cheerful and full
of joy, master, servants, and friends of the family ; for
on this day an heir, a son had been born, and mother
and child were doing exceedingly well.

The burning lamp in the bed-chamber had been partly shaded,
and the windows were guarded by heavy curtains of some costly
silken fabric. The carpet was thick and soft as a mossy lawn,
and everything invited to slumber—was charmingly suggestive of
repose; and the nurse found that, for she slept; and here she
might sleep, for everything was good and blessed. The guardian
spirit of the house leaned against the head of the bed; over the
child at the mother’s breast there spread as it were a net of
shining stars in endless number, and each star was a pearl of
happiness. All the good stars of life had brought their gifts to
the new-born one; here sparkled health, wealth fortune, and
love—in short, everything that man can wish for on earth.

“Everything has been presented here,” said the guardian
spirit.

“No, not everything,” said a voice near hira, the voice of the
child’s good angel. “One fairy has not yet brought her gift;
but she will do so some day; even if years should elapse first,
she will bring her gift. The /ast pearl is yet wanting.”

“Wanting! here nothing may be wanting; and if it should
be the case, let me go and seek the powerful fairy; let us betake
ourselves to her.”

“She comes! she will come some day unsought! Her pearl
may not be wanting; it must be there, so that the complete
crown may be won.”

“Where is she to be found? Where does she dwell? Tell it
me, and I will procure the pearl.”

“You will do that?” said the good angel of the child. “TI will
lead you to her directly, wherever she may be. She has no
abiding-place—sometimes she rules in the Emperor’s palace,


120 THE LAST PEARL.

sometimes you will find her in the peasant’s humble cot; she
goes by no person without leaving a trace; she brings two gifts
to all, be it a world ora trifle. To this child also she must come.
You thik the time is equally long, but not equally profitable.
Come, let us go for this pearl, the last pearl in all this wealth.”

And hand in hand they floated towards the spot where the
fairy was now lingering.

It was a great house, with dark windows and empty rooms,
and a peculiar stillness reigned therein; a whole row of windows
had been opened, so that the rough air could penetrate at its

ee






iol

ii

f A ‘i







pleasure: the long white hanging curtains moved to and fro in
the current of wind,

In the middle of the room was pl: i

] placed an open coffin, and in
this coffin lay the corpse of a woman, still in the bloom of youth,
and very beautiful. Fresh roses were scattered over her, so that
oe poouee ieee oe and the noble face, glorified in

y the solemn look of cons i

ame a pment oe ecration and entrance to the

Around the coffin stood the husband and the children, a whole
THRE STORKS. 121

troop: the youngest child rested on the father’s arm, and all
bade their mother their last farewell ; the husband kissed her
hand, the hand which now was as a withered leaf, but which a
short time ago had been working and striving in diligent love for
them all. Tears of sorrow rolled over their cheeks, and fell in
heavy drops to the floor; but not a word was spoken. The
silence which reigned here expressed a world of grief. With
silent footsteps and with many a sob they quitted the room,

A burning light stands in the room, and the long red wick
peers out high above the flame that flickers in the current of air.
Strange men come in, and lay the lid on the coffin over the dead
one, and drive the nails firmly in, and the blows of the hammer
resound through. the house, and echo in the hearts that are
bleeding.

“Whither art thou leading me?” asked the guardian spirit.
“Here dwells no fairy whose pearl might be counted amongst
the best gifts of. life!”

“ Here she lingers ; here in this sacred hour,” said the angel,
and pointed to a corner of the room; and there, where in her
lifetime the mother had taken her seat amid flowers and pictures ;
there from whence, like the beneficent fairy of the house, she had
greeted: husband, children, and friends; from whence, like the
sunbeams, she had spread joy and cheerfulness, and been the
centre and the heart of all—there sat a strange woman, clad in
long garments. It was “the Chastened’ Heart,” now mistress
and mother here in the dead lady’s place. A hot tear rolled down
into her lap, and formed itself into a pearl glowing with all the
colours of the rainbow. The angel seized it, and the pearl shone
like a star of sevenfold radiance.

The pearl of Chastening, the last, which must not be wanting!
it heightens the lustre and the meaning of the other pearls. Do
you see the sheen of the rainbow—of the bow that unites heaven
and earth? A bridge has been built between this world and the
heaven beyond. Through the earthly night we gaze upward to
the stars, looking for perfection. Contemplate it, the pearl of
Chastening, for it hides within itself the wings that shall carry us
to the better world.

THE STORKS.



N the last house in a little village stood a Storks’ nest. The
Mother-Stork sat in it with her four young ones, who
stretched out their heads with the pointed black beaks,
fas THE STORRS.

for their beaks had not yet turned red. A little way off stood the.
Father-Stork, all alone on the ridge of the roof, quite upright and
stiff; he had drawn up one of his legs, so as not to be quite idle
while he stood sentry. One would have thought he had been
carved out of wood, so still did he stand. He thought, “It must
look very grand, that my wife has a sentry standing by her nest.
They can’t tell that it is her husband. They certainly think I
have been commanded to stand here. That looks so aristocratic !”
And he went on standing on one leg.

Below in the street a whole crowd of children were playing ; and
when they caught sight of the Storks, one of the boldest of the
boys, and afterwards all of them, sang the old verse about the
storks, But they only sang it just as he could remember it:

“Stork, stork, fly away;
Stand not on one leg to-day.
Thy dear wife is in the nzst,
Where she rocks her young to rest.

The first he will be hanged,
‘The second will be hit,
The third he will be shot,
And the fourth put on the spit.”

“Just hear what those boys are saying!” said the little Stork-
children, “They say we are to be hanged and killed.”

“You’re not to care for that!” said the Mother-Stork. “ Don’t
listen to it, and then it won’t matter.”
_ But the boys went on singing, and pointed at the Storks mock-
ingly with their fingers; only one boy, whose name was Peter,
declared that it was a sin to make a jest of animals, and he would
not join in it at all.
_ The Mother-Stork comforted her children. “Don’t you mind
it at all,” she said; “see how quiet your father stands, though
it’s only on one leg.”

“We are very much afraid,” said the young Storks: and they
drew their heads far back into the nest.

Now to-day, when the children came out again to play, and
saw the Storks, they sang their song :

“The first he will be hanged,
The second will be hit——”

4 Shall we be hanged and beaten?” asked the young Storks.
No, certainly not,” replied the mother. “ You shall learn to
fly; I'll exercise you; then we shall fly out into the meadows and
pay a visit to the frogs; they will bow before us in the water, and

sing ‘Coax! coax!’ and then we shall eat them up. That will
be a real pleasure.”

“And what then?” asked the young Storks,

“Then all the Storks will assemble, all that are here in the
whole country, and the autumn exercises begin: then one must
THE STORKS. 123















































The Boys mocking the Storks.

fly well, for that is highly important, for whoever cannot fly pro-
perly will be thrust dead by the general’s bea; so take care and
learn well when the exercising begins.”

“But then we shall be killed, as the boy says :—and only
listen, now they’re singing again.”

“Listen to me, and not to them,” replied the Mother-Stork.
“ After the great review we shall fly away to the warm countries,
far away from here, over mountains and forests. We shall fly to
Egypt, where there are three covered houses of stone, which curl
in a point and tower above the clouds; they are called pyramids,
and are older than a stork can imagine. There is a river in that
124 THE STORKS.

country which runs out of its bed, and then all the land is turned
to mud, One walks about in the mud, and eats frogs.”

“Oh-h!” cried the young ones.

“Yes! It is glorious there! One does nothing all day long
but eat; and while we are so comfortable over there, here there
is not a green leaf on the trees; here it is so cold that the clouds
freeze to pieces, and fall down in little white rags!”

It was tne snow that she meant, but she could not explain it in
any other way.

“ And do the naughty boys freeze to pieces?” asked the young
Storks,

“No, they do not freeze to pieces; but they are not far from
it, and must sit in the dark room and cower. You, on the other
hand, can fly about in foreign lands, where there are flowers, and
the sun shines warm.”

Now some time had elapsed, and the nestlings had grown so
large that they could stand upright in the nest and look far
around; and the Father-Stork came every day with delicious
frogs, little snakes, and all kinds of stork-dainties as he found
them. Oh! it looked funny when he performed feats before
them! He laid his head quite back upon his tail, and clapped
with his beak as if he had been a Kttle clapper; and then he
told _them stories, all about the marshes.

“Listen ! now you must learn to fly,” said the Mother-Stork,
one day; and all the four young ones had to go out on the
ridge of the roof. Oh, how they tottered! how they balanced
qiemselves with their wings, and yet they were nearly falling

own.

“Only look at me,” said the mother. “Thus you must hold
your heads! Thus you must pitch your feet! One, two! one,
two! That’s what will help you on in the world.”

Then she flew a little way, and the young ones made a little
ae. leap. Bump !—there they lay, for their bodies were too

eavy.
_ “I will not fly!” said one of the young Storks, and crept back .
tnto the nest; “I don’t care about getting to the warm countries.”

“Do you want to freeze to death here when the winter comes?
Are the boys to come and hang you, and singe you, and roast
you? Now I’ll call them.”

“Oh, no!” cried the young Stork, and hopped out on to the
roof again like the rest.

On the third day they could actually fly a little, and then they
thought they could also soar and hover in the air. They tried it,
but—bump!—down they tumbled, and they had to shoot their
wings again quickly enough. Now the boys came into the street
again, and sang their song:

“Stork, stork, fly away!”
THE STORKS. 138

‘ Shall we fly down and pick their eyes out?” asked the young
Storks.

“No,” replied the mother, “let them alone. Only listen to me, ‘
that’s far more important. One, two, three!—now we fly round
to the right. One, two, three !—now to the left round the chimney.
See, that was very good! the last kick with the feet was so neat
and correct that you shall have permission to-morrow to fly with
me to themarsh! Several nice stork families go there with their
young: show them that mine are the nicest, and that you can
start proudly; that looks well, and will get you consideration.”

“But are we not to take revenge on the rude boys?” asked
the young Storks.

“Let them scream as much as they like. You will fly up to
the clouds, and get to the land of the pyramids, when they will
have to shiver, and not have a green leaf or a sweet apple.”

“Ves, but we will revenge ourselves!” they whispered to one
another; and then the exercising went on.

Among all the boys down in the street, the one most bent upon
singing the teasing song was he who had begun it, and he was
quite a little boy. He could hardly be more than six years old.
The young Storks certainly thought he was a hundred, for he was
much bigger than their mother and father; and how should they
know how old children and grown-up people can be? Their
revenge was to come upon this boy, for it was he who had begun
and he always kept on. The young Storks were very angry; and
as they grew bigger they were less inclined to bear it; at last
their mother had to promise them that they should be revenged,
but not till the last day of their stay.

“We must first see how you behave at the grand review. If
you get through badly, so that the general stabs you through the
chest with his beak, the boys will be right, at least, in one way.
Let us see.”

“Yes, you shall see!” cried the young Storks; and then they
took all imaginable pains. They practised every day, and flew
so neatly and so lightly that it was a pleasure to see them.

Now the autumn came on; all the Storks began to assemble,
to fly away to the warm countries while it is winter here. That
was a review. They had to fly over forests and villages, to show
how well they could soar, for it was a long journey they had be-
fore them. The young Storks did their part so well that they
got as a mark, “ Remarkably well, with frogs and snakes.” That
was the highest mark; and they might eat the frogs and snakes ;
and that is what they did.

“ Now we will be revenged !” they said.

“Yes, certainly!” said the Mother-Stork. ‘What I have
thought of will be the best. I know the pond in which all the
little mortals lie till the stork comes and brings them to their
parents. The pretty little babies lie thereand dream so sweetly
126 GRANDMOTHER.

as they never dream afterwards. All parents are glad to have
such a child, and ail children want to have a sister or a brother.
Now we will fly to the pond, and bring one for each of the chil-
dren who have not sung the naughty song and laughed at the
storks.”

“ But hewho began to sing—that naughty, ugly boy !” screamed
the young Storks ; “ what shall we do with him?”

“There is a little dead child in the pond, one that has dreamed
itself to death ; we will bring that for him. Then he will cry be-
cause we have brought him a little dead brother. But that good
boy—you have not forgotten him, the one who said, ‘It is wrong
to laugh at animals!’ for him we will bring a brother and a sister
too. And as his name is Peter, all of you shall be called Peter
too.” ,

And it was done as she said; all the storks were named Peter,
and so they are all called even now.

GRANDMOTHER.

RANDMOTHER is very old; she has many wrinkles,
and her hair is quite white; but her eyes, which are like
two stars, and even more beautiful, look at you mildly

and pleasantly, and it does you good to look into them. And then

she can tell the most wonderful stories ; and she has a gown with
great flowers worked in it, and it is of heavy silk, and it rustles.

Grandmother knows a great deal, for she was alive before father

and mother, that’s quite certain! Grandmother has a hymn-

book with great silver clasps, and she often reads in that book;
in the middle of the book lies a rose, quite flat and dry; it is not
as pretty as the roses she has standing in the glass, and yet she
smiles at it most pleasantly of all, and tears even come into her
eyes. I wonder why Grandmother looks at the withered flower in
the old book in that way? Do you know? Why, each time that
Grandmother's tears fall upon the rose, its colours become fresh
again; the rose swells and fills the whole roonrgwith its 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 Grandmother—why, she is
young again, a charming maid with light curls and full blooming
cheeks, pretty and graceful, fresh as any rose; but the eyes, the

mild blessed eyes, they have been left to Grandmother. At her

side sits 2 young man, tall and strong: he gives the rose to her,


GRANDMOTHER. 127



S

\S

‘SS
—
=
\

=
=
\=
4S

8
y/ =
Ny



Grandmother looking at the withered Flower.

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
i28 THE UGLY DUCKLING.

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.

She was laid in the black coffin; and there she lay shrouded
in the white linen folds, looking beautiful and mild, though her
eyes were closed ; but every wrinkle had vanished, and there was
a smile around her mouth; her hair was silver-white and vene-
rable ; and we did not feel at all afraid to look at the corpse of
her who had been the dear good Grandmother. And the hymn-
book was placed under her head, for she had wished it so, and
the rose was still in the old book; and then they buried Grand-
mother.
~ On the grave, close by the churchyard wall, they planted a
rose tree ; and it was full of roses ; and the nightingale flew sing-
ing over the flowers and over the grave. In the church the finest
psalms sounded from the organ—the psalms that were written
in the old book under the dead one’s head. The moon shone
down upon the grave, but the dead one was not there. Every
child could go safely, even at night, and pluck a rose there by
the churchyard wall. A dead person knows more than all we
living ones. The dead know what a terror would come upon us, if
the strange thing were to happen that they appeared among us:
the dead are better than we all; the dead return no more. The
earth has been heaped over the coffin, and it is earth that lies in
the coffin ; and the leaves of the hymn-book are dust, and the
rose, with all its recollections, has returned to dust likewise. But
above there bloom fresh roses; the nightingale sings and the
organ sounds, and the remembrance lives of the old_Grand-
mother with the mild eyes that always looked young. yes can
never die? Ours will once behold Grandmother again, young

and beautiful, as when for the first time she kissed the fresh red
rose that is now dust in the grave.

THE UGLY DUCKLING.



T was glorious out in the country, It was summer, and

the corn-fields were yellow, and the oats were green ; the
hay had been put up in stacks in the green meadows,
and the stork went about on his long red legs, and chattered
Egyptian, for this was the language he had learned from his good
mother. All around the fields and meadows were great forests,
and in the midst of these forests lay deep lakes, Yes, it was
THE UGLY DUCKLING. 129

really glorious out in the country. In the midst of the sunshine
there lay an old farm, surrounded by deep canals, and from the
wall down to the water grew great burdocks, so high that little
children could stand upright under the loftiest of them. It was
Just as wild there as in the deepest wood. Here sat a Duck.upon
her nest, for she had to hatch her young ones; but she was almost
tired out before the little ones came; and then she so seldom
had visitors. The other ducks liked better to swim about in the
canals than to run up to sit down under a burdock, and cackle
with her.

At last one egg-shell after another burst open. “ Piep! piep !”
it cried, and in all the eggs there were little creatures that stuck
out their heads.

“Rap! rap!” they said; and they all came rapping out as
fast as they could, looking all round them under the green leaves ;
and the mother let them look as much as they chose, for green
is good for the eyes.

“ How wide the world is !” said the young ones, for they cer-
tainly had much more room now than when they were in the eggs.

“ Do you think this is all the world ?” asked the mother. “That
extends far across the other side of the garden, quite into the par-
son’s field, but I have never been there yet. I hope you are all
together,” she continued, and stood up. “ No, Ihave notall. The
largest egg still lies there. How longis that tolast? I am really
tired of it.” And she sat down again.

‘Well, how goes it ? asked an old Duck, who had come to pay
her a visit.

“It lasts a long time with that one egg,” said the Duck who sat
there. “ It will not burst. Now, only look at the others ; are they
not the prettiest ducks one could possibly see? They are all like
their father: the bad fellow never comes to see me.”

“‘ Let me see the egg which will not burst,” said the old visitor.
“Believe me, it isa turkey’s egg. I was once cheated in that way,
and had much anxiety and trouble with the young ones, for they
are afraid of the water. I could not get them to venture in, I
quacked and clucked, but it was of no use. Let me see the egg.
Yes, thit’s a turkey’s egg! Let it lie there, and you teach the
other children to swim.”

“I think T will sit on it a little longer,” said the Duck. “I’ve
sat so long now that I can sit a few days more.”

“Just as you please,” said the old Duck ; and she went away.

At last the great egg burst. “ Piep! piep !” said the little one.
and crept forth, It was very large and very ugly. The Duck
looked at it,

“It’s avery large duckling,” said she ; “ none of the others look
like that : can it really bea turkey chick? Now we shall soon find
it out. It must go into the water, even if I have to thrust it in
myself.” .

9
130 THE UGLY DUCKLING,

The next day the weather was splendidly bright, and the sun
shone on all the green trees. The Mother-Duck went down to the
water with all her little ones, Splash ! she jumped into the water.
‘Quack ! quack !” she said, and then one duckling after another
plunged in. The water closed over their heads, but they came
up in an instant, and swam capitally ; their legs went of them-
selves, and there they were all in the water. The ugly grey Duck-
ling swam with them. :

“No, it’s not a turkey,” said she; “ look how well it can use its
legs, and how upright it holds itself. It is my own child! On the
whole it ‘e'quitelpretty, ifone looks at it rightly. Quack! quack!
come with me, and I’ll lead you out into the great world, and pre-
sent you in the poultry-yard; but keep close to me, so that no one
may tread on you, and take care of the cats !”

And so they came into the poultry-yard. There was a terrible
riot going on in there, for two families were quarrelling about an
eel’s head, and the cat got it after all.

“ See, that’s how it goes in the world!” said the Mother-Duck;
and she whetted her beak, for she, too, wanted the eel’s head.
“Only use your legs,” she said. “See that you can bustle about,
and bow your heads before the old duck yonder. She’s the
grandest of all here; she’s of Spanish blood—that’s why she’s
so fat ; and do you see, she has a red rag round her leg; that’s
something particularly fine, and the greatest distinction a duck
can enjoy : it signifies that one does not want to lose her, and
that she’s to be recognized by man and beast. Shake yourselves
—don’t turn in your toes; a well-brought-up Duck turns its toes
quite out, just like father and mother, so! Now bend your necks
and say ‘ Rap !?”

And they did so; but the other Ducks round about looked at
them, and said quite boldly,

‘‘ Look there ! now we’re to have these hanging on, as if there
were not enough of us already ! And—fie !—how that Duckling
yonder looks; we won’t stand that!” And one duck flew up
immediately, and bit it in the neck,

“Let it alone,” said the mother ; “it does no harm to any one.”

“Yes, but it’s too large and peculiar,” said the Duck who had
bitten it ; “and therefore it must be buffeted.”

“Those are pretty children that the mother has there,” said the
old Duck with the rag round her leg.“ They’re all pretty bur
that one ; that was a failure. I wish she could alter it.”

7 “That cannet be done, my lady,” replied the Mother-Duck.

It is not pretty, but it has a really good disposition, and swims
as well as any other; I may even say it swims better. I think
it will grow up prétty,and become smaller in time; it has lain
too long in the egg, and therefore is not properly shaped.” And
then she pinched it in the neck, and smoothed its feathers.

Moreover, it is a drake,” she said, “and therefore it is not of so
THE UGLY DUCKLING. 131



The Duckling teased by the Goose.

much consequence. I think he will be very strong : he makes
his way already.”

“The other ducklings are graceful enough, said the old Duck.
“Make yourself at home ; and if you find an eel’s head, you may
bring it me.”

And now they were at home. But the poor Duckling which
had crept last out of the egg, and looked so ugly, was bitten and
pushed and jeered, as much by the ducks as by the chickens.

“Tt is too big!” they all said. And the turkey-cock, who had
been born with spurs, and therefore thought himself an Emperor,
blew himself up like a ship in full sail, and bore straight down
upon it; then he gobbled, and grew quite red in the face. The

3-2
132 THE UGLY DUCKLING.

poor Duckling did not know where it should stand or walk ; it
was quite melancholy because it looked ugly, and was scoffed at
by the whole yard. :

So it went on the first day ; and afterwards it became worse
and worse. The poor Duckling was hunted about by every one;
even its brothers and sisters were quite angry with it, and said,
“Tf the cat would only catch you, you ugly creature!” And the
mother said, “If you were only far away!” And the ducks bit
it, and the chickens beat it, and the girl who had to feed the
poultry kicked at it with her foot.

Then it ran and flew over the fence, and the little birds in the
bushes flew up in fear. ‘

“That is because I am so ugly!” thought the Duckling; and
it shut its eyes, but flew on farther; thus it came out into the
great moor, where the Wild Ducks lived. Here it lay the whole
night long; and it was weary and downcast.

Towards morning the Wild Ducks flew up, and looked ut their
new companion. :

“ What sort of a one are you?” they asked; andthe Duckling
turned in every direction, and bowed as well as it could. “ You
are remarkably ugly!” said the Wild Ducks. “ But that is very
indifferent to us, so long as you do not marry into our family.”

Poor thing! it certainly did not think of marrying, and only
hoped to obtain leave to lie among the reeds and drink some ot
the swamp-water.

Thus it lay two whole days; then came thither two Wild Geese,
or, properly speaking, two wild ganders. It was not long since
each had crept out of an egg, and that’s why they were so
saucy.

“ Listén, comrade,” said one of them. “You’re so ugly that
I like you. Will you go with us, and become a bird of passage?
Near here, in another moor, there are a few sweet lovely wild
geese, all unmarried, and all able to say ‘ Rap!’ You’ve a chance
of making your fortune, ugly as you are!”

“ Piff! paff!” resounded through the air ; and the two ganders
fell down dead in the swamp, and the water became blood-red.
“ Piff! paff!” it sounded again, and whole flocks of wild geese rose
up from the reeds. And then there was another report. A great
hunt was going on. The hunters were lying in wait all round the
moor, and some were even sitting up in the branches of the trees,
which spread far over the reeds. The blue smoke rose up like
clouds among the dark trees, and was wafted far away across the
water; and the hunting dogs came—splash, splash !—into the
swamp, and the rushes and the reeds bent down on every side.
That was a fright for the poor Duckling! It turned its head, and
put it under its wing ; but at that moment a frightful great dog
stood close bythe Duckling. His tongue hung far out of his mouth
and his eyes gleamed horrible and ugly; he thrust out his nose
THE UGLY DUCKLING. 133
close against the Duckling, showed his sharp teeth, and—-splash,
splash !—on he went without seizing it.

“Oh, Heaven be thanked!” sighed the Duckling. “Iam so
ugly, that even the dog does not like to bite me!”

And so it lay. quite quiet, while the shots rattled through the
reeds and gun after gun was fired. At last, late in the day, silence
was restored; but the poor Duckling did not dare to rise up; it
waited several hours before it looked round, and then hastened
away out of the moor as fast as it could. It ran on over field
and meadow ; there was such a storm raging that it was difficult
to get from one place to another.

‘fowards evening the Duck came to a little miserable peasant’s
hut. This hut was so dilapidated that it did not know on which
side it should fall; and that’s why it remained standing. The
storm whistled round the Duckling in such a way that the poor
creature was obliged to sit down, to stand against it; and the
tempest grew worse and worse. Then the Duckling noticed that
one of the hinges of the door had given way, and the door hung
so slanting that the Duckling could slip through the crack into
the room; and it did so.

Here lived a woman, with her Tom Cat and her Hen. And
the Tom Cat, whom she called Sonnie, could arch his back and
purr, he could even give out sparks; but for that one had to stroke
his fur the wrong way. The Hen had quite little short legs, and
therefore she was called Chickabiddy-shortshanks ; she laid good’
eggs, and the woman loved her as her own child.

In the morning the strange Duckling was at once noticed, and
the Tom Cat began to purr, and the Hen to cluck.

“ What’s this ?” said the woman, and looked all round ; but she
could not see well, and therefore she thought the Duckling was
a fat duck that had strayed. ‘This is a rare prize,” she said.
““ Now I shall have duck’s eggs. I hope it is nota drake. We
must try that.”

And so the Duckling was admitted on trial for three weeks;
but no eggs came. And the Tom Cat was master of the house,
and the Hen was the lady, and always said “ Weand the world!”
for she thought they were half the world, and by far the better
half. The Duckling thought one might have a different opinion,
but the Hen would not allow it.

““Can you lay eggs?” she asked.

“ No.” .

“Then you'll have the goodness to hold your tongue.”

And the Tom Cat said, ‘Can you curve your back, and purr,
and give out sparks ?”

‘* No.”

“Then you cannot have any opinion of your own when sensible
people are speaking.”

And the Duckling sat in a corner and was melancholy; then
134 THE UGLY DUCKLING.

the fresh air and the sunshine streamed in; and it was seized
with such a strange longing to swim on the water, that it could
not help telling the Hen of it.

“What are you thinking of?” cried the Hen. “You have
nothing to do, that’s why you have these fancies. Purr or lay
eggs, and they will pass over.”

“ But it is so charming to swim on the water !” said the Duck-
ling, “so refreshing to let it close above one’s head. and to dive
down to the bottom.”

“Yes, that must be a mighty pleasure, truly,” quoth the Hen.
“T fancy you must have gone crazy. Ask the Cat about it,—
he’s the cleverest animal I know,—ask him if he likes to swim
on the water, or to dive down: I won’t speak about myself. Ask
our mistress, the old woman; no one in the world is cleverer
than she. Do you think she has any desire to swim, and to let
the water close above her head ?”

“You don’t understand me,” said the Duckling.

“We don’t understand you? Then pray who is to understand
you? You surely don’t pretend to be cleverer than the Tom Cat
and the old woman—I won’t say anything of myself. Don’t be
conceited, child, and be grateful for all the kindness you have
received. Did you not get into a warm room, and have you not
fallen into company from which you may learn something? But
you are a chatterer, and it is not pleasant to associate with you.
You may believe me, I speak for your good. I tell you disagree-
able things, and by that one may always know one’s true friends.
Only take care that you learn to lay eggs, or to purr and give out
sparks!”

“I think I will go out into the wide world,” said the Duckling.

“Yes, do go,” replied the Hen.

And the Duckling went away. It swam on the water, and
dived, but it was slighted by every creature because of its
ugliness.

Nowcame the autumn. The leaves in the forest turned yellow
and brown ; the wind caught them so that they danced about, and
upin the air it was very cold. The clouds hung low, heavy with
hail and snow-flakes, and on the fence stood the raven, crying,

Croak! croak!” for mere cold; yes, it was enough to make one
feel cold to think of this. The poor little Duckling certainly had
not a good time. One evening—the sun was just setting in his
beauty—there came a whole flock of great handsome birds out of
bushes ; they were dazzlingly white, with long flexible necks ;

ey were swans, They uttered a very peculiar cry, spread forth
their glorious great wings, and flew away from that cold region to
warmer lands, to fair open lakes. They mounted so high, so high !
and the ugly little Duckling f quite strangely as it watched
them. It turned round and round in the water like a wheel,
stretched out its neck towards them, and uttered such a strange
ZHE UGLY DUCKLING. 136

loud cry as 1rightened itself. Oh! it could not forget those beau.
tiful, happy birds; and so soon as it could see them no longer, it
dived down to the very bottom, and when it came up again, it
was quite beside itself. It knew not the name of those birds, and
knew not whither they were flying; but it loved them more than
it had ever loved any one. It was notat all envious of them. How
could it think of wishing to possess such loveliness as they had}
It would have been glad if only the ducks would have endured
its company—the poor ugly creature!

And the winter grew cold, very cold! The Duckling was
forced to swim about in the water, to prevent the surface from
freezing entirely ; but every night the hole in which it swam about
became smallerand smaller. It froze so hard that the icy cover-
ing crackled again ; and the Duckling was obliged to use its legs
continually to prevent the hole from freezing up. At last it became
exhausted, and lay quite still, and thus froze fast into the ice.

Early ‘in the morning a peasant came by, and when he saw
what had happened, he took his wooden shoe, broke the ice-crust
to pieces, and carried the Duckling home to his wife. Then it
came to itself again. The children wanted to play with it; but
the Duckling thought they would do it an injury, and in its terror
fluttered up into the milk-pan, so that the milk spurted down into
the room. The woman clasped her hands, at which the Duckling
flew down into the butter-tub, and then into the meal-barrel and
out again. How it looked then! The woman screamed, and
struck at it with the fire-tongs; the children tumbled over one
another, in their efforts to catch the Duckling; and they laughed
and screamed finely! Happily the door stood open, and the poor
creature was able to slip out between the shrubs into the newly-
fallen snow; and there it lay quite exhausted. d

But it would be too melancholy if I were to tell all the misery
and care which the Duckling had to endure in the hard winter.
It lay out on the moor among the reeds, when the sun began to
shine again and the larks to sing; it was a beautiful spring.

Then all at once the Duckling could flap its wings: they beat
the air more strongly than before, and bore it strongly away ; and
before it well knew how all this had happened, it found itself ina
great garden, where the elder trees smelt sweet, and bent their
long green branches down to the canal that wound through the
region. Oh, here it was so beautiful, such a gladness of spring!
and from the thicket came three glorious white swans; they
rustled their wings, and swam lightly on the water. The Duckling
knew the splendid creatures, and felt oppressed by a peculiar
sadness, a

“Twill fly away to them, to the royal birds! and they will kill
me, because I, that am:so ugly, dare to approach them. But it
is of no consequence! Better to be killed by ‘em than to be
pursued by ducks, and beaten by fowls, and pushed about by the
136 THE LOVELIEST ROSE IN THE WORLD.

girl who takes care of the poultry-yard, and to suffer hunger in
winter!” And it flew out into the water, and swam towards the
beautiful swans: these looked at it, and came sailing down upon
it with outspread wings. “Kill me!” said the poor creature, and
bent its head down upon the water, expecting nothing but death.
But what was this that it saw in the clear water? It beheld its
own image—and, lo! it was no longer a clumsy dark-grey bird,
ugly and hateful to look at, but—a swan.

It matters nothing if one was born in a duck-yard, if one has
only Jain in a swan’s egg.

It felt quite glad at all the need and misfortune it had suffered,
now it realized its happiness in all the splendour that surrounded
in And the great swans swam round it, and stroked it with
their beaks.

Into the garden came little children, who threw bread and corn
into the water; the youngest cried, “ There is the new one!” and
the other children shouted joyously, “ Yes,a new one has arrived!”
And they clapped their hands and danced about, and ran to their
father and mother; and bread and cake were thrown into the
water; and they all said, ‘‘ The new one is the most beautiful of
all! so young and handsome!” and the old swans bowed their
heads before him.

Then he felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wings,
for he did not know what to do; he was so happy, and yet not
at all proud. He thought how he had been persecuted and de-
spised; and now he heard them saying that he was the most
beautiful of all the birds. Even the elder tree bent its branches
straight down into the water before him, and the sun shone warm
and mild. Then his wings rustled, he lifted his slender neck, and
cried rejoicingly from the depths of his heart,

“I never dreamed of so much happiness when I was still the
Ugly Duckling!”

THE LOVELIEST ROSE IN THE WORLD.

Yond N i i
as there reigned a Queen, in whose garden were found
Wes4| the most glorious flowers at all seasons, and from all the
lands in the world; but especially she loved roses, and
therefore she possessed the most various kinds of this flower,
from the wild dog-rose, with the apple-scented green leaves, to
the most splendid Provence rose. They grew against the earth
walls, wound themselves round pillars and rvindow-frames, into
THE LOVELIEST ROSE IN THE WORLD. 137

the passages, and all aiong the ceiling in all the halls. And the
roses were various in fragrance, form, and colour.

But care and sorrow dwelt in these halls : the Queen lay upon
a sick-bed, and the doctors declared that she must die.

“ There is still one thing that can serve her,” said the wisest
of them. “Bring her the loveliest rose in the world, the one
which is the expression of the brightest and purest love; for if
that is brought before her eyes ere they close, she will not die.”

And the young and old came from every side with roses, the
loveliest that bloomed in each garden; but they were not the



) = 2

The Wise Man visits the Sick Queen.

right sort. The flower was to be brought out of the garden ot
Love; but.what rose was it there that expressed the highest and
purest love?

And the poets sang of the loveliest rose in the world, and each
one named his own; and intelligence was sent far round the
land to every heart that beat with love, to every class and con-
dition, and to every age.

‘No one has till now named the flower,” said the wise man.
“No one has yet pointed out the place where it bloomed in its
splendour. They are not the roses from the coffin of Romeo
and Juliet, or from the Walburg’s grave, though these roses will
be ever fragrant in song. They are not the roses that sprouted
trom Winkelried’s blood-stained lances, from the blood that flows —
138 THE LOVELIEST ROSE IN THE WORLD.

in a sacred cause from the breast of the hero who dies for his
country; though no death is sweeter than this, and no rose
redder than the blood that flows then. Noor is it that wondrous
flower, to cherish which man devotes, in a quiet chamber, many
a sleepless night, and much of his fresh life—the magic flower
of science.”

“1 know where it blooms,” said a happy mother, who came
with her pretty child to the bed-side of the Queen. “I know
where the loveliest rose of the world is found! The rose that
is the expression of the highest and purest love springs from the
blooming cheeks of my sweet child when, strengthened by sleep,
it opens its eyes and smiles at me with all its affection.”

“Lovely is this rose; but there is still a lovelier,” said the .
wise man.

“Yes, a far lovelier one,” said one of the women. “TI have
seen it,and a loftier, purer rose does not bloom. I saw it on the
cheeks of the Queen. She had taken off her golden crown, and
in the long dreary night she was carrying her sick child in her
arms: she wept, kissed it, and prayed for her child as a mother
prays in the hour of her anguish.”

“Holy and wonderful in its might is the white rose of Grief;
but it is not the one we seek.”

“No, the loveliest rose of the world I saw at the altar of the
Lord,” said the good old Bishop. ‘I saw it shineas if an angel’s
face had appeared. The young maidens went to the Lord’s
Table, and renewed the promise made at their baptism, and
roses were blushing and pale roses shining on their fresh cheeks.
A young girl stood there; she looked with all the purity and love
of her young spirit up to heaven: that was the expression of the
highest and the purest love.” :

“May she be blessed!” said the wise man; “but not one of
you has yet named to me the loveliest rose of the world.”

Then there came into the room a child, the Queen’s little son.
Tears stood in his eyes and glistened on his cheeks: he carried
aoe open book, and the binding was of velvet, with great silver
clasps.

“ Mother !” cried the little boy, only hear what I have read.”

And the child sat by the bed-side, and read from the book of
Him who suffered death on the Cross to save men, and even
those who were not yet born.

“ Greater love there is not”

And a roseate hue spread over the cheeks of the Queen, and
her eyes gleamed, for she saw that from the leaves of the book
there bloomed the loveliest rose, that sprang from the blood of
CuRIsT shed on the Cross.

“T see it!” she said: “he who beholds this, the loveliest rose
on earth, shall never die.”
139

HOLGER DANSKE.

N Denmark there lies a castle named Kronenburgh. it
lies close by the Oer Sound, where the ships pass
through by hundreds every day—English, Russian,
and likewise Prussian ships. And they salute the old castle with
cannons—‘ Boom!’ And the castle answers with a ‘Boom!’
for that’s what the cannons say instead of ‘Good day’ and
‘Thank you!’ In winter no ships sail there, for the whole sea is
covered with ice quite across to the Swedish coast; but it has
quite the look of a high road. There wave the Danish flag and
the Swedish flag, and Danes and Swedes say ‘Good day’ and
‘Thank you!’ to each other, not with cannons, but with a friendly
grasp of the hand; and one gets white bread and biscuits from
the other—for strange fare tastes best. But the most beautiful
of all is the old Kronenburg; and here it is that Holger Danske
sits in the deep dark cellar, where nobody goes. He is clad in
iron and steel, and leans his head on his strong arm; his long
beard hangs down over the marble table, and has grown into it.
He sleeps and dreams, but in his dreams he sees everything that
happens up here in Denmark. Every Christmas Eve comes an
angel, and tells him that what he has dreamed is right, and that
he may go to sleep in quiet, tor that Denmark is not yet in any
real danger; but when once such a danger comes, then old
Holger Danske will rouse himself, so that the table shall burst
when he draws out his beard! Then he will come forth and
strike, so that it shall be heard in all the countries in the world.”

An old grandfather sat and told his little grandson all this
about Holger Danske; and the little boy knew that what his
grandfather told him was true. And while the old man sat and
told his story, he carved an image which was to represent Holger
Danske, and to be fastened to the prow of a ship; for the old
grandfather was a carver of figure-heads, that is, one who cuts
out the figures fastened to the front of ships, and from which
every ship is named. And here he had cut out Holger Danske,
who stood there proudly with his long beard, and held the broad
battle-sword in one hand, while with the other he leaned upon
the Danish arms.

And the old grandfather told him so much about distinguished
men and women, that it appeared at last to the little grandson
as if he knew as much as Holger Danske himself, who, after all,
could only dream: and when the little fellow was in his bed, he
thought so much of it, that he actually pressed his chin against
oe coverlet, and fancied he had a long beard that had grown

ast to it.


140 HOLGER DANSKE.

But the old grandfather remained sitting at his work, and
carved away at the last part of it; and this was the Danish coat
ofarms, When he-had finished, he looked at the whole, and
thought of all he had read and heard, and that he had told this
evening to the little boy; and he nodded, and wiped his spec-
tacles, and put them on again, and said,

“Yes, inmy time Holger Danske will probably not come; but
the boy in the bed yonder may get to see him, and be there when
the push really comes.”

And the good old grandfather nodded again; and the more he
looked at Holger Danske the more plain did it become to him
that it was a good image he had carved. It seemed really to gain
colour, and the armour appeared to gleam like iron and steel;
the hearts in the Danish arms became redder and redder, and the
lions with the golden crowns on their heads leaped up.*

“That’s the most beautiful coat of arms there is in the world!”
said the old man. “The lions are strength, and the heart is
gentleness and love!”

And he looked at the uppermost lion, and thought of King
Canute, who bound great England to the throne of Denmark ;
and he looked at the second lion, and thought of Waldemar, who
united Denmark and conquered the Wendish lands; and he
glanced at the third lion, and remembered Margaret, who united
Denmark, Sweden, and Norway. But while he looked at the
red hearts, they gleamed more brightly than before; they be-
came flames, and his heart followed each of them.

The first heart led him into a dark narrow prison: there sat a
prisoner, a beautiful woman, the daughter of King Christian 1V.,
Eleanor Ulfeld;+ and the flame, which was shaped like a rose,
attached itself to her bosom and blossomed, so that it became one
with the heart of her, the noblest and best of all Danish women.

And his spirit followed the second flame, which led him out
upon the sea, where the cannons thundered and the ships lay
shrouded in smoke; and the flame fastened itself in the shape of
a ribbon of honour on the breast of Hvitfeld, as he blew himself
and his ship into the air, that he might save the fleet.t

And the third flame led him to the wretched huts of Greenland,
where the preacher Hans Egede§ wrought, with love in every

- an Danish arms consist of three lions between nine hearts.
a is highly-gifted Princess was the wife of Corfitz Ulfeld, who was accused of
hig treason. Her only crime was the most faithful love to her unhappy consort ; but

was compelled to pass twenty-two years i i 1 -
tor, Queen Sophia Amelia, was dead. ae ee eu ere
t In the naval battle in Kjoge Bay between the Danes and the Swedes, in 1710,

fee eld's ship, the Danebrog, took fire. Tosave the town of Kjoge, and the Danish

wil cre nt Re ag even by the wind towards his vessel, he blew himself and his
ans Egede went to Greenland in 1721, and toiled there during fift

among incredible hardships and privations. Not only did h ritad Chiistianity, but
exhibited in himself a remarkable example of a Christian aoe aaa
HOLGER DANSKE. 141

oy

er



Holger Danske.

word and deed: the flame was a star on his breast, another heart
in the Danish arms.

And the spirit of the old grandfather flew on before the waving
flames, for his spirit knew whither the flames desired to go. _ In
the humble room of the peasant woman stood Frederick V1.,
writing his name with chalk on the beam.* The flame trembled

* Ona journey on the west coast of Jutland, the King visited an old woman. When
he had already quitted her house, the woman ran after him, and begged him, as
aremembrance, to write his name upon a beam; the King turned back, and complied.
During his whole lifetime he felt and worked for the peasant class; therefore the
Danish peasants begged to be allowed to carry his coffin to the royal yault at Roes-
kilde, four Danish miles from Copenhagen.
142 HOLGER DANSKE,

i ast, and trembled in his heart; in the peasants lowly
Snhichest too became a heart in the Danish arms. And the
old grandfather dried his eyes, for he had known King Frederick
with the silvery locks and honest blue eyes, and had lived for
him: he folded his hands, and looked in silence straight before
him. Then came the daughter-in-law of the old grandfather, and
said it was late, he ought now to rest ; and the supper-table was

d. :
Pe Bat it is beautiful, what you have done, grandfather !” said
she. ‘Holger Danske, and all our old coat of arms! It seems
to me just as if 1 had seen that face before!”

“No, that can scarcely be,” replied the old grandfather ; “ but
I have seen it, and I havetried to carve itin wood as I have kept
it in my memory. It was when the English lay in front of the
wharf, on the Danish second of April,* when we showed that we
were old Danes. In the Denmark, on board which I was, in
Steen Bille’s squadron, I had a man at my side—it seemed as if
the bullets were afraid of him! Merrily he sang old songs, and
shot and fought as if he were something more than a man. . |
remember his face yet; but whence he came, and whither he
went, I know not—nobody knows. I have often thought he might
have been old Holger Danske himself, who had swum down from
the Kronenburg, and aided us in the hour of danger: that was
my idea, and there stands his picture.”

And the statue threw its great shadow up against the wall, and
even over part of the ceiling; it looked as though the real Holger
Danske were standing behind it, for the shadow moved, but this
might have been because the flame of the candle did not burn
steadily. And the daughter-in-law kissed the old grandfather,
and led him to the great arm-chair by the table; and she and her
husband, who was the son of the old man, and father of the little
boy in the bed, sat and ate their supper; and the grandfather
spoke of the Danish lions and of the Danish hearts, of strength
and of gentleness; and quite clearly did he explain that there
was another strength besides the power that lies in the sword;
and he pointed to the shelf on which were the old books, where
stood the plays of Holberg, which had been read so often, for
they were very amusing; one could almost fancy one recognized
the people of by-gone days in them.

“See, he knew how to strike too,” said the grandfather : “he
scourged the foolishness and prejudice of the people so long as he
could”—and the grandfather nodded at the mirror, above which
stood the calendar, with the “ Round Tower”+ on it, and said
“Tycho Brahe was also one who used the sword, not to cut into
flesh and bone, but to build up a plainer way among all the stars

* On the 2nd of April, r80r, occurred the sanguinary naval battle between the Danes

and the English, under Sir Hyde Parker and Nelson.
+ The astronomical observatory at Copenhagen,
THE PUPPET SHOWMAN. 143

of heaven, And then #e whose father belonged to -ny calling,
the son of the old figure-head carver, he whom we have our-
selves seen with his silver hairs and his broad shoulders, he whose
name is spoken of.in all lands! Yes, Ze was a sculptor; Jam
only a carver. Yes, Holger Danske may come in many forms,
so that one hears in every country in the world of Denmark’s
strength. Shall-we now drink the health of Bertel ?”*

But the little lad in the bed saw plainly the old Kronenburg with
the Oer Sound, the real Holger Danske, who sat deep below, with
his beard grown through the marble table, dreaming of all that
happens up here. Holger Danske also dreamed of the little
humble room where the carver sat; he heard all that passed, and
nodded in his sleep, and said,

“Yes, remember me,.ye Danish folk; remember me. I shall
come in the hour of need.”

And without by the Kronenburg shone the bright day, and the
wind carried the notes of the hunting-horn over from the neigh-
bouring land; the ships sailed past, and saluted, “Boom! boom!”
and ‘from the Kronenburg came the reply, “ Boom! boom!” But
Holger Danske did not awake, however loudly they shot, for it was
only “ Good day” and “ Thank you!” There must be another
kind of shooting before he awakes; but he will awake, for there
is faith in Holger Danske.

THE PUPPET SHOWMAN.

N board the steamer was an elderly man with such a merry
face that, if it did not belie him, he must have been the
happiest fellow in creation. And, indeed, he declared he

was the happiest man; I heard it out of his own mouth. He was
a Dane, a travelling theatre director. He had all his company
with him in a large box, for he was proprietor of a puppet-show.
His inborn cheerfulness, he said, had been purified by a Poly-
technic candidate, and the experiment had made him completely
happy. I did not at first understand all this, but afterwards he
explained the whole story to me, and here it is. He told me:
“It was in the little town of Slagelse I gave a representation in
the hall of the posting-house, and had a brilliant audience, en-
tirelya juvenileone, with the exception of two respectable matrons.
All at once a person in black, of student-like appearance, came
into the room and sat down; he laughed aloud at the telling parts,

Bertel Thorwaldsen.
144 THE PUPPET SHOWMAN.

and applauded quite appropriately. That was quite an unusual
spectator for me! I felt anxious to know who he was, and I head
he was a candidate from the Polytechnic Institution in Copen-
hagen, who had been sent out to instruct the folks in the pro-
vinces, Punctually at eight o’clock my performance closed ; for ©
children must go early to bed, and a manager must consult the.
convenience of his public. At nine o’clock the candidate com-
menced his lecture, with experiments, and now I formed part of
his audience. It was wonderful to hear and to see. The greater
part of it was beyond my scope ; but still it made me think that
if we men can find out so much, we must be surely intended to
last longer than the little span until we are hidden away in the
earth. They were quite miracles in a small way that he showed.
and yet everything flowed as naturally as water! At the time of
Moses and the propnets such a man would have been received
among the sages of the land; in the middle ages they would have
burned him at a stake. All night long I could not go to sleep.
And the next evening, when I gave another performance, and the
candidate was again present, I felt fairly overflowing with humour.
I once heard from a player that when he acted a lover he always
thought ofone particular lady among the audience; he only played
for her, and forgot all the rest of the house ; and now the Poly-
technic candidate was my ‘ she, my only auditor, for whom alone
I played. And when the performance was over, all the puppets
were called before the curtain, and the Polytechnic candidate in-
vited me into his room to take.a glass of wine ; and he spoke of
my comedies, and I of his science; and I believe we were both
equally pleased. But I had the best of it, for there was much in
what he did of which he could not always give me an explanation.
For instance, that a piece of iron that falls through a spiral should
become magnetic. Now, how does that happen? The spirit
comes upon it; but whence does it come? It is as with people
in this world : they are made to tumble through the spiral of this
world, and the spirit comes upon them, and there stands a Napo-
leon, or a Luther, or a person of that kind. ‘The whole world is
a series of miracles, said the candidate ; ‘but we are so accus-
tomed to them that we call them every-day matters.’ And he
went on explaining things to me until my skull seemed lifted up
over my brain, and I declared that if I were not an old fellow I
would at once visit the Polytechnic Institution, that I might learn
to look at the sunny side of the world, though I am one of the
happiest of men. ‘ One of the happiest !’ said the candidate, and
he seemed to take real pleasure in it. ‘Are you happy?’ * Yes,’
I replied, ‘and they welcome me in all the towns where I come
with my company ; but I certainly have oe wish, which some-
times lies like lead, like an Alp, upon my good humour ; I should
like to become a real theatrical manager, the director of a real
troupe of men and women!’ ‘I see,’ he said, ‘ you would like to
THE PUPPET SHOWMAN. 145

have life breathed into your puppets, so that they might be real
actors,and you their director; and would you then be quite happy?’
He did not believe it; but ] believed it, and we talked it over all
manner of ways without coming any nearer to an agreement; but
we clanked ourglasses together, and the wine was excellent. There
was some magic in it, or I certainly should have become tipsy.
But that did not happen ; I retained my clear view of things, and
somehow there was sunshine in the room, and sunshine beamed
out of the eyes of the Polytechnic candidate. It made me think
of the old stories of the gods, in their eternal youth, whén they
still wandered upon earth and paid visits to the mortals ; and I:
said so to him, and he smiled, and I could have sworn he was
one of the ancient gods in disguise, or that, at any rate, he be-
longed to the family! and certainly he must have been something
of the kind, for my highest wish was to have been fulfilled, the
puppets were to be gifted with life, and I was to be director of a
real company. We drank to my success and clinked our glasses,
He packed all my dolls into a box, bound the box on my back, ,
and then let me fall through a spiral. I heard myself tumbling,,
and then I was lying on the floor—I know that quite well—and,
the whole company sprang out of the box. The spirit had come
upon all of us : all the puppets had become distinguished artists,
so they said themselves, and I was the director. All was ready
for the first representation ; the whole company wanted to speak
to me, and the public also. The dancing lady said the house
would fall down if she did not keep it up by standing on one leg ;
for she was the great genius, and begged to be treated as such.
The lady who acted the Queen wished to be treated off the stage
as a Queen, or else she should get out of practice. The man who
was only employed to deliver a letter gave himself just as many
airs as the first lover, for he declared the little ones were just a3
important as.the great ones, and all were of equal consequencé;;
considered as an artistic whole. The hero would only play parts!
composed of nothing but points; for those brought him down
the.applause. The prima donna would only play in a red light;.
for she declared that a blue one did not suit her complexion. It
was like a company of flies in a bottle ; and I was in the bottle,
with them, for I was the director. My breath stopped and my,
head whirled round ; {was as miserable as a man can be, It,
was quite,a novel kind ofmen among whom I now found myself.
I only wished I had them all in the box again, and that I had
never been a director at all; so I-told them roundly that after all’
they were nothing but puppets; and then they killed me. I found.,
myself lying on my bed in my room ; and how I got there, and how.
I got away.at all from the-Polytechnic candidate, he may perhaps -
know, for don’t. The moon shone upon the floor where the box ,
lay. open, and. the dolls all in a confusion together—great and.
small, all scattered about; but I was not idle. Out of bed I jumped,...:
‘ 10
146 A PICTURE FROM THE FORTRESS WALL.

and into the box they had all to go, some on their heads, some
on their feet, and I shut down the lid and seated myself upon the
box. ‘Now you'll just have to stay there,’ said I, ‘and I shall
beware how I wish you flesh and blood again.’ I felt quite light ;
my good humour had come back, and I was the happiest of
mortals: The Polytechnic student had fully purified me. I sat
as happy as a King, and went to sleep on the box. The next
morning—strictly speaking it was noon, for I slept wonderfully
late that day—I was still sitting there, happy and conscious that
my former wish had been a foolish one. | inquired for the Poly-
technic candidate, but he was gone, like the Greek and Roman
gods; and from that time I’ve been the happiest of men. I am
a happy director: none of my company ever grumble, nor my
public either, for they are always merry. I can put my pieces to-
gether just as I please. I take out of every comedy what pleases
me best, and no one is angry at it. Pieces that are neglected
now-a-days by the great public, but which it used to run after
thirty years ago, and at which it used to cry till the tears ran
down its cheeks, these pieces I now take up: I put them before
the little ones, and the little ones cry just as papa and mamma
used to cry thirty years ago; but I shorten them, for the young-
sters don’t like a long palaver; what they want is something
mourn‘ul, but quick.” ve

A PICTURE FROM THE FORTRESS WALL.

(S/T is autumn : we stand on the fortress wall, and look out
]} over the sea; we look at the numerous ships, and at the
Swedish coast on the other side of the Sound, which rises
far above the mirror of waters in the evening glow; behind us the
woods stand sharply out ; mighty trees surround us, the yellow
leaves flutter down from the branches. Below, at the foot of the
wall, stand gloomy houses fenced in with palisades ; in these it is
very narrow and disnial, but still more dismal is it behind the
grated loopholes in the wall, for there sit the prisoners, the worst
criminals,

A ray of the sinking sun shoots into the bare cell of one of the
captives. The sun shines upon the good and the evil. The dark
stubborn criminal throws an impatient look at the cold ray. A
little bird flies towards the grating. The bird twitters to the
wicked as to the just. He only utters his short “tweet ! tweet!”
but he perches upon the grating, claps his wings, pecks a feather
from one of ther, puffs himself out, and sets his feathers on end


IN THE DUCK-VARD, . 147



The Prisoner.

on his neck and breast ; and the bad chained man looks at him :
a milder expression comes into the criminal’s hard face: in his
breast there swells up a thought—a thought he himself cannot
rightly analyse ; but the thought has to do with the sunbeam, with
the scent of violets which grow luxuriantly in spring at the foot of
the wall. Now the horns of the chasseur soldiers sound merry
and full. The little bird starts, and flies away ; the sunbeam gra-
dually. vanishes, and again it is dark in the room, and dark in the
heart of the bad man ; but still the sun has shone into that heart,
and the twittering of the bird has touched it!

Sound on, ye glorious strains of the hunting-horns! Continue
to sound, for the evening is mild, and the surface of the sea, smooth:
as a mirror, heaves slowly and gently.

IN THE DUCK-YARD.

| DUCK arrived from Portugal. Some said she came from

Spain, but that’s allthe same. At any rate, she was called

the Portuguese, and laid eggs, and was killed and cooked,
10—2


148 IN THE DUCK-YARD.

and that was Aer career. But the ducklings which crept forth from
her eggs were afterwards also called Portuguese, and there is
something in that. Now, of the whole family there was only one
left in the duck-yard, a yard to which the chickens had access
likewise, and where the cock strutted about in avery aggressive
manner.

“ He annoys me with his loud crowing !” observed the Portu-
guese Duck. “ But he’s a handsome bird, there’s no denying that,
though he is not a drake. He ought to moderate his voice, but
that’s an art inseparable from polite education, like that possessed
by the little singing birds over in the lime trees in the neighbour’s
garden. How charmingly they sing! There ’s something quite
pretty in their warbling. I call it Portugal. If I had only sucha
little singing bird, I’d be a mother to him, kind and good, for that’s
in my blood, my Portuguese blood !”

And while she was still speaking, a little Singing Bird came head
over heels from the roof into the yard. The cat was behind him,
but the Bird escaped with a broken wing, and that’s how he came
tumbling into the yard,

“ That’s just like the cat; she’sa villain !” said the Portuguese
Duck. “I remember her ways when I had children of my own.
That such a creature should be allowed to live, and to wander
anal upon the roofs ! I don’t think they do such things in Por-
tugal !

And she pitied the little Singing Bird, and the other Ducks
who were not of Portuguese descent pitied him too.

“Poor little creature!” they said, as one after another came
up. “ Wecertainly can’t sing,” they said, “ but we have a sound-
ing board, or something of the kind, within us ; we can feel that,
though we don’t talk of it.”

“But I can talk of it,” said the Portuguese Duck; “and I'll
do something for the little fellow, for that’s my duty.” And she
stepped into the water-trough, and beat her wings upon the water
so heartily, that the little Singing Bird was almost drowned by
the bath he got, but the Duck meant it kindly. “That’s a good
deed,” she said : “ the others may take example by it.”

“Piep !” said the little Bird : one of his wings was broken, and
he found it difficult to shake himself; but he quite understood
that the bath was kindly meant. “You are very kind-hearted,
madam,” he said ; but he did not wish for a second bath.

‘I have never thought about my heart,” continued the Portu-
guese Duck, “but I know this much, that I love all my fellow-
creatures except the cat ; but nobody can expect me to love her,
for she ate up two of my ducklings. But pray make yourself at
home, for one can make oneself comfortable. I myself am from
a strange country, as you may see from my bearing and from my
feathery dress. My drake is a native of these parts, he’s not of:
my race ; but for all that I’m not proud! If any one: here in
IN THE DUCK-VARD. 149

the yard can understand you, I may assert that I am that
person.”

“She’s quite full of Portulak,” said a little common Duck, who
was witty ; and all the other common Ducks considered the word
Portulak quite a good joke, for it sounded like Portugal ; and
they nudged each other and said “Rapp!” It was too witty !
And all the other Ducks now began to notice the little Singing
Bird. -

“The Portuguese has certainlya greater command of language,”
they said. “For our part, we don’t care to fill our beaks with
such long words, but our sympathy is just as great.. If we don’t
do anything for you, we march about with you everywhere ; and
we think that the best thing we can do.”

“You have a lovely voice,” said one of the oldest. ‘It must
bea great satisfaction to be able to give so much pleasure as ycu
are able to impart. I certainly am no great judge of your song,
and consequently I keep my beak shut ; and even that is better
than talking nonsense to you, as others do.”

“ Don’t plague him so,” interposed the Portuguese Duck; “he
requires rest and nursing. My little Singing Bird, do you wish
me to prepare another bath for you?”

“Oh,no! pray let me be dry !” was the little Bird’s petition.

“ The water cure is the only remedy for me when I am unwell,”
quoth the Portuguese, ‘Amusement is beneficial too. The
neighbouring fowls will soon come to pay their visit. There are
two Cochin Chinese among them. They wear feathers on their
legs, are well educated, and have been brought from afar, conse-
quently they stand higher than the others in my regard.”

And the Fowls came, and the Cock came; to-day he was polite
enough to abstain from being rude.

“You are a true Singing Bird,” he said, “and you do as much
with your little voice as can possibly be done with it. But one
requires a little more shrillness, that every hearer may hear that
one is a male.”

The two Chinese stood quite enchanted with the appearance
of. the Singing Bird. He looked very much rumpled after his
bath, so that he seemed to them to have quite the appearance of
alittle Cochin China fowl.

“He's charming,” they cried, and began a conversation. with
eee speaking in whispers, and using the most aristocratic Chinese

ialect.

“We are of your race,” they continued. “The Ducks, even
the Portuguese, are swimming birds, as you cannot fail to have
noticed. You.do not know us yet; very few know us, or give
themselves the trouble to make our acquaintance—not even any
of the fowls, though we are born to occupy a higher grade on the
ladder than most of the rest.. But that does not disturb us: we
quietly pursue our path amid. the others, whose principles are
150 IN THE DUCK-YARD.

certainly not ours ; for we look at things on the favourable side,
and only speak of what is good, though it is difficult sometimes
to find something when nothing exists. Except us two and the
Cock, there’s no one in the whole poultry-yard who is at once
talented and polite. It cannot even be said of the inhabitants of
the duck-yard. We warn you, little Singing Bird : don’t trust that
one yonder with the short tail-feathers, for she’s gunning. The
pied one there, with the crooked stripes on her wings, is a strife-
seeker, and lets nobody have the last word, though she’s always
in the wrong. The fat duck yonder speaks evil of every one, and
that’s against our principles: if we have nothing good to tell, we
should hold our beaks. The Portuguese is the only one who has
any education, and with whom one can associate, but she is
passionate, and talks too much about Portugal.”

“ T wonder what those two Chinese are always whispering to
one another about ?” whispered one Duck to her friend. ‘ They
annoy me—we have never spoken to them.”

Now the Drake came up. He thought the little Singing Bird
was a Sparrow.

“ Well, I don’t understand the difference,” he said ; “and, in-
deed, it’s all the same thing. He’s only a plaything, and if one
has them, why, one has them.”

“Don’t you attach any value to what he says,” the Portuguese
whispered. “He’s very respectable in business matters ; and
with him business takes precedence of everything. But now I
shall lie down for a rest. One owes that to oneself, that one may
be nice and fat when one is to be embalmed with apples and
plums.” :

And accordingly she lay down in the sun, and winked with one
eye; and she lay comfortably, and she felt very comfortable, and
she slept very comfortably.

The little Singing Bird busied himself with his broken wing.
At last he lay down too, and pressed close to his protectress ; the
sun shone warm and bright, and he had found a very good place.
_ But the neighbour’s fowls were awake, and went about scratch-
ing up the earth; and, to tell the truth, they had paid the visit
simply and solely to find food for themselves. The Chinese were
the first to leave the duck-yard, and the other fowls soon followed —
them. The witty little Duck said of the Portuguese that the old
lady was becoming a ducky dotard. At this the other Ducks
laughed and cackled aloud. “Ducky dotard,” they whispered ;
“that’s too witty !’? and then they repeated the former joke about
Portulak, and declared that it was vastly amusing. And then
they lay down.

They had been lying asleep for some time, when suddenly
something was thrown into the yard for them to eat. It came
down with such a thwack! that the whole company started up
from sleep and clapped their wings. The Portuguese awoke too,
IN THE DUCK-YARD. 151

and threw herself over on the other side, pressing the little Sing-
ing Bird very hard as she did so.

“ Piep !” he cried ; “ you trod very hard upon me, madam.”

“ Well, why do you lie in my way?” the Duck retorted. ‘ You
must not beso touchy. I have nerves of my own, but yet I never
called out ‘ Piep !”

“ Don’t be angry,” said the little Bird; “the ‘piep’ came out
of my beak unawares.”

The Portuguese did not listen to him, but began eating as fast
as she could, and made a good meal. When this was ended, and
she lay down again, the little Bird came up, and wanted to be
amiable, and sang :

‘* Tillee-lilly lee,
Of the good spring-time

1’ll sing so fine
As far away I flee.”

“Now I want to rest after my dinner,” said the ortuguese.
“You must conform to the rules of the house while you’re here.
I want to sleep now.”

The little Singing Bird was quite taken aback, for he had meant
it kindly. When Madam afterwards awoke, he stood before her
again with a little corn that he had found, and laid it at her feet ;
but as she had not slept well, she was naturally in a very bad
humour.

“Give that to a chicken!” she said, “and don’t be always
standing in my way.”

“Why are you angry with me?” replied the little Singing Bird.

“What have I done?”

“Done !” repeated the Portuguese Duck : “your mode of ex-
pression is not exactly genteel ; a fact to which I must call your
attention.”

“Yesterday it was sunshine here,” said the little Bird, “ but
to-day it’s cloudy and the air is close.”

“You don’t know much about the weather, I fancy,” retorted
the Portuguese. “The day is not done yet. Don’t stand there
looking so stupid.”

“But you are looking at me just as the wicked eyes looked
when I fell into the yard yesterday.”

“Impertinent creature!” exclaimed the Portuguese Duck,
“would you compare me with the cat, that beast of prey?
There’s not a drop of malicious blood in me. I’ve taken your
part, and will teach you good manners.”

And so saying, she bit off the Singing Bird’s head, and he lay
dead on the ground.

“Now, what’s the meaning of this?” she said, “ could he not
bear even that? Then certainly he was not made for this world.
oe been like a mother to him, I know that, for I’ve a good

eart.”
152 THE RED SHOES.

Then the neighbour’s Cock stuck his head into the yard, and
crowed with steam-engine power.

“Youll kill me with yourcrowing!” she cried. “It’s all your
fault. He’s lost his head, and I am very near losing mine.”

“ There’s not much lying where he fell!” observed the Cock. |

“ Speak of him with respect,” retorted the Portuguese Duck,
“for he had song, manners, and education. He was affectionate
and soft, and that’s as good in animals as in your so-called
human beings.”

And all the Ducks came crowding round the little dead Sing-
ing Bird. Ducks have strong passions, whether they feel envy
or pity; and as there was nothing here to envy, pity manifested
itself, even in the two Chinese. :

“We shall never get sucha singing bird again; he was almost
4 Chinese,” they whispered ; and they wept with a mighty cluck-
ing sound, and all the fowls clucked too, but the Ducks went
about with the redder eyes.

“ We’ve hearts of our own,” they said; “nobody can deny
that.”

“ Hearts !” repeated the Portuguese, “ yes, that we have, almost
‘as much as in Portugal.”

“Let us think of getting something to satisfy our hunger,” said
the Drake, “for that’s the most important point. If one of our
toys is broken, why, we have plenty more !”

THE RED SHOES.

HERE once was a little girl; a very nice pretty little girl.
But in summer she had to go barefoot, because she was
poor, and in winter she wore thick wooden shoes, so that
her little instep became quite red, altogether red.

In the middle of the village lived an old shoemaker’s wife ; she
sat, and sewed, as well as she could, a pair of little shoes, of old
strips of red cloth ; they were clumsy enough, but well meant, and
the little girl was tohavethem. The little girl’s name was Karen.

On the day when her mother was buried she received the red
shoes and wore them for the first time. They were certainly not
suited for mourning; but she had no others, and therefore thrust
i little bare feet into them and walked behind the plain deal
coffin,

Suddenly a great carriage came by, and in the carriage sat an
old lady; she looked at the little girl and felt pity for her, ana
said to the clergyman,
THE RED SHOES, 153

“ Give me the little girl and I will provide for her.”

Karen thought this was for the sake of the shoes; but the old
lady declared they were hideous; and they were burned. But
Karen herself was clothed neatly and properly: she was taught
to read and to sew, and the people said she was agreeable. But
her mirror said, “ You are much more than agreeable; you:are
beautiful.”

Once the Queen travelled through the country, and had her
little daughter with her; and the daughter was a Princess. And
the people flocked towards the castle, and Karen too was among
them; and the little Princess stood in a fine white dress at a
window, and let herself be gazed at. She had neither train nor
golden crown, but she wore splendid red morocco shoes; they
were certainly far handsomer than those the shoemaker’s-wife
had made for little Karen. Nothing in the world can compare
with red shoes!

Now Karen was old enough to be confirmed: new clothes were
made for her, and she was to have new shoes. The rich shoe-
maker in the town took the measure of her little feet; this was
done in his own house, in his little room, and there stood great
glass cases with neat shoes and shining boots. It had quite a
charming appearance, but the old lady could not see well, and
therefore took no pleasure in it. Among the shoes stood a red
pair, just like those which the Princess had worn. How beautiful
they were! The shoemaker also said they had been made for a
Count’s child, but they had not fitted.

“That must be patent leather,” observed the old lady, “ the
shoes shine so!”

“Yes, they shine!” replied Karen; and they fitted her, and
were bought. But the old lady did not know that they were red;
for she would never have allowed Karen to go to ‘her confirma-
tion in red shoes; and. that is what Karen did.

Every one was looking at her shoes. And when she went across
the church porch, towards the door of the choir, it seemed to her
as if the old pictures on the tombstones, the portraits of clergy-
men and clergymen’s wives, in. their stiff collars and long black
garments, fixed their eyes upon her red shoes, And she thought
of her shoes only, when the priest laid his hand upon her head
and spoke holy words. And the organ pealed solemnly, the
children sang with their fresh sweet voices, and the old precentor
sang too; but Karen thought only of her red shoes.

In the afternoon the old lady was informed by every one that
the shoes were red; and she said it was naughty and unsuitable,
and that when .Karen went to church in future, she should always
go in black shoes, even if they-were old. -

Next Sutday was Sacrament Sunday. And Karen looked at
the black shoes, and looked at the red ones—looked at them again
-—and put on the red ones, ; .
154 THE RED SHOES.

The sun shone gloriously; Karen and the old lady went along
the foot-path through the fields, and it was rather dusty.

By the church door stood an old invalid soldier with a crutch
and a long beard; the beard was rather red than white, for it
was red altogether; and he bowed down almost to the ground,
and asked the old lady if he might dust her shoes. And Karen
also stretched out her little foot. ; ;

“Look, what pretty dancing-shoes !” said the old soldier. “Fit
so tightly when you dance!”

And he tapped the soles with his hand. And the old lady
gave the soldier an alms, and went into the church with Karen,

And every one in the church looked at Karen’s red shoes, and
all the pictures looked at them. And while Karen knelt in the
church she only thought of her red shoes; and she forgot to sing
her psalm, and forgot to say her prayer.

Now all the people went out of church, and the old lady stepped
into her carriage. Karen lifted up her foot to step in too; then
the old soldier said,

“ Look, what beautiful dancing-shoes !”

And Karen could not resist: she was obliged to dance a few
steps; and when she once began, her legs went on dancing. It
was just as though the shoes had obtained power over her. She
danced round the corner of the church—she could not help it;
the coachman was obliged to run behind her and seize her: he
lifted her into the carriage, but her feet went on dancing, so that
she kicked the good old lady violently. At last they took off her -
shoes, and her legs became quiet.

At home the shoes were pur away in a cupboard; but Karen
could not resist looking at them.

Now the old lady became very ill, and it was said she would
not recover. She had to be nursed and waited on: and this was
no one’s duty so much as Karen’s, But there was to be a great
ball in the town, and Karen was invited. She looked at the old
lady who could not recover; she looked at the red shoes, and
thought there would be no harm in it. She put on the shoes,
and that she might very well do; but they went to the ball and
began to dance.

But when she wished to go to the right hand, the shoes danced
to the left, and when she wanted to go upstairs the shoes danced
downwards, down into the street and out at-the town gate. She
danced, and was obliged to dance, till she danced straight out into
the dark wood.

There was something glistening up among the trees, and she
thought it was the moon, for she saw a face. But it was the old
soldier with the red beard: he sat and nodded, and said,

“Look, what beautiful dancing-shoes!” é

Then she was frightened, and wanted to throw away the red
shoes; but they clung fast to her. And she tore off her stock-
THE RED SHOES. 155



Karen and the old Soldier.

ings; but the shoes had grown fast to her feet. And she danced
and was compelled to go dancing over field and meadow, in rain
and sunshine, by night and by day; but it was most dreadful at
night.

She danced out into the open churchyard; but the dead there
do not dance; they have far better things to do. She wished to
sit down on the poor man’s grave, where the bitter fern grows;
but there was no peace nor rest for her. And when she danced
towards the open church door, she saw there an angel in long
white garments, with wings that reached from his shoulders to his
186 THE RED SHOES.

feet; his countenance was serious and stern, and in his hand he
held:a sword that was broad and gleaming. .

“ Thou shalt dance!” he said—“ dance on thy red shoes, till
thou art pale and cold, and till thy body shrivels to a skeleton.
Thou shalt dance from door to door, and where proud, haughty
children dwell, shalt thou knock, that they may hear thee, and
be afraid of thee! Thou shalt dance, dance!”

““ Mercy!” cried Karen.

But she did not hear what the angel answered, for the shoes
carried her away—carried her through the door on to the field,
over stock and stone, and she was always obliged to dance.

One morning she danced past a door which she knew well.
There was a sound of psalm-singing within, and a cofizn was car-
ried out, adorned with flowers. Then she knew that the old lady
was dead, and she felt that she was deserted by all, and con-
demned by the angel of heaven.

She danced, and was compelled to dance—to dance in the dark
night. The shoes carried her on over thorn and brier; she
scratched herself till she bled; she danced away across the heath
to a little lonely house. Here she knew the executioner dwelt ;
and she tapped with her fingers on the panes, and called,

“Come out, come out! I cannot come in, for I must dance!”

And the executioner said, :

* You probably don’t know whom I am? I cut off the bad
people’s heads with my axe, and mark how my axe rings!”

“Do not strike off my head,” said Karen, “for if you do I can-
notrepent of mysin. But strike off my feet with thered shoes!”

And then she confessed all her sin, and the executioner cut off
her feet with the red shoes; but the shoes danced away with the
little feet over the fields and into the deep forest.

And he cut her a pair of wooden feet, with crutches, and taught
her a psalm, which the criminals always sing; and she kissed the
hand that had held the axe, and went away across the heath.

“Now I have suffered pain enough for the red shoes,” said she.
“Now I will go into the church, that they may see me.”

And she went quickly towards the church door, but when she
came there the red shoes danced’ before her, so that she was
frightened, and turned back.

The whole week through she was sorrowful, and wept many
bitter tears; but when Sunday came, she said,

_ “Now I have suffered and striven enough! I think that I am
just as good as many of those who sit in the church and carry
their heads high.”

And then she went boldly on; but she did not get farther than
the churchyard gate before she saw the red shoes dancing along
before her; then she was seized with terror, and turned back, and
repented of her sin right heartily.

And she went to the parsonage, and begged to be taken there
THE RED SHOES. 157

as aservant. She promised to be industrious, and to do all she
could; she did not care for wages, and only wished to be undera
roof and with good people. Theclergyman’s wife pitied her, and
took her into her service. And she was industrious and thought-
fv. Silently she sat and listened when in the evening the pastor
read the Bible aloud. All the little ones were very fond of her;
but when they spoke of dress and splendour and beauty, she would
shake her head. :

Next Sunday they all went to church, and she was asked if she
wished to go too but she looked sadly, with tears in her eyes, at
her crutches. And then the others went to hear God’s word; but
she went alone into her little room, which was only large enough
tocontain her bed and achair. And here she sat with her hymn-
book; and as she read it with a pious mind, the wind bore the
notes of the organ over to her from the church; and she lifted up
her face, wet with tears, and said,

“O Lord, help me!”

Then the sun shone so brightly ; and before her stood the angel
in the white garments, the same she had. seen that night at the
church door. But heno longer grasped the sharp sword; he held
a green branch covered with roses.; and he touched the ceiling;
and it rose up high, and wherever he touched it a golden star
gleamed forth; and he touched the walls, and they spread forth
widely, and she saw the organ which was pealing its rich sounds ;
and she saw the old pictures of clergymen and their wives; and
the congregation sat in the decorated seats, and sang from their
hymn-books. The church had come to the poor girl in her narrow
room, or her chamber had become achurch. She sat in the chair
with the rest of the clergyman’s people; and when they had
finished the psalm, and looked up, they nodded and said,

“That was right that you came here, Karen.”

“Tt was mercy!” said she.

And the organ sounded its glorious notes; and the children’s
voices singing in the chorus sounded sweet and lovely ; the clear
sunshine streamed so warm through the window upon the chair in
which Karen:sat; and her heart became so filled with sunshine,
peace, and joy, that it broke. Her soul flew on the sunbeams to
heaven ; and there was nobody who asked after the RED SHOES!
158

SOUP ON A SAUSAGE-PEG.
I,

HAT wasa remarkably fine dinner yesterday,” observea
3] +anold Mouse of the female sex to another who had not
been at the festive gathering. “ I sat number twenty-
one from the old Mouse King, so that I was not badly placed.
Should you like to hear the order of the banquet? The courses
were very well arranged—mouldy bread, bacon-rind, tallow
candle, and sausage—and then the same dishes over again from
the beginning: it was just as good as having two banquets in
succession, There was as much joviality and agreeable jesting
as in the family circle. Nothing was left but the pegs at the
ends of the sausages. And the discourse turned upon these ;
and at last the expression, ‘Soup on sausage-rinds,’ or, as they
have the proverb in the neighbouring country, ‘Soup on a
sausage-peg,’ was mentioned. Every one had heard the proverb,
but no one had ever tasted the sausage-peg soup, much less pre-
pared it. A capital toast was drunk to the inventor of the soup,
and it was said he deserved to be a relieving officer. Was not
that witty? And the old Mouse King stood up, and promised
that the young female mouse who could best prepare that soup
should be his Queen; and a year was allowed for the trial.”

“That was not at all bad,” said the other Mouse; “ but how
does one prepare this soup.”

“Ah, how is it prepared? That is just what all the young
female mice, and the old ones too, are asking. They would all
very much like to be Queen; but they don’t want to take the
trouble to.go out into the world to learn how to prepare the soup,
and that they would certainly have todo. But every one has
not the gift of leaving the family circle and the chimney corner.
In foreign parts one can’t get cheese rinds and bacon every
day. No, one must bear hunger, and perhaps be eaten up alive
by a cat.”

Such were probably the considerations by which the majority
were deterred from going out into the wide world and gaining
information. Only four Mice announced themselves ready to de-
part. They were young and brisk, but poor. Each of them wished
to proceed to one of the four quarters of the globe, and then it
would become manifest which of them was favoured by fortune,
Every one took a sausage-peg, so as to keep in mind the object
of the journey. The stiff sausage-peg was to be to them asa
pilgrim’s staff.

It was at the beginning of May that they set out, and they did
not return till the May of the following year; and then only three


SOUP ON A SAUSAGE-PEG. 159

of them appeared. The fourth did not report herself, nor was
there any intelligence of her, though the day of trial was close at
hand,

“Yes, there’s always some drawback in even the pleasantest
affair,” said the Mouse King.

And then he gave orders that all mice within a circuit of many
miles should be invited. They were to assemble in the kitchen.
where the three travelled Mice would stand up in a row, while a
sausage-peg, shrouded in crape, was set up as a memento of the
fourth, who was missing. No one was to proclaim his opinion
till the Mouse King had settled what was to be said. And now
let us hear.

II.
What the first little Mouse had seen and learned in her Travels.

“When | went out into the wide world,” said the little Mouse,
“] thought, as many think at my age, that I had already learned
everything; but that was not thecase. Years must pass before
one gets so far. I went to sea at once. I went ina ship that
steered towards the north. They had told me that the ship's
cook must know how to manage things at sea; but it is easy
enough to manage things when one has plenty of sides of bacon,
and whole tubs of salt pork, and mouldy flour. One has delicate
living on board; but one does not learn to prepare soup on a
sausage-peg. We sailed along for many days and nights; the
ship rocked fearfully, and we did not get off without a wetting.
When we at last reached the port to which we were bound, i
left the ship; and it was high up in the far north.

“It isa wonderful thing to go out of one’s own corner at home,
and sail in a ship, where one has a.sort of corner too, and then
suddenly to find oneself hundredsof miles away in a strange
land. I saw great pathless forests of pine and birch, which smelt
so strong that I sneezed, and thought of sausage. There were
great lakes there too. When I came close to them the waters
were quite clear, but from a distance they looked black as ink.
Great swans floated upon them: I thought at first they were
spots of foam, they lay so still; but then | saw them walk and
fly, and I recognized them. They belong to the goose family—
one can see that by their walk; for no one can deny his parentage.
I kept with my own kind. I associated with the forest and field
mice, who, by the way, know very little, especially as regards
cookery, though this was the very subject that had brought me
abroad. The thought that soup might be boiled on a sausage.
peg was such a startling statement to them, that it flew at once
from mouth to mouth through the whole forest. They declared
the problem could never be solved; and little did I think that
there, on the very first night, I should be initiated into the method
160 SOUP ON A SAUSAGE-PEG.

of its preparation. It was in the height of summer, and. that,
the mice said, was the reason why the wood smelt so strongly.
and why the herbs were so fragrant, and the lakes so transparent
and yet so dark, with their white swimming swans.

“On the margin of the wood, among three or four houses, a
pole as tall as the mainmast of a ship had been erected, and from
its summit hung wreaths of fluttering ribbons; this was called a
maypole. Men and maids danced round the tree, and sang as
loudly as they could, to the violin of the fiddler. There were
merry doings at sundown and in the moonlight, but I took no
part in them—what has a little mouse to do with a May dance?
I sat in the soft moss and held my sausage-peg fast. The moon
threw its beams especially upon one spot, where a tree stood,
covered with moss so exceedingly fine, | may almost venture to
say it was as fine as the skin of the Mouse King; but it was of
a green colour, and that is a great relief to the eye.

“ All at once, the most charming little people came marching |
forth. They were only tall enough to reach to my knee. They
looked like men, but were better proportioned : they called them-
selves elves, and had delicate clothes on, of flower-leaves trimmed
with the wings of flies and gnats, which had a very good appeatr-
ance. Directly they appeared, they seemed to seek for something
—I know not what; but at last some of them came towards me,
and the chief pointed to my sausage-peg, and said, ‘ That is just
such a one as we want—it is pointed—it is capital!’ and the
longer he looked at my pilgrim’s staff the more delighted he be-
came.

*¢T will lend it, I said, ‘but not to keep.’

“© Not to keep !’ they all repeated; and they seized the sausage-
peg, which I gave up to them, and danced away to the spot where
the fine moss grew’; and here they set up the peg in the midst of
the green. They wanted to havea maypole of their own, and the
one they now had seemed cut out for them ;’ and they decorated
it so that it was beautiful to behold.

“ First, little spiders spun it-round with gold thread, and hung
it all over with fluttering veils and flags, so finely woven, bleached
so snowy white in the moonshine, that they dazzled my eyes. They
took colours from the butterfly’s wing, and strewed these over the
white linen, and flowers'and' diamonds gleamed upon it, so that
I did’ not know my sausage-peg again: there is not in all the
world such a maypole as they had made of it. And now came
the real great party of elves: They were quite without clothes, and
looked:as gentcel as possible : and they invited me to be present
at the feast ; but I was to keep at a certain distance, for I was-too
large for them.

*“And now began such. music! ‘It sounded like thousands of
glass bells, so full, so rich, that I thought the swans were singing,
I fancied’ also that I-heard the voice of the cuckoo and.the black-
SOUP ON A SAUSAGE-PEG. 161

bird, and at last the whole forest seemed to join in. I heard chil-
dren’s voices, the sound of bells, and the song ot birds ; the most
glorious melodies—and all came from the elves’ maypole, namely,
my sausage-peg. I should never have believed that so much could
come out of it; but that depends very much upon the hands into
which it falls.. I was quite touched. I wept, asa little mouse
may weep, with pure pleasure.

“ The night was far too short ; but it is not longer up yonder at
that season. In the morning dawn the breeze began to blow, the
mirror of the forest lake was covered with ripples, and all the deli-
cate veils and flags fluttered away in the air, The waving gar-
lands of spider’s web, the hanging bridges and balustrades, and
whatever else they are called, flew away as if they were nothing
atall. Six elves brought me back my sausage-peg, and asked me
at the same time if I had any wish that they could gratify ; so I
asked them if they could tellme how soup was made on a sausage-

eg.
“¢ How we do it?’ asked the chief of the elves, with a smile.
‘Why, you have just seen it. I fancy you hardly know your
sausage-peg again?’

“¢Vou only mean that as a joke, I replied. And then I told
them in so many words why I had undertaken a journey, and what
great hopes werefounded on the operation at home. ‘ What advan-
tage,’ I asked, ‘ can accrue to our Mouse King, and to our whole
powerful state, from the fact of my having witnessed all this festi-
vity? I cannot shake it out of the sausage-peg, and say, “ Look,
here is the peg, now the soup will come.” That would be a dish
that could only be put on the table when the guests had dined.’

“Then the elf dipped his little finger into the cup of a blue
violet, and said to me,

“See here! I will anoint your pilgrim’s staff ; and when you
go back to your country, and come to the castle of the Mouse
King, you have but to touch him with the staff, and violets will
spring forth and cover its whole surface, even in the coldest
winter-time. And so I think I’ve given you something to carry
home, and a little more than something !’”

But before the little Mouse said what this “ something more”
was, she stretched her staff out towards the King, and in Very
truth the most beautiful bunch of violets burst forth ; and the
scent was so powerful that the Mouse King incontinently ordered
the mice who stood nearest the chimney to thrust their tails into
the fire and create a smell of burning, for the odour of the violets
was not to be borne, and was not of the kind he liked.

“But what was the ‘something more,’ of which you spoke?”
asked the Mouse King. -

“ Why,” the little Mouse answered, “I think it is what they call
effect !” and herewith she turned the staff round, and lo! there
was not a single flower to be seen upon its she only held the

Il
162 SOUP ON A SAUSAGE-PEG.

naked skewer, and lifted this up, as a musical conductor lifts his
béton. “Violets, the elf said to me, “are for sight, and smell,
and touch. Therefore it yet remains to provide for hearing and
taste!’” :

And now the little Mouse began to beat time ; and music was
heard, not such as sounded in the forest among the elves, but such
as is heard in the kitchen. There was a bubbling sound of boil-
ing and roasting ; and all at once it seemed as if the sound were
rushing through every chimney, and pots and kettles were boil-
ing over., The fire-shovel hammered upon the brass kettle, and
then, on a sudden, all was quiet again. They heard the quiet
subdued song of the tea-kettle, and it was wonderful to hear—
they could not quite tell if the kettle were beginning to sing or
leaving off ; and the little pot simmered, and the big pot sim-
mered, and neither cared for the other: there seemed to be no
reason at all in the pots. And the little Mouse flourished her
édton more and more wildly ; the pots foamed, threw up large
bubbles, boiled over, and the wind roared and whistled through
the chimney. Oh! it became so terrible that the little Mouse lost
her stick at last.

“That was a heavy soup !” said the Mouse King. “ Shall we
not soon hear about the preparation?”

“That was all,” said the little Mouse, with a bow.

“That all! Then we should be glad to hear what the next has
to relate,” said the Mouse King.

III.
What the second little Mouse had to tell.

“J was born in the palace library,” said the second Mouse.
“ T and several members of our family never knew the happiness
of getting into the dining-room, much less into the store-room ;
on my journey, and here to-day. are the only times I have seen a
kitchen. We have indeed often been compelled to suffer hunger
in the library, but we get a good deal of knowledge. The rumour
penetrated even to us, of the royal prize offered to those who could
cook soup upon a sausage-peg ; and it 'was my old grandmother
who thereupon ferreted out a manuscript, which she certainly
could not read, but which she had heard read out, and in which it
was written—‘ Those who are poets can boil soup upon a sausage-
peg.’ She asked me if I were a poet. I felt quite innocent on the
subject, and then she told me I must go out, and manage to be-
come one. I again asked what was requisite in that particular—
for it was as difficult for me to find that out as to prepare the
Soup ; but grandmother had heard a good deal of reading, and
she said that three things was especially necessary: ‘Understand-
ing, Imagination, feeling, 1f you can manage to obtain these
SOUP ON A SAUSAGE-PEG, 163

three, you are a poet, and the sausage-peg affair will be quite
easy to you.’

“And I went forth, and marched towards the west, away into
the wide world, to become a poet.

“Understanding is the most important thing in every affair.
I knew that, for the two other things are not held in half such
respect, and consequently I went out first to seek understanding.
Yes, where does he dwell? ‘Go to the ant and be wise,’ said the
great King of the Jews; I knew that from my library experience ;
and I never stopped till I came to the first great ant-hill, and
there I placed myself on the watch, to become wise.

“The ants are a respectable people. They are understanding
itself. Everything with them is like a well-worked sum, that comes
right. To work and to lay eggs, they say, is to live while you live,
and to provide for posterity ; and accordingly that is what they
do. They were divided into the clean and the dirty ants. The
rank of each is indicated by a number, and the Ant Queen is
number ONE; and her view is the only correct one, she is the
receptacle of all wisdom ; and that was important for me to know.
She spoke so much, and it was all so clever, that it sounded to
me like nonsense. She declared her ant-hill was the loftiest thing
in the world ; though close by it grew a tree, which was certainly
loftier, much loftier, that could not be denied, and therefore it
was never mentioned. One evening an ant had lost herself upon
the tree ; she had crept up the stem—not up to the crown, but
higher than any ant had climbed until then ; and when she turned
and came back home, she talked of something far higher than
the ant-hill that she had found in her travels ; but the other ants
considered that an insult to the whole community, and conse-
quently she was condemned to wear a muzzle, and to continual
solitary confinement. But a short time afterwards another ant
got on the tree, and made the same journey and the same dis-
covery: and this one spoke with emphasis, and distinctly, as
they said; and as, moreover, she was one of the pure ants and
very much respected, they believed her ; and when she died they
erected an egg-shell as a memorial of her, for they had a great
respect for the sciences. I saw,” continued the little Mouse,
“that the ants are always running to and fro with their eggs on
their backs. One of them once dropped her egg; she exerted
herself greatly to pick it up again, but she could npt succeed.
Then two others came up, and helped her with all their might,
insomuch that they nearly dropped their own eggs over it; but
then they certainly at once relaxed their exertions, for each
should think of himself first—the Ant Queen had declared that
by so doing they exhibited at once heart and understanding. ©

“¢ These two qualities, she said, ‘place us ants on the highest
step among all reasoning beings. Understanding is seen among
us all in predominant measure, and I have the greatest share of

II--2
104 SOUP ON A SAUSAGE-PEG.

understanding.’ And so saying, she raised herself on her hind
legs, so that she was easily to be recognized. I could not be
mistaken, and I ate her up. We were to go to the ants to learn
wisdom—and I had got the Queen !

“ T now proceeded nearer to the before-mentioned lofty tree. It
was an oak, and had a great trunk and a far-spreading top, and
was very old. I knew that a living being dwelt here,a Dryad as
it is called, who is born with the tree, and dies with it. I had
heard about this in the library ; and now I saw an oak tree and
an oak girl. She uttered a piercing cry when she saw me so
near. Like all females, she was very much afraid of mice; and
she had more ground for fear than others, for I might have
gnawn through the stem of the tree on which her life depended.
I accosted the maiden in a friendly and honest way, and bade
her take courage. And she took me up in her delicate hand;
and when I had told her my reason for coming out into the wide
world, she promised me that perhaps on that very evening I
should have one of the two treasures of which I was still in quest.
She told me that Phantasus, the genius of imagination, was her
very good friend, that he was beautiful as the god of love, and
that he rested many an hour under the leafy boughs of the tree,
which then rustled more strongly than ever over the pair of them.
He called her his Dryad, she said, and the tree his tree, for the
grand gnarled oak was just to his taste, with its root burrowing
so deep in the earth, and the stem and crown rising so high out
in the fresh air, and knowing the beating snow, and the sharp
wind, and the warm sunshine as they deserve to be known. ‘ Yes,’
the Dyrad continued, ‘ the birds sing aloft therein the branches,
and tell each other of strange countries they have visited ; and
on the only dead bough the stork has built a nest which is highly
ornamental, and, moreover, one gets to hear something of the
land of the pyramids. All that is very pleasing to Phantasus;
but it is not enough for him: I myself must talk to him, and tell
him of life in the woods, and must revert to my childhood, when
I was little, and the tree such a delicate thing that a stinging-
nettle overshadowed it—and I have to tell everything, till now
that the tree is great and strong. Sit you down under the green
thyme, and pay attention ; and when Phantasus comes, I shall
find an opportunity to pinch his wings, and to pull out a little
feather. Take the pen—no better is given to any poet—and it
will be enough for you!”

. And when Phantasus came the feather was plucked, and 1
seized it,” said the little Mouse. “1 put it in water, and held it
there till it grew soft. It was very hard to digest, but I nibbled
it up at last. It is very easy to gnaw oneself into being a poet,
though there are many things one must do. Now I had these two
things, Imagination and understanding, and through these I knew
that the third was to be found in the library ; fora great man has
SOUP ON A SAUSAGE-PEG. 165

said and written that there are romances whose sole and single
use is that they relieve people of their superfluous tears, and that
they are, in fact, a sort of sponges sucking up human emotion.
Iremembered a few of these old books, which had always looked
especially palatable, and were much thumbed and very greasy,
having evidently absorbed a great deal of feeling into themselves.

“TI betook myself back to the library, and so to speak, devoured
a whole novel—that is, the essence of it, the interior part, for I
left the crust or binding. When I had digested this, and a second
one in addition, I felt a stirring within me, and I ate a bit of a
third romance, and now I was a poet. I said so to myself, and
told the others also. I had headache, and chestache, and I can’t
tell what aches besides. I began thinking what kind of stories
could be made to refer to a sausage-peg ; and many pegs, and
sticks, and staves, and splinters came into my mind—the Ant
Queen must have had a particular fine understanding. I remem-
bered the man who took a white stick in his mouth, by which
means he could render himself and the stick invisible ; I thought
cf stick hobby-horses, of ‘stock rhymes,’ of ‘ breaking the staff’
over an offender, and goodness knows how many phrases more
concerning sticks, stocks, staves, and pegs. All my thoughts
yan upon sticks, staves, and pegs; and when one is a poet (and
I ama poet, for 1 have worked most terribly hard to become one)
a person can make poetry on these subjects. I shall therefore
be able to wait upon you every day with a poem or a history—
and that’s the soup I have to offer.”

“Let us hear what the third has to say,” was now the Mouse
King’s command.

“Peep! peep!” cried a small voice at the kitchen door, and a
little Mouse—it was the fourth of the Mice who had contended
for the prize, the one whom they looked upon as dead—shot in
likean arrow. She toppled the sausage-peg with the crape cover-
ing overina moment. She had been running day and night, and
had travelled on the railway, in the goods train, having watched
her opportunity, and yet she had almost come too late. She
pressed forward, looking very much rumpled, and she had lost
her sausage-peg, but not her voice, for she at ance took up the
word, as if they had been waiting for her, and wanted to hear
none but her, and as if everything else in the world were of no
consequence. She spoke at once, and spoke fully: she had ap-
peared so suddenly that no one found time to object to her speech
oF to her, while she was speaking. And now let us hear what
she said.
166 SOUP ON A SAUSAGE-PEG.

IV.
What the fourth Mouse, who spoke before the third, had to tell.

“JT betook myself immediately to the largest town,” she said;
“the name has escaped me—I have a bad memory for names.
From the railway I was carried, with some confiscated goods, to
the council-house, and when I arrived there, I ran into the dwel-
ling of the gaoler. The gaoler was talking of his prisoners, and
especially of one, who had spoken unconsidered words. These
words had given rise to others, and these latter had been written
down and recorded.

“The whole thing is soup on a sausage-peg,’ said the gaoler;
‘but the soup may cost him his neck,’

“ Now, this gave me an interest in the prisoner,” continued the
Mouse, “and I watched my opportunity and slipped into his
prison—for there ’s a mouse-hole to be found behind every locked
door. The prisoner looked pale, and had a great beard and
bright sparkling eyes. The lamp flickered and smoked, but the
walls were so accustomed to that, that they grew none the blacker
for it. The prisoner scratched pictures and verses in white upon
the black ground, but I did not read them. I think he found it
tedious, and I was a welcome guest. He lured me with bread-
crumbs, with whistling, and with friendly words: he was glad to
see me, and gradually I got to trust him, and we became good
friends, He let me run over his hand, his arm, and into his
sleeve ; he let me creep about in his beard, and called me his
little friend. I really got to love him, for these things are reci-
procal. I forgot my mission in the wide world, forgot my sausage-
peg; that I had placed in a crack in the floor—it’s lying there
still. I wished to stay where I was, for if 1 went away the poor
prisoner would have no one at all, and that’s having too little, in
this world.. 7 stayed, but “e did not stay. He spoke to me
very mournfully the last time, gave me twice as much bread and
cheese as usual, and kissed his hand to me; then he went away,
and never came back. I don’t know his history.

“¢Soup on a sausage-peg!’ said the gaolor, to whom I now
went; but I should not have trusted him. He took me in his
hand, certainly, but he popped me into a cage,atreadmill. That’s
a horrible engine, in which you go round and round without get-
ting any farther; and people laugh at you into the bargain.

“The gaoler’s granddaughter was a charming little thing, with
a mass of curly hair that shone like gold, and such merry eyes,
and such a smiling mouth!

“*You poor little mouse,’ she said, as she peeped into my ugly
cage; and she drew out the iron rod, and forth I jumped to the
window-board, and from thence to the roof spout. Free! free! I
thought only of that, and not of the goal of my journey.
SOUP ON A SAUSAGE-PEG. 167



The Gaoler's Granddaughter takes pity on the little Mouse,

“Tt was dark, and night was coming on. I took up my quarters
in an old tower, where dwelt a watchman and an owl. That is
a creature like a cat, who has the great failing that she eats mice.
But one may be mistaken, and sowas I, for this was a very respect-
able, well-educated old ow: she knew more than the watchman,
and as muchas I. The young owls were always making a racket;
but ‘Go and make soup on a sausage-peg’ were the hardest words
she could prevail on herself to utter, she was so fondly attached
to her family. Her conduct inspired me with so much confidence,
that from the crack in which I was crouching I called out ‘ peep!’
to her. This confidence of mine pleased her hugely, and she
assured me I should be under her protection, and that no crea~-
ture should be allowed to do me wrong ; she would reserve me
for herself, for the winter, when there would be short commons.

“ She was in every respect a clever woman, and explained to me
168 SOUP ON A SAUSAGE-PEG.

how the watchman could only ‘ whoop’ with the horn that hung
at his side, adding, ‘ He is terribly conceited about it, and imagines
he’s an owl in the tower. Wants to do great things, but is very
small—soup on a sausage-peg !’ .

“T begged the owl to give me a recipe for this soup, and then
she explained the matter to me.

“¢ Soup on a sausage-peg,’she said, ‘was only a human proverb,
and was to be understood thas: Each thinks his own way best,
but the whole signifies nothing.’

“¢Nothing!’ I exclaimed. I was quite struck. Truth is not
always agreeable, but truth is above everything ; and that’s what
the old owl said. I now thought about it, and readily perceived
that if I brought what was above everything I brought something
far beyond soup on a sausage-peg. So I hastened away, that |
might get home in time, and bring the highest and best, that is
aboveeverything—namely, ‘he truth. Themicearean enlightened
people, and the King is above them all. He is capable of making
me Queen, for the sake of truth.”

“Your truth is a falsehood,” said the Mouse who had not yet
spoken. ‘I can prepare the soup, and I mean to prepare it.”

Vv.
Flow tt was prepared.

“T did not travel,” the third Mouse said. “I remained in my
country—that’s the right thing to do. There’s no necessity for
travelling ; one can get everything as good here. I stayed at
home. I’ve not learned what I know from supernatural beings,
or gobbled it up, or held converse with owls. I have what I know
through my own reflections. Will you make haste and put that
kettle upon the fire? So—now water must be poured in—quite
full—up tothe brim! So—now more fuel—make up the fire, that
the water may boil—it must boil over and over ! So—I now throw
the peg in. Will the King now be pleased to dip his tail in the
boiling water, and to stir it round with the said tail? The longer
the King stirs it, the more powerful will the soup become. It
costs nothing at all—no further materials are necessary, only stir
it round!”

“Cannot any one else do that ?” asked the Mouse King.

“No,” replied the Mouse. “ The power is contained only in
the tail of the Mouse King.”

And the water boiled and bubbled, and the Mouse King stood
close beside the kettle—there was almost danger in it—and he
put forth his tail,as the mice do in the dairy when they skim
the cream from a pan of milk, afterwards licking their creamy
tails; but his tail only penetrated into the hot steam, and then
he sprang hastily down from the hearth.
SHEPHERDESS AND CHIMNEY-SWEEPER, 169

“ Of course—certainly you are my Queen,” he said. “ We'll
adjourn the soup question till our golden wedding in fifty years’
time, so that the poor of my subjects, who will then be fed, may
have something to which they can look forward with pleasure for
alongtime.” .

And soon the wedding was held. But many of the mice said,
as they were returning home, that it could not be really called
soup on a sausage-peg, but rather soup on a mouse’s tail. They
said that some of the stories had been very cleverly told ; but the
whole thing might have been different. “JZ should have told it
so—and so—and so!”

Thus said the critics, who are always wise—after the fact.

And this story went out into the wide world, everywhere; and
opinions varied concerning it, but the story remained as it was.
And that is the best in great things and in small, so also with
regard to soup on a sausage-peg—not to expect any thanks for it.

THE SHEPHERDESS AND THE CHIMNEY-
SWEEPER.

A AVE you ever seen avery old wooden cupboard, quite plack
with age, and ornamented with carved foliage and ara-
besques? Just such a cupboard stood in a parlour: it
had been a legacy from the great-grandmother, and was covered
from top to bottom with carved roses and tulips. There were the
quaintest flourishes upon it, and from among these peered forth
little stags’ heads with antlers. In the middle of the cupboard
door an entire figure of a man had been cut out : he was certainly
ridiculous to look at, and he grinned, for you could not call it
laughing : he had goat’s legs, little horns on his head, and a long
beard. The children in the room always called him the Billy-
goat-legs-Major-and - Lieutenant-General- War-Commander-Ser-
geant ; that was a difficult name to pronounce, and there are not
many who obtain this title ; but it was something to have cut
him out. And there he was! He was always looking at the table
under the mirror, for on this table stood a lovely little Shepherdess
made of china. Her shoes were gilt, her dress was adorned with
a red rose, and besides this she had a golden hat and a shepherd’s
crook: she was very lovely. Close by her stood a little Chimney-
sweeper, black as a coal,and also made of porcelain: he was
as clean and neat as any other man, for it was only make-believe


170 SHEPHERDESS AND CHIMNEY-SWEEPER.

that he was a sweep ; the china-workers might just as well have
made a prince of him, if they had been so minded.

There he stood very nattily with his ladder, and with a face as
white and pink as a girl’s ; and that was really a fault, for he ought
to have been a little black. He stood quite close to the Shep-
herdess : they had both been placed where they stood; but as
they had been placed there, they had become engaged to each
other. They suited each other well. Both were young people,
both made of the same kind of China, and both were brittle.

Close to them stood another figure, three times greater than
they. This was an old Chinaman, who could nod. He was also
‘of porcelain, and declared himself to be the grandfather of the
little Shepherdess ; but he could not prove his relationship. He
declared he had authority over her, and that therefore he had
nodded to Mr. Billygoat-legs - Lieutenant - and-Major-General-
War-Commander-Sergeant, who was wooing her for his wife.

“Then you will get a husband !” said the old Chinaman, “a man
who I verily believe is made of mahogany. He can make you
Billygoat-legs- Lieutenant-and-Major-General-War-Commander-
Sergeant’s lady: he has the whole cupboard full of silver plate,
which he hoards up in secret drawers.”

“T won’t go into that dark cupboard !” said the little Shep-
herdess. “I have heard tell that he has eleven porcelain wives
in there.”

“Then you may become the twelfth,” cried the Chinaman.
“ This night, so soon as it rattles in the old cupboard, you shall
be married, as true as I am an old Chinaman!”

And with that he nodded his head and fell asleep. But the
little Shepherdess wept and looked at her heart’s beloved, the por-
celain Chimney-Sweeper.

“T should like to beg of you,” said she, “ to go out with me into
the wide world, for we cannot remain here.”

““T’ll do whatever you like,” replies the little Chimney-Sweep.
“ Let us start directly! I think I can keep you by exercising my
profession.”

“ If we were only safely down from the table!” said she. “I
shall not be happy until we are out in the wide world.”

And he comforted her, and showed her how she must place her
little foot upon the carved corners and the gilded foliage at the
foot of the table ; he brought his ladder, too, to help her, and they
were soon together upon the floor. But when they looked up at
the old cupboard there was great commotion within: allthe carved
stags were stretching out ther heads, rearing up their antlers, and
turning their necks; and the Billygoat-legs -Lieutenant-and-Major-
Genéral-War-Commander-Sergeant sprang high in the air, and
called across to the old Chinaman,

“ Now they’re running away! now they’re running away !”

Then they were a little frightened, and jumped quickly into the
SHEPHERDESS AND CHIMNEY-SWEEPER. 171









drawer of the window-seat. Here were three or four packs of cards
which were not complete, and a little puppet-show, which had been
built up as well as it could be done. There plays were acted, and
all the ladies, diamonds, clubs, hearts, and spades, sat in the first
row, fanning themselves ; and behind them stood all the knaves,
showing that they had a head above and below, as is usual in
playing-cards. The play was about two people who were not
to be married to each other, and the Shepherdess wept, because
it was just like her own history.

“TI cannot possibly bear this!” said she. “I must go out of
the drawer.” ,
172 SHEPHERDESS AND CHIMNE Y-SWEEPER.

But when they arrived on the floor, and looked up at the drawer,
the old Chinaman was awake, and was shaking over his whole
body—for below he was all one lump.

“Now the old Chinaman’s coming!” cried the little Shep-
herdess ; and she fell down upon her porcelain knee, so startled
was she.

“T have an idea,” said the Chimney-Sweeper. “ Shall we creep
into the great pot-fourri vase which stands in the corner? Then
we can lie on roses and lavender, and throw salt in his eyes if he
comes.”

“ That will be of no use,” she replied. ‘Besides, I know that
the old Chinaman and the Zot-gourrd vase were once engaged to
each other, and akind of liking always remains when people have
stood in such arelation to each other. No, there’s nothing left for
us but to go out into the wide world.” :

“ Have you really courage to go into the wide world with me?”
asked the Chimney-Sweeper. “ Have you considered how wide
the world is, and that we can never come back here again?”

‘TI have,” replied she.
4nd the Chimney-Sweeper looked fondly at her, and said,

“ My way is through the chimney. Ifyou have really courage
to creep with me through the stove—through the iron fire-box as
well as up the pipe, then we can get out into the chimney, and I
know how to find my way through there. We’ll mount so high
that they can’t catch us, and quite at the top there’s a hole that
leads out into the wide world.”

And he led her to the door of the stove.

“It looks very black there,” said she ; but still she went with
him, through the box and through the pipe, where it was pitch-
dark night.

“ Now we are in the chimney,” said he ; “and look, look ! up
yonder a beautiful star is shining.”

And it was a real star in the sky, which shone straight down
upon them, as if it would show them the way. And they clam-
bered and crept: it was a frightful way, and terribly steep ; but he
supported her and helped her up ; he held her, and showed her the
best places where she could place her little porcelain feet ; and
thus they reached the edge of the chimney, and upon that they
sat down, for they were desperately tired, as they well might be.

The sky with all its stars was high above, and all the roofs of
the town deep below them. They looked far around—far, far out
into the world. The poor Shepherdess had never thought of it
as it really was: she leaned her little head against the Chimney-
Sreeuess then she wept so bitterly that the gold ran down off her
girdle.

_ “Thatis too much,” she said. “I cannot bear that. The world
istoolarge! If I were only back upon the table below the mirror!
I shall never be happy until I am there again. Now I have fol-
SHEPHERDESS AND CHIMNEY-SWEEPER. 173

lowed you out into the wide world, you may accompany me back
again if you really love me.”

And the Chimney-Sweeper spoke sensibly to her— spoke of the
old Chinaman and the Billygoat-legs - Lieutenant - and - Major-
General-War-Commander-Sergeant ; but she sobbed bitterly and
kissed her little Chimney-Sweeper, so that he could not help
giving way to her, though it was foolish.

And so with much labour they climbed down the chimneyagain.
And they crept through the pipe and the fire-box. That was not
pleasant at all. And there they stood in the dark stove; there
they listened behind the door, to find out what was going on in
the room. Then it was quite quiet: they looked in—ah! there
lay the old Chinaman in the middle of the floor! He had fallen
down from the table as he was pursuing them, and now he lay
broken into three pieces ; his back had come off all in one piece,
and his head had rolled into a corner. The Billygoat-legs-
Lieutenant-and- Major-General-War-Commandeér- Sergeant stood
where he had always stood, considering.

“That is terrible!” said the little Shepherdess, ‘The old
grandfather has fallen to pieces, and it is our fault. I shall never
survive it!” And then she wrung her little hands.

“He can be mended! he can be mended!” said the Chimney-
Sweeper. “Don’t be so violent. If they glue his back together
and give him a good rivet in his neck, he will be as good as new,
and may say many a disagreeable thing to us yet.”

“Do you think so?” cried she.

So they climbed back upon the table where they used to stand.

“You see, we have come to this,” said the Chimney-Sweeper:
“we might have saved ourselves all the trouble we have had.”

“Tf the old grandfather was only riveted!” said the Shep-
herdess. ‘I wonder if that is dear?”

And he was really riveted. The family had his back cemented,
and a great rivet was passed through his neck: he was as good
as new, only he could no longer nod.

“It seems you have become proud since you fell to pieces,”
said the Billygoat-legs-Lieutenant-and-Major- General-War-Com-
rnander-Sergeant. “I don’t think you have any reason to give
yourself such airs. Am I to have her, or am I not?”

And the Chimney-Sweeper and the little Shepherdess looked
at the old Chinaman most piteously, for they were afraid he might
nod. But he could not do that, and it was irksome to him to tell
a stranger that he always had a rivet in hisneck. And so the
porcelain people remained together, and loved one another until
they broke,
174

THE OLD STREET LAMP.

fay] ID. you ever hear the story of the old Street Lamp? It is
a) not very remarkable, but it may be listened to for once
in a way. :

It was a very honest old Lamp, that had done its work for
many, many years, but which was now to be pensioned off. It
hung for the last time to its post, and gave light to the street. It
felt as an old dancer at the theatre, who is dancing for the last
time, and who to-morrow will sit forgotten in her garret. The
Lamp was in great fear about the morrow, for it knew that it was
to appear in the council-house, and to be inspected by the mayor
and the council, to see if it were fit for further service or not.

And then it was to be decided whether it was to show its light
in future for the inhabitants of some suburb, or in the country in
some manufactory; perhaps it would have to go at once into an
iron foundry to be melted down. In this last case anything might
be made of it; but the question whether it would remember, in
its new state, that it had been a Street Lamp, troubled it terribly.
Whatever might happen, this much was certain, that it would be
separated from the watchman and his wife, whom it had got to
look upon as quite belonging toits family. When the Lamp had
been hung up for the first time the watchman was a young sturdy
man: it happened to be the very evening on which he entered
on his office. Yes, that was certainly a long time ago, when it
first became a Lamp and he a watchman. The wife was a little
proud in those days. Only in the evening, when she went by, she
deigned to glance at the Lamp; in the day-time never. But now,
in these latter years, when all three, the watchman, his wife, and
the Lamp, had grown old, the wife had also tended it, cleaned it,
and provided it with oil. The two old people were thoroughly
honest ; never had they cheated the Lamp of a single drop of
the oil provided for it.

It was the Lamp’s last night in the street, and to-morrow it
was to go to the council-house ;—those were two dark thoughts!
No wonder that it did not burn brightly. But many other thoughts
passed through its brain. On what a number of events had it
shone—how much it had seen! Perhaps as much as the mayor
and the whole council had beheld. But it did not give utterance
to these thoughts, for it was a good honest old Lamp, that would
not willingly hurt any one, and least of all those in authority.
Many things passed through its mind, and at times its light
flashed up. In such moments it had a feeling that it, too, would
be remembered.

“ There was that handsome young man—it is certainly a long


THE OLD STREET LAMP. 175

while ago—he had a letter on pink paper with a gilt edge. It
was so prettily written, as if by a lady’s hand. Twice heread it,
and kissed it, and looked up to me with eyes which said plainly,
‘I am the happiest of men!’ Only he and I know what was
written in this first letter from his true love. Yes, I remember
another pair of eyes. It is wonderful how our thoughts fly about !
There was a funeral procession in the street; the young beautiful
lady lay in the decorated hearse, in a coffin adorned with flowers
and wreaths; and a number of torches quite darkened my light.
The people stood in crowds by the houses, and all followed the
procession. But when the torches had passed from before my
face, and I looked round, a single person stood leaning against
my post, weeping. I shall never forget the mournful eyes that
looked up to me!”

This and similar thoughts occupied the old Street Lantern,
which shone to-night for the last time.

The sentry relieved from his post, at least knows who is to
succeed him, and may whisper a few words to him; but the
Lamp did not know its successor; and yet it might have given
a few useful hints with respect to rain and fog, and some infor-
mation as to how far the rays of the moon lit up the pavement,
from what direction the wind usually came, and much more of
the same kind.

On the bridge of the gutter stood three persons who wished to
introduce themselves to the Lamp, for they thought the Lamp
itself could appoint its successor. The first was a herring’s head,
that could gleam with light in the darkness. He thought it would
be a great saving of oil if they put him up onthe post. Number
Two was a piece of rotten wood, which also glimmers in the dark.
He conceived himself descended from an old stem, once the
pride of the forest. The third person was a glow-worm. Where
this one had come from the Lamp could not imagine; but there
it was, and it could give light. But the rotten wood and the
herring’s head swore by all that was good that it only gave light
at certain times, and could not be brought into competition with
themselves.

The old Lamp declared that not one of them gave sufficient
light to fill the office ofa street lamp; but not one of them would
believe this. When they heard that the Lamp had not the office
to give away, they were very glad of it, and declared that the
Lamp was too decrepit to make a good choice.

4it the same moment the Wind came careering from the corner
of the street, and blew through the air-holes of the old Lamp.

“What’s this I hear?” he asked. “Are you to go away to-
morrow? DoT see you for the last time? Then I must make
you a present at parting. I will blow into your brain-box in such
a way that you shall be able in future not only to remember every-
thing you have seen and heard, but that you shall have such
176 THE OLD STREET LAMP.

light within you as shall enable you to see all that is read of or
spoken of in your presence.” aoe

“Yes, that is really much, very much!” said the old Lamp.
“T thank you heartily. I only hope I shall not be melted down.”

“That is not likely to happen at once,” said the Wind. ‘“ Now
I will blow a memory into you: if you receive several presents
of this kind, you may pass your old days very agreeably.”

“If I am only not melted down!” said the Lamp again. “ Or
should I retain my memory even in that case?”

“ Be sensible, old Lamp,” said the Wind. And he blew, and
at that moment the Moon stepped forth from behind the clouds,

“What will you give the old Lamp?” asked the Wind.

“Tll give nothing,” replied the Moon. “Iam on the wane,
and the lamps never lighted me; but, on the contrary, I ’ve often
given light for the lamps.”

And with these words the Moon hid herself again behind the
clouds, to be safe from further importunity.

A Drop now fell upon the Lamp, as if from the roof; but the
Dro, explained that it came from the clouds, and was a present
—perhaps the best present possible. ;

‘“‘T shall penetrate you so completely that you shall receive
the faculty, if you wish it, to turn into rust in one night, and to
crumble into dust.”

The Lamp considered this a bad present, and the Wind thought
so too.

“ Does no one give more? does no one give more?” it blew as
loud as it could.

Then a bright shooting star fell down, forming a long bright
stripe.

‘What was that?” cried the Herring’s Head. “ Did not a star
fall? I really think it went into the Lamp! Certainly if such
high-born personages try for this office, we may say good night
and betake curselves home.”

And so they did, all three. But the old Lamp shed a marvel-
lous strong light around.

“That was a glorious present,” it said. “The bright stars
which I have always admired, and which shine as I could never
shine though I shone with all my might, have noticed me, a poor
old lamp, and have sent me a present, by giving me the faculty
that all I remember and see as clearly as if it stood before me,
shall also be seen by all whom I love. And in this lies the true
pleasure ; for joy that we cannot share with others is only half
enjoyed.”

“That sentiment does honour to your heart,” said the Wind.
“But for that wax lights are necessary. If these are not lit up
in you, your rare faculties will be of no use to others. Look you,
the stars did not think of that; they take you and every other
light for wax. But I will go down,” And he went down.
ZHE OLD STREET LAMP. 177



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The old Street Lamp tn good quarters.

“Good heavens! wax lights!” exclaimed the Lamp. “I never
had those till now, nor am I likely to get them !—If I am only
not melted down!”

The next day—yes, it will be best that we pass over the next
day. The next evening the Lamp was resting in a grandfather’s
chair, And guess where! In the watchman’s dwelling. He had
begged as a favour of the mayorand council that he might keep
the Street Lamp, in consideration of his long and faithful service,
for he himself had put up and lit the lantern for the first time on
the first day of entering on his duties four and twenty years ago,

12
178 THE OLD STREET LAMP.

He looked upon it as his child, for he had no other. And the
Lamp was given to him.

Now it lay in the great arm-chair by the warm stove. It seemed
as if the Lamp had grown bigger, now that it occupied the chair
all alone. -

The old people sat at supper,and looked kindly at the old Lamp,
to whom they would willingly have granted a place at their table.

Their dwelling was certainly only a cellar two yards below the
footway, and one had to cross a stone passage to get into the
room. But within it was very comfortable and warm, and strips
of list had been nailed to the door. Everything looked clean and
neat, and there were curtains round the bed and the little windows.
On the window-sill stood two curious flower-pots, which sailor
Christian had brought home from the East or West Indies. They
were only of clay, and represented two elephants. The backs of
these creatures had been cut off; and instead of them bloomed
from within the earth with which one elephant was filled, some
very excellent chives, and that was the kitchen garden ; out of
the other grew a great geranium, and that was the flower-garden.
On the wall Lung a great coloured print representing the Con-
gress of Vienna. There you had all the Kings and Emperors at
once. Aclock with heavy weights went “tick! tick!” and in fact
it always went too fast; but the old people declared this was far
better than if it went too slow. They ate their supper, and the
Street Lamp lay, as I have said, in the arm-chair close beside
the stove. It seemed to the Lamp as if the whole world had
been turned round. But when the old watchman looked at it,
and spoke of all that they two had gone through in rain aad in
fog, in the bright short nights of summer and in the long winter
nights, when the snow beat down, and one longed to be at home
in the cellar, then the old Lamp found its wits again. It saw
everything as clearly as if it was happening then ; yes, the Wind
has kindled a capital light for it.

The old people were very active and industrious ; not a single
hour was wasted in idleness. On Sunday afternoon some book
or other was brought out; generally a book of travels. And the
old man read aloud about Africa, about the great woods, with
elephants running about wild; and the woman listened intently,
and looked furtively at the clay elephants which served for flower-
pots.

“T can almost imagine it to myself!” said she.

And the Lamp wished particularly that a wax candle had been
there, and could be lighted up init ; for then the old woman would
be able to see everything to the smallest detail, just as the Lamp
saw it—the tall trees with great branches all entwined, the naked
black men on horseback, and whole droves of elephants crashing
through the reeds with their broad clumsy feet.

“ Of what use are all my faculties if I can’t obtain a wax light?’
THE OLD STREET LAMP. 179

sighed the Lamp. “They have only oil and tallow candles, and
that’s not enough.”

One day a great number of wax candle-ends came down into
the cellar: the larger pieces were burned, and the smaller ones
the old woman used for waxing her thread. So there were wax
candles enough ; but no one thought of putting a little piece into
the Lamp.

“ Here I stand with my rare faculties !” thought the Lamp. “I
carry everything within me, and cannot let them partake of it ;
they don’t know that I am able to cover these white walls with
the most gorgeous tapestry, to change them into noble forests.
and all that they can possibly wish.”

The Lamp, however, was kept neat and clean, and stood all
shining in a corner, where it caught the eyes of all. Strangers
considered it a bit of old rubbish; but the old people did not care
for that; they loved the Lamp.

One day—it was the old watchman’s birthday—the old woman
approached the Lantern, smiling to herself, and said,

“T’ll make an illumination to-day, in honour of my old
man!”

And the Lamp rattled its metal cover, for it thought, ‘“ Well,
at last there will be a light within me.” But only oil was pro-
duced, and no wax light appeared. The Lamp burned throughout
the whole evening, but now understood, only too well, that the
gift of the stars would be a hidden treasure for all its life. Then
it had a dream: for one possessing its rare faculties to dream
was not difficult. It seemed as if the old people were dead, and
itself had been taken to the ironfoundry to be melted down. It
felt as much alarmed as on that day when it was to appear in the
council-house to be inspected by the mayor and council, But
though the power had been given to it to fall into rust and dust
at will, it did not use this power. It was put in the furnace, and
turned into an iron candlestick, as fair a candlestick as you
would desire—one on which wax lights were to be burned.
It had received the form of an angel holding a great nose-
gay; and the wax light was to be placed in the middle of the
nosegay.

The candlestick had a place assigned to it on a green writing
table. The room was very comfortable ; many books stood round
about the walls, which were hung with beautiful pictures; it be-
longed to apoet. Everything that he wrote or composed showed
itselfround about him. Nature appears sometimes in thick dark
forests, sometimes in beautiful meadows, where the storks strutted
about, sometimes again in a ship sailing on the foaming ocean,
or in the blue sky with all its stars,

“What faculties lie hidden in me!” said the old Lamp, when
it awoke. ‘I could almost wish to be melted down! But no!
that cannot be so long as the old people live. They love me for

12—2
180 THE LOVERS.

myself; they have cleaned me and brought me oil. I amas well
off now as the whole Congress, in looking at which they also take
pleasure.” :

And from that time it enjoyed more inward peace; and the
honest old Street Lamp had well deserved to enjoy it.

THE LOVERS.

WHIP-TOP and a little Ball were together in a drawer
among some other toys; and the Top said to the Ball,

“ Shall we not be bridegroom and bride,as we live to-
gether in the same box?”

But the Ball, which had a coat of morocco leather, and was
just as conceited as any fine lady, would make no answer to such
a proposal.

Next day the little boy came to whom the toys belonged ; he
painted the top red and yellow, and hammered a brass nail into
it; and it looked splendid when the Top turned round !

“Look at me!” he cried to the little Ball. “ What do you say
now? Shall we not be engaged to each other? We suit one
another so well! You jump and I dance! No one could be
happier than we two should be.”

“Indeed! Do you think so?” replied the little Ball. “Per-
haps you do not know that my papa and mamma were morocco
slippers, and that I have a Spanish cork inside me?”

“ Yes, but I am made of mahogany,” said the Top; “‘and the
mayor himself turned me. He has a turning lathe of his own,
and it amuses him greatly.”

“Can I depend upon that ?” asked the little Ball.

- “ May I never be whipped again if it is not true!” replied the
op.

“You can speak well for yourself,” observed the Ball, “but I
cannot grant your request. I am as good as engaged toa swallow:
every time I leap up into the air she puts her head out of her nest
and says, ‘ Will you?’? And now I have silently said ‘ Yes, and
that is as good as half engaged ; but I promise 1 will never for-
get you.”

“Yes, that will be much good !” said the Top.

And they spoke no more to each other.

The next day the Ball was taken out by the boy. The Top saw
how it flew high into the air, like a bird; at last one could no
longer see it. Each time it came back again, but gave a high


THE LOVERS. — 181





leap when it touched the earth, and that was done either from its
longing to mount up again, or because it had a Spanish cork in
its body. But the ninth time the little Ball remained absent, and
did not come back again ; and the boy sought and sought, but
it was gone.

“I know very well where it is!” sighed the Top. “It is in the
swallow’s nest, and has married the swallow!”

The more the Top thought of this, the more it longed for the
Ball, Just because it could not get the Ball, its love increased ;
and the fact that the Ball had chosen another formed a peculiar
feature in the case, So the Top danced round and hummed, but
182 | LITTLE TUR.

always thought of the little Ball, which became more and more
beautiful in his fancy. Thus several years went by, and now it
was an old love. .

And the Top was no longer young! But one day he was gilt
all over ; never had he looked so handsome ; he was now a golden
Top, and sprang till he hummed again. Yes, that was something
worth seeing! But all at once he sprang up too high, and—he
was gone!

They looked and looked, even in the cellar, but he was not to
be found. Where could he be?

He had jumped into the dust-box, where all kinds of things
were lying: cabbage-stalks, sweepings, and dust that had fallen
down from the roof.

“ Here’s a nice place to liein! The gilding will soon leave
me here. Among what a rabble have I alighted !”

And then he looked sideways at a long leafless cabbage-stump,
and at a curious rounc thing that looked like an old apple; but
it was not an apple—it was an old Ball, which had lain for years
in the gutter on the roof, and was quite saturated with water.

“Thank goodness, here comes one of us, with whom one can
talk !” said the little Ball, and looked at the gilt Top. “Iam
really morocco, worked by maidens’ hands, and have a Spanish
cork within me ; but no one would think it, to look at me. Iwas
very nearly marrying a swallow, but I fell into the gutter on the
roof, and have lain there full five years, and become quite wet
Hee You may believe me, that’s a long time for a young
girl.

But the Top said nothing. He thought of his old love; and
the more he heard, the clearer it became to him that this was she.

Then came the servant-girl, and wanted to turn out the dust-box, '

“ Aha! there’s a gilt Top!” she cried.

And so the Top was brought again to notice and honour, but
nothing was heard of the little Ball. And the Top spoke no more
of his old love; for that dies away when the beloved object has
lain for five years in a roof-gutter and got wet through; yes, one
does not know her again when one meets her in the dust-box.

LITTLE TUK.

S, that was little Tuk. His name was not really Tuk;
but when he could not speak plainly, he used to call him-
selfso. It was tomean “Charley ;” and it does very well


LITTLE TURK. 183

if one only knows it. Now, he was to take care of his little sister
Gustava, who was much smaller than he, and at the same timé
he was to learn his lesson; but these two things would not suit
well together. The poor boy sat there with his little sister on his
lap, and sang her all kinds of songs that he knew, and every now
and then he gave a glance at the geography-book that lay open
before him: by to-morrow morning he was to know all the towns
in Zealand by heart, and to know everything about them that one
can well know.

Now his mother came home, for she had been out, and took -
little Gustava in her arms. Tuk ran quickly to the window, and
read so zealously that he had almost read his eyes out, for it be-
came darker and darker; but his mother had no money to buy
candles.

“There goes the old washerwoman out of the lane yonder,” said
his mother, as she looked out of the window. ‘The poor woman
can hardly drag herself along, and now she has to carry the pail
of water from the well. Bea good boy, Tuk, and run across, and
help the old woman. Won’t you?”

And Tuk ran across quickly, and helped her ; but when he came
back into the room it had become quite dark. There was nothing
said about a candle, and now he had to go to bed, and his bed
was an old settle. There he lay, and thought of his geography
lesson, and of Zealand, and of all the master had said. He ought
certainly to have read it again, but he could not do that. So he
put the geography-book under his pillow, because he had heard
that this is avery good way to learn one’s lesson; but one cannot
depend uponit. There he lay, and thought and thought; and all
at once he fancied some one kissed him upon his eyes and mouth,
He slept, and yet he did not sleep; it was just as if the old washer-
woman were looking at him with her kind eyes, and saying,

“Tt would be a great pity if you did not know your lesson to-
morrow. You have helped me, therefore now I will help you; and
Providence will help us both.”

All at once the book began to crawl, crawl about under Tuk’s-
pillow.

“ Kikeliki! Put! put!” It was a Hen that came crawling up,
and she came from Kjége. “I’ma Kjége hen!”* she said, very
proudly.

And then she told him how many inhabitants were in the town,
and about the battle that had been fought there, though that was
really hardiy worth mentioning.

“Kribli, kribli, plumps!” Something fell down : it was a wooden
bird, the Parrot from the shooting match at Pristdée. He said
that there were just as many inhabitants yonder as he had nails

* Kjége, a little town on Kjige Bay. Lifting up children by putting the two hands
to the side of their heads is called “showing them Kjége hens.”
184 LITTLE TUK.

in his body; and he was very proud. “Thorwaldsen lived close
to me.* Plumps! Here I lie very comfortably.”

But now little Tuk no longer lay in bed; on a sudden he was
on horseback. Gallop, gallop! hop, hop! and so he went on. A
splendidly attired knight, with flowing plume, held him on the
front of his saddle, and so they went riding on through the wood
of the old town of Wordinborg, and that was a great and very
busy town. On the King’s castle rose high towers, and the radi-
ance of lights streamed from every window ; within was song and
dancing, and King Waldemar and the young gaily-dressed maids
of honour danced together. Now the morning came on, and so
soon as the sun appeared the whole city and the King’s castle
suddenly sank down, one tower falling after another: and at last.
only one remained standing on the hill where the castle had for-
merly been;+ and the town-was very small and poor, and the
schoolboys came with their beoks under their arms, and said,
“ Two thousand inhabitants,” but that was not true, for the town
had not so many.

And little Tuk lay in his bed. as if he dreamed, and yet as if
he did not dream; but some one stood close beside him,

“Little Tuk! littlke Tuk!” said the voice. It was a seaman,
quite a little personage, as small as if he had been a cadet; but
he was not a cadet. “I’m to bring you a greeting from Corsoér ;f
that is a town which is just in good progress—a lively town that
has steamers and mail coaches, In times past they used always
to call it ugly, but that is now no longer true.

“**T lie by the sea-shore,’ said Corsor, ‘I have high roads and
pleasure gardens; and I gave birth to a poet who was witty and
entertaining, and that cannot be said of all of them. I wanted
once to fit out a ship that was to sail round the world; but I did
not do that, though I might have done it. But I smell deliciously,
for close to my gates the loveliest roses bloom.”

Little Tuk looked, and it seemed red and green before his eyes;
but when the confusion of colour had a little passed by, it changed .
all at once into a wooded declivity close by a bay, and high above
it stood a glorious old church with two high pointed towers. Out
of this hill flowed springs of water in thick columns, so that there
was a continual splashing, and close by sat an old King with a
golden crown upon his white head: that was King Hroar of the
springs, close by the town of Roeskilde, as it is now called. And
up the hill into the old church went all the Kings and Queens of

* Pristée, a still smaller town. A few hundred paces from it lies the estate of Nysoe,
where Thorwaldsen usually lived when he was in Denmark, and where he executed
many immortal works.

_ + Woraingborg, in King Waldemar’s time a considerable town, now a place of no
importance. Only a lonely tower and a few remains of a wall show where the castle
once stood.

t Corsér, on the Great Belt, used to be called the most tiresome of Danish towns
before the establishment of steamers; for in those days travellers had often to wait
there fora favourable wind. The poet Baggesen was born there.
LITILE TUR. 185

Denmark, hand in hand, all with golden crowns; and the organ
played, and the springs plashed. Little Tuk saw all and heard all.

“Don’t forget the towns,”* said King Hroar.

At once everything had vanished, and whither? It seemed to
him like turning a leaf in a book. And now stood there an old
peasant woman, who came from Sorée, where grass grows in the
market-place; she had an apron of grey cotton thrown over her
head and shoulders, and the apron was very wet; it must have
been raining.

“Yes, that it has!” said she; and she knew many pretty things
out of Holberg’s plays, and about Waldemarand Absalom. But
all at once she cowered down, and wagged her head as if she were
about to spring. “Koax!” said she, “it is wet! it is wet! There
is a very agreeable death-silence in Sorde!”+ Now she changed
all at once into a frog—“ Koax !”—and then she became an old
woman again. “One must dress according to the weather,” she
said. “It is wet! it is wet! My town is just like a bottle: one
goes in at the cork, and must come out again at the rock. Inold
times I had capital fish, and now I’ve fresh red-cheeked boys in
the bottom of the bottle, and they learn wisdom— Hebrew, Greek.
—Koax!”

That sounded just like the croak of the frogs, or the sound of

‘ some one marching across the moor in great boots; always the
same note, so monotonous and wearisome that little Tuk fairly
fell asleep, and that could not hurt him at all.

But even in this sleep came a dream, or whatever it was. His
little sister Gustava with the blue eyes and the fair curly hair
was all at once a tall slender maiden, and without having wings
she could fly; and now they flew over Zealand, over the green
forests and the blue lakes.

“ Do you hear the cock crow, little Tuk? Kikeliki! The fowls
are flying up out of Kjége! You shall have a poultry-yard—a
great, great poultry-yard! You shall not suffer hunger nor need ;
and you shall hit the bird, as the saying is; you shall become a
rich and happy man. Your house shall rise up like King Walde-
mar’s tower, and shall be richly adorned with marble statues, like
those of Pristée. You understand me well. Your name shall
travel with fame round the whole world, like the ship that was to
sail from Corsér.”

“ Don’t forget the towns,” said King Hroar. “You will speak
well and sensibly, little Tuk; and when at last you descend to
your grave, you shall sleep peacefully——”

* Roeskilde (Roesquelle, Rose-s4ring, falsely called Rothschild), once the capital
of Denmark. ‘The town took its name.from King Hroar and from the many springs
in the vicinity, In the beautiful cathedral most of the Kings and Queens of Denmark
are buried. In Roeskilde the Danish Estates used to assemble.

t Sorée, a very quiet little town, ina fine situation, surrounded by forests and lakes.
Holberg, the Moliére of Denmark, here founded a noble academy. The poets Hanch
and Ingman were professors here.
186 THE FLAX.

“ As if I lay in Sore,” said Tuk, and he awoke, It was bright
morning, and he could not remember his dream. But that was
not necessary, for one must not know what is to happen.

Now he sprang quickly out of his bed, and read his book, and
all at once he knew his whole lesson. The old washerwoman,
too, put her head in at the door, nodded to him ina friendly way,
and said, :

“Thank you, you good child, for your help. May your beautiful
dreams come true!”

Little Tuk did not know at all what he had dreamed, but there
was One above who knew it.

THE FLAX.




fj | HE Flax stood in blossom ; it had pretty little blue flowers,
'.@i| delicate as a moth’s wing, and even more delicate. The
sun shone on the Flax, and the rain-clouds moistened it,

and this was just as good for it as it is for little children when
they are washed, and afterwards get a kiss from their mother;
they become much prettier, and so did the Flax.

“The peorle say that I stand uncommonly well,” said the Flax,
“and that I’m fine and long, and shall make a capital piece of
linen. How happy I am! I’m certainly the happiest of beings.
How well I am off! And I may come to something! How the
sunshine gladdens, and the rain tastes good and refreshes me!
I’m wonderfully happy; 1’m the happiest of beings.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” said the Hedge-stake. “You don’t know the
world, but we do, for we have knots in us ;” and then it creaked
out mournfully,

** Snip-snap-snurre,
Bassellurre!
The song is done.”

“No, it is not done,” said the Flax. “To-morrow the sun will
shine, or the rain will refresh us. I feel that I’m growing, I feel
that I’m in blossom! I’m the happiest of beings.”

But one day the people came and took the Flax by the head
and pulled it up by the root. That hurt; and it was laid in water
as if they were going to drown it, and then put on the fire as if
-t was going to be roasted. It was quite fearful!

“One can’t always have good times,” said the Flax. ‘ One

a: make one’s own experiences, and so ene gets to know some-
thing.”
THE FLAX, 187







The Mother spinning the Flax.

But bad times certainly came. The Flax was moistened and
roasted, and broken and hackled. Yes, it did not even know what
the operations were called.that they did with it. It was put on
the spinning-wheel—whirr ! whirr! whirr !—it was not possible to
collect one’s thoughts.

“T have been uncommonly happy!” it thought in all its pain.
“One must be content with the good one has enjoyed! Con-
tented! contented! Oh!” And it continued to say that when
it was put into the loom, and until it became a large beautiful
piece of linen. All the Flax, to the last stalk, was used in
making one piece,
188 THE FLAX.

“But this is quite remarkable! I should never have believed
it! How favourable fortune is tome! The Hedge-stake was
well informed, truly, with its

“* Snip-snap-snurre,
Bassellurre !’

The song is not done by any means. Now it’s beginning in
earnest. That’s quite remarkable! If I’ve suffered something,
I've been made into something! I’m the happiest of all! How
strong and fine I am, how white and long! That’s something
different from being a mere plant: even if one bears flowers, one
is not attended.to, and only gets watered when it rains. Now
I’m attended to and cherished: the maid turns me over every
morning, and I get a shower bath from the watering-pot every
evening. Yes, the clergyman’s wife has even made a speech about
me, and says I’m the best piece in the whole parish. I cannot be
happier!”

Now the linen was taken into the house, and put under the
scissors: how they cut and tore it, and then pricked it with
needles! That was not pleasant; but twelve pieces of body
linen of a kind not often mentioned by name, but indispensable
to all people, were made of it—a whole dozen!

“Just look! Nowsomething has really been made of me! So
that was my destiny. That’s a real blessing. Now I shall be ot
some use in the world, and that’s right, that’s a true pleasure!
We’ve been made into twelve things, but yet we’re all one and
the same; we’re just a dozen: how remarkably charming that is!”

Years rolled on, and now they would hold together no longer.

“Tt must be over one day,” said each piece. “I would gladly
have held together a little longer, but one must not expect im-
possibilities.”

They were now torn into pieces and fragments. They thought
it was all over now, for they were hacked to shreds, and softened
and boiled; yes, they themselves did not know all that was done
to them; and then they became beautiful white Paper.

“Now, that is a surprise, and a glorious surprise!” said the
Paper. “Now I’m finer than before, and I shall be written on:
that is remarkable good fortune.”

And really the most beautiful stories and verses were written
upon it, and only once there came a blot; that was certainly
remarkable good fortune. And the people heard what was upon
it; it was sensible and good, and made people much more sensible
and better: there was a great blessing in the words that were on
this Paper.

“That is more than I ever imagined when I was a little blue
flower in the fields. How could I fancy that I should ever spread
joy and knowledge among men? I can’t yet understand it my-
self, but it is really so. I have done nothing but what I was obliged
ZHE FLAX, 189

with my weak powers to do for my own preservation, and yet I
have been promoted from one joy and honour to another. Each
time when I think ‘ the song is done,’ it begins again in a higher
and better way. Now | shall certainly be sent about to journey
through the world, so that all people may read me. That cannot
be otherwise; it’s the only probable thing. I’ve splendid
thoughts, as many as I had pretty flowers in the old times. 1’m
the happiest of beings.”

But the Paper was not sent on its travels, it was sent to the
printer, and everything that was written upon it was set up in
type for a book, or rather for many hundreds of books, for in this
way a very far greater number could derive pleasure and profit
from the book than if the one paper on which it was written had
run about the world, to be worn out before it had got half-
way.

“Ves, that is certainly the wisest way,” thought the Written
Paper. “1 really did not think of that. I shall stay at home,
and be held in honour, just like an old grandfather; and I am
really the grandfather of all these books. Now something can
be effected: I could not have wandered about thus. He who
wrote all this looked at me; every word flowed from his pen
right intome. Iam the happiest of all.”

Then the Paper was tied together in a bundle, and thrown into
a tub that stood in the wash-house.

“It’s good resting after work,” said the Paper. “It is very
right that one should collect one’s thoughts. Now I’m able for
the first time to think of what is in me, and to know oneself is
true progress. What will be done with me now? At any rate I
shall go forward again: I’m always going forward, I’ve found
that out.”

Now, one day all the Paper was taken out and laid by on the
hearth; it was to be burned, for it might not be sold to hucksters
to be used for covering for butter and sugar, they said. And all
the children in the house stood round about, for they wanted to
see the Paper burn, that flamed up so prettily, and afterwards one
could see many red sparks among the ashes, careering here and
there. One after another faded out quick as the wind, and that
they called “seeing the children come out of school,” and the last
spark was the schoolmaster : one of them thought he had already
gone, but at the next moment there came another spark. “There
goes the schoolmaster!” they said. Yes, they all knew about it;
they should have known who it was that went there: we shall
get to know it, but they did not. All the old Paper, the whole
bundle, was laid upon the fire, and it was soon alight. “ Ugh!”
it said, and burst out into bright flame. Ugh! that was not very
agreeable, but when the whole was wrapped in bright flames these
mounted up higher than the Flax had ever been able to lift its
little blue flowers, and glittered as the white Linen had never been
190 THE GIRL WHO TROD ON THE LOAF, |

able to glitter. All the written letters turned for a moment ‘quite
red, and all the words and thoughts turned to flame. ee

“Now I’m mounting straight up to the sun,” said a voice in
the flame; and it wasas if a thousand voices said this in unison ;
and the flames mounted up through the chimney and out at the
top, and, more delicate than the flames, invisible to human eyes,
little tiny beings floated there,as manyasthere had been blossoms
on the Flax. They were lighter even than the flame from which
they were born; and when the flame was extinguished, and no-
thing remained of the Paper but black ashes, they danced over
it once more, and where they touched the black mass the little
red sparks appeared. The children came out of school, and the
schoolmaster was the last of all. That was fun! and the children
sang over the dead ashes—

‘* Snip-snap-snurre,
Bassellurre !
The song is done.”

But the little invisible beings all said,

“The song is never done, that is the best of all. I know it,
and therefore I’m the happiest of all.”

But the children could neither hear that nor understand it,
nor ought they, for children must not know everything,

THE GIRL WHO TROD ON THE LOAF.



§) (4) HE story of the girl who trod on the loaf to avoid soiling
ie}j] her shoes, and of the misfortune that befell this girl, is
well known, It has been written, and even printed.

The girl’s name was Ingé: she was a poor child, but proud
and presumptuous; there was a bad foundation in her, as the
saying is. When she was quite a little child, it was her delight
to catch flies, and tear off their wings, so as to convert them into
creeping things. Grown older, she would take cockchafers and
beetles, and spit them on pins. Then she pushed a green leaf
or alittle scrap of paper towards their feet, and the poor creatures
seized it, and held it fast, and turned it over and over struggling
to get free from the pin.

“The cockchafer is reading,” Ingé would say. “See how he
turns the leaf round and round !”

With years she grew worse rather than better; but she was
THE GIRL WHO TROD ON THE LOAF. 19!















































\ ‘
— ee —— LF PIP DD

LIngé turns back at the sight of her poor Mother.

pretty, and that was her misfortune; otherwise she would have
been more sharply reproved than she was.

“Your headstrong will requires something strong to break it!”
her own mother often said. “ As alittle child, you used to trample
on my apron ; but I fear you will one day trample on my heart,”

And that is what she really did, :
192 THE GIRL WHO TROD ON THE LOAF.

She was sent into the country, in service in the house of rich
people, who kept her as their own child, and dressed her in cor-
responding style. She looked well, and her presumption increased.

When she had been there about a year, her mistress said to her,
“You ought once to visit your parents, Ingé.”

And Ingé set out to visit her parents, but it was only to show
herself in her native place, and that the people there might see
how grand she had become ; but when she came to the entrance
of the village, and the young husbandmen and maids stood there
chatting, and her own mother appeared among them, sitting ona
stone to rest, and with a faggot of sticks before her that she had
picked up in the wood, then Ingé turned back, for she felt ashamed
that she, who was so finely dressed, should have for a mother a
ragged woman who picked up wood in the forest. She did not
turn back out of pity for her mother’s poverty, she was only
angry.

And another half-year went by, and her mistress said again,
“ You ought to goto your home, and visit your old parents, Ingé.
I'll make you a present of a great wheaten loaf that you may give
to them: they will certainly be glad to see you again.”

And Ingé put on her best clothes, and her new shoes, and drew
her skirts around her, and set out, stepping very carefully, that
she might be clean and neat about the feet; and there was no
harmin that. But when she came to the place where the footway
led across the moor, and where there was mud and puddles, she
threw the loaf into the mud, and trod upon it to pass over without
wetting her feet. Butas she stood there with one foot upon the
loaf and the other uplifted to step farther, the loaf sank with her,
deeper and deeper, till she disappeared altogether, and only a
great puddle, from which the bubbles rose, remained where she
had been.

And that’s the story.

But whither did Ingé go? She sank into the moor ground, and
went down to the Moor Woman, who is always brewing there. The
Moor Woman is cousin to the Elf Maidens, who are well enough
known, of whom songs are sung, and whose pictures are painted ;:
but concerning the Moor Woman it is only known that when the
meadows steam in summer-time, it is because she is brewing. Into
the Moor Woman’s brewery did Ingé sink down ; and no one can
endure that place long. A box of mud is a palace compared wiih
the Moor Woman’s brewery. Every barrel there has an odotr
that almost takes away one’s senses ; and the barrels stand clause
to each other ; and wherever there is a little opening among them,
through which one might push one’s way, the passage becomes
impracticable from the number of damp toads and fat snakes
who sit out their time there. Among this company did Ingé fall;
and all the horrible mass of living creeping things was so icy cold,
that she shuddered n all her limbs, and became stark and stiff,
THE GIRL WHO TROD ON THE LOAF. 193

She continued fastened to the loaf, and the loaf drew her down
as an amber button draws a fragment of straw.

The Moor Woman was at home, and on that day there were
visitors in the brewery. These visitors were Old Bogey and his
grandmother, who came to inspect it ; and Bogey’s grandmother
is a venomous old woman, who is never idle : she never rides out
to pay a visit without taking her work with her ; and accordingly
she had brought it on the day in question. She sewed biting-
leather to be worked into men’s shoes, and which makes them
wander ahout, unable to settle anywhere. She wove webs of lies,
and strung together hastily-spoken words that had fallen to the
ground ; and all this was done for the injury and ruin of mankind.
Yes, she knew how to sew, to weave, and to string, this old grand-
mother !

Catching sight of Ingé, she put up her double eye-glass, and
took another look at the girl.

“ That ’s a girl who has ability!” she observed, “ and I beg you
will give me the little one as a memento of my visit here. She’ll
make a capital statue to stand in my grandson’s antechamber.”

And Ingé was given up to her, and this is how Ingé came into

. Bogey’s domain. People don’t always go there by the direct path,
but they can get there by roundabout routes if they have a ten-
dency in that direction. -

That was a never-ending antechamber. The visitor became
giddy who looked forward, and doubly giddy when he looked
back, and saw a whole crowd of people, almost utterly exhausted,
waiting till the gate of mercy should be opened to them—they had
to wait along time! Great fat waddling spiders spun webs of a
thousand years over their feet, and these webs cut like wire, and
bound them like bronze fetters; and, moreover, there was an
eternal unrest working in every heart—a miserable unrest. The
miser stood there, and had forgotten the key of his strong box,
and he knew the key was sticking in the lock. It would take too
long to describe the various sorts of torture that were found there
together. - Ingé felt a terrible pain while she had to stand there
as a Statute, for she was tied fast to the loaf.

“That’s the fruit of wishing to keep one’s feet neat and tidy,”
she said to herself. “ Just look how they’re all staring at me!”

Yes, certainly, the eyes of all were fixed upon her, and their
evil thoughts gleamed forth from their eyes, and they spoke to
one another, moving their lips, from which no sound whatever
came forth : they were very horrible to behold.

“It must be a great pleasure to look at me !” thought Ingé,
“and indeed I have a pretty face and fine clothes.” And she
turned her eyes, for she could not turn her head, her neck was
too stiff for that. But she had not considered how her clothes
had been soiled in the Moor Woman’s brewhouse. Her garments
were covered with mud; a snake had fastened in her hair, and

13
194 JHE GIRL WHO TROD ONTHE LOAF.

dangling down her back; and out of each fold of her frock a great
toad looked forth croaking like an asthmatic poodle. That was
very disconcerting. “ But all the rest of them down here look
horrible,” she observed to herself, and derived consolation from
the thought.

The worst of all was the terrible hunger that tormented her.
But could she not stoop and break off a piece of the loaf on which
she stood? No, her back was too stiff, her hands and arms were
benumbed, and her whole body was like a pillar of stone ; only she
was able to turn her eyes in her head, to turn them quite round,
so that she could see backwards: it was an ugly sight. And then
the flies came up, and crept to and fro over her eyes, and she
blinked her eyes, but the flies would not go away, for they could
not fly: their wings had been pulled out, so that they were con-
verted intc creeping insects: it was horrible torment added to the
hunger, for she felt empty, quite, entirely empty.

“Tf this lasts much longer,” she said, “I shall not be able to
bear it.”

But she had to bear it, and it lasted on and on.

Then a hot tear fell down upon her head, rolled over her face
and neck, down on to the loaf on which she stood; and then
another tear rolled down, followed by many more. Who might
be weeping for Ingé? Had she not still a mother in the world ?
The tears of sorrow which a mother weeps for her child always
make their way to the child; but they do not relieve it, they only
increase its torment, And now to bear this unendurable hunger,
and yet not to be able to touch the loaf on which she stood! She
felt as if she had been feeding on herself, and had become like a
thin hollow reed that takes in every sound, for she heard every-
thing that was said of her up in the world, and all that she heard
was hard and evil. Her mother, indeed, wept much and sorrowed
for her, but for all that she said, “ A haughty spirit goes before a
fall. That was thy ruin, Ingé. Thou hast sorely grieved thy
mother.”

Her mother and all on earth knew ofthe sin she had committed;
knew that she had trodden upon the loaf, and had sunk and disap-
peared ; for the cowherd had seen it from the hill beside the moor.

“Greatly hast thou grieved thy mother, Ingé,” said the mother;
“yes, yes, I thought it would be thus.”

“Oh that I never had been born !” thought Ingé; “it would have
been far better. But what use is my mother’s weeping now?”

And she heard how her master and mistress, who had kept and
cherished her like kind parents, now said she was a sinful child,
and did not value the gifts of God, but trampled them under her
feet, and that the gates of mercy would only open slowly to her.

“They should have punished me,” thought Ingé, “and have
driven out the whims I had in my head.”

She heard how a complete song was made about her, a song of
THE GIRL WHO TROD ON THE LOAF. 195

the proud girl who trod upon the loaf to keep her shoes clean,
and she heard how the song was sung everywhere.

“That I should have to bear so much evil for that!” thought
Ingé; “the others ought to be punished, too, for theirsins. Yes,
then there would be plenty of punishing to do. Ah, how I’m
being tortured !”

And her heart became harder than her outward form.

“ Herein this company one can’t even become better,” she said,
“ and I don’t want to become better! Look how they’re all staring
at me!” And her heart was full of anger and malice against all
men. “ Now they’ve something to talk about at last up yonder.
Ah, how I’am being tortured!”

And then she heard how her story was told to the little children,
and the little ones called her the godless Ingé, and said that she
was so naughty and ugly that she must be well punished.

Thus even the children’s mouths spoke hard words of her.

But one day, while grief and hunger gnawed her hollow frame,
and she heard her name mentioned and her story told to an
innocent child, a little girl, she became aware that the little one
burst into tears at the tale of the haughty, vain Ingé.

“ But will Ingé never come up here again?” asked the little girl.

And the reply was, “ She will never come up again.”

“ But if she were to say she was sorry, and to beg pardon, and
say she would never do so again?”

“Yes, then she might come ; but she will not beg pardon,” was
the reply.

“T should be so glad if she would,” said the little girl ; and she
appeared to be quite inconsolable. “I’ll give my doll and all my
peyounse if she may only come up. It’s too dreadful—poor
Ingé!”

And these words penetrated to Ingé’s inmost heart, and seemed
to do her good. It was the first time any one had said “Poor
Ingé,” without adding anything about her faults: alittle innocent
child was weeping and praying for mercy for her. It made her
feel quite strangely, and she herself would gladly have wept, but
she could not weep, and that was a torment in itself.

While years were passing above her, for where she was there
was no change, she heard herself spoken of more and more
seldom. At last one daya sigh struck on her ear: “ Ingé, Ingé,
how you have grieved me! I said how it would be!” It was
the last sigh of her dying mother.

Occasionally she heard her name spoken by her former em-
ployers, and they were pleasant words when the woman said,
“Shall I ever see thee again, Ingé? One knows not what may
happen.”

But Ingé knew right well that her good mistress would never
come to the place where she was.

And again time went on—a long, bitter time. Then Ingé heard

13—2
196 THE GIRL WHO TROD ON THE LOAF.

her name pronounced once more, and saw two bright stars that
seemed gleaming above her. They were two gentle eyes closing
upon earth. So many years had gone by since the little girl had
been inconsolable and wept about “ poor Ingé,” that the child
had become an oid woman, and was now to be called home to
heaven ; and in the last hour of existence, when the events of the
whole life stand at once before us, the old woman remembered
how as a child she had cried heartily at the story of Ingé.

And the eyes of the old woman closed, and the eye of her soul
was opened to look upon the hidden things. She, in whose last
thoughts Ingé had been present so vividly, saw how deeply the
poor girl had sunk, and burst into tears at the sight; in heaven
she stood like a child, and wept for poor Ingé. And her tears
and prayers sounded like an echo in the dark empty space that
surrounded the tormented captive soul, and the unhoped-for love
from above conquered her, for an angel was weeping for her.
Why was this vouchsafed to her? The tormented soul seemed
to gather in her thoughts every deed she had done on earth, and
she, Ingé, trembled and wept such tears as she had never yet
wept. She was filled with sorrow about herself: it seemed as
though the gate of mercy could never open to her; and while in
deep penitence she acknowledged this, a beam of light shot radi-
antly down into the depths to her, with a greater force than that
of the sunbeam which melts the snow man the boys have built
up; and quicker than the snow-flake melts, and becomes a drop
of water that falls on the warm lips of a child, the stony form of
Ingé was changed to mist, and a little bird soared with the speed
of lightning upward into the world of men. But the bird was
timid and shy towards all things around; he was ashamed of
himself, ashamed to encounter any living thing, and hurriedly
sought to conceal himself in a dark hole in an old crumbling wall;
there he sat cowering, trembling through his whole frame, and
unable to utter a sound, for he had no voice. Long he sat there
before he could rightly see all the beauty around him; for it was
beautiful. The air was fresh and mild, the moon cast its mild
radiance over the earth; trees and bushes exhaled fragrance, and
it was right pleasant where he sat, and his coat of feathers was:
clean and pure. How all creation seemed to speak of beneficence
and love! The bird wanted to sing of the thoughts that stirred
in his breast, but he could not; gladly would he have sung as
the cuckoo and the nightingale sang in the Spring-time. But
Heaven, that hears the mute song of praise of the worm, could
hear the notes of praise which now trembled in the breast of the
bird, as David’s psalms were heard before they had fashioned
themselves into words and song.

For weeks thesc toneless songs stirred within the bird; at last
the holy Christmas-time approached. The peasant who dwelt
near set up a pole by the old wall, with some ears of corn bound
THE MONEY-PIG. 197
to the top, that the birds of heaven might have a good meal, and
rejoice in the happy, blessed time.

And on Christmas morning the sun arose and shone upon the
ears of corn, which were surrounded by a number of twittering
birds. Then out of the hole in the wall streamed forth the voice
of another bird, and the bird soared forth from his hiding-place;
and in heaven it was well known what bird this was.

It was a hard winter. The ponds were covered with ice, and
the beasts of the field and the birds of the air were stinted for -
food. Our little bird soared away over the high road, and in
the ruts of the sledges he found here and there a grain of corn,
and at the halting-places some crumbs. Of these he ate only a
few, but he called all the other hungry sparrows around him, that
they, too, might have some food. He flew into the towns, and
looked round about ; and wherever a kind hand had strewn bread
on the window-sill for the birds, he only ate a single crumb him-
self, and gave all the rest to the other birds.

In the course of the winter, the bird had collected so many
bread-crumbs, and given them to the other birds, that they
equalled the weight of the loaf on which Ingé had trod to keep
her shoes clean; and when the last bread-crumb had been found
aS given, the grey wings of the bird became white, and spread

ar out.

“Yonder is a sea-swallow, flying away across the water,” said
the children, when they saw the white bird. Now it dived into
the sea, and now it rose again into the clear sunlight. It gleamed
white; but no one could tell whither it went, though some asserted
that it flew straight into the sun,

THE MONEY-PIG.

JN the nursery a number of toys lay strewn about: high
up, on the wardrobe, stood the money-box, made of clay
and purchased of the potter, and it was in the shape of a
little pig; of course the pig had a slit in his back, and this slit
had been so enlarged with a knife that whole dollar pieces could
slip through ; and, indeed, two such had slipped into the box,
besides a number of pence. The Money-Pig was stuffed so full
that it could no longer rattle, and that is the highest point of
nerfection a money-pig can attain. There it stood upon the cup-
board, high and lofty, looking down upon everything else in the
room, It knew very well that what it had in its stomach would


198 THE MONEY-PIC.

have bought all the toys, and that is what we call having self-
respect.

The others thought of that too, even if they did not exactly
express it, for there were many other things to speak of. One of
the drawers was half pulled out, and there lay a great handsome
Doll, though she was somewhat old, and her neck had been
mended. She looked out and said,

“ Now well play at men and women, for that is always some-
thing!”

And now there was a general uproar, and even the framed prints
on the walls turned round and showed that there was a wrong
side to them; but they did not do it to protest against the pro-
posal,

It was late at night ; the moonshone through the window-frames
and afforded the cheapest light. The game was now to begin,
and all, even the children’s Go-Cart, which certainly belonged to
the coarser playthings, were invited to take part in the sport.

“Each one has his own peculiar value,” said the Go-Cart: “ we
cannot all be noblemen. There must be some who do the work,
as the saying is.” :

The Money-Pig was the only one who received a written invita-
tion, for he was of high standing, and they were afraid he would
not accept a verbal message. Indeed, he did not answer to say
whether he would come, nor did he come: if he was to take a
part, he must enjoy the sport from his own home; they were to
arrange accordingly, and so they did.

The little toy theatre was now put up in such a way that the
Money-Pig could look directly in. They wanted to begin with a
comedy, and afterwards there was to bea tea party and a discus-
sion for mental improvement, and with this latter part they began
immediately. The Rocking-Horse spoke of training and race, the
Go-Cart of railways and steam power, for all this belonged to
their profession, and it was quite right they should talk of it. The
Clock talked politics—ticks—ticks—and knew what was the time
of day, though it was whispered he did not go correctly; the
Bamboo Cane stood there, stiff and proud, for he was conceited
about his brass ferule and his silver top, for being thus bound
above and below; and on the sofa lay two worked Cushions, pretty
and stupid, and now the play began.

All sat and looked on, and it was requested that the audience
should applaud and crack and stamp according as they were
gratified. But the Riding-Whip said he never cracked for old
people, only for young ones who were not yet married.

“I crack for everything,” said the Cracker. ¢

All these were the thoughts they had while the play went on.
The piece was worthless, but it was well played; all the characters
turned their painted side to the audience, for they were so made
that they should only be looked at from that side, and not from
e

THE DARNING-NEEDLE. : 199

the other ; and all played wonderfully well, coming out quite be-
yond the lamps, because the wires were a little too long, but that
only made them come out the more. The darned Doll was quite
exhausted with excitement—so thoroughly exhausted that she
burst at the darned place in her neck, and the Money-Pig was so
enchanted in his way that he formed the resolution to do some-
thing for one of the players, and to remember him in his will as
the one who should be buried with him in the family fault, when
matters were so far advanced.

It was true enjoyment, such true enjoyment that they quite gave
up the thoughts of tea, and only carried out the idea of mental
recreation. That’s what they called playing at men and women;
and there was nothing wrong in it, for they were only playing;
and each one thought of himself and of what the Money-Pig might
think; and the Money-Pig thought farthest of all, for he thought
of making his will and of his burial. And when might this come
to pass? Certainly far sooner than was expected. Crack! it fell
down from the cupboard—fell on the ground, and was broken to
pieces; and the pennies hopped and danced in comical style:
the little ones turned round like tops, and the bigger ones rolled
away, particularly the one great silver dollar who wanted to go
out into the world. And he came out into the world, and they all
succeeded in doing so. And the pieces of the Money-Pig were put
into the dust-bin ; but the next day a new Money-Pig was standing
on the cupboard: it had not yet a farthing in its stomach, and
therefore could not rattle, and in this it was like the other. And
that was a beginning—and with that we will make an end.

THE DARNING-NEEDLE.

j/ HERE was once a Darning-Needle, who thought herself
so fine, she’ imagined she was an embroidering-needle.

“Take care, and mind you hold me tight !” she said
to the Fingers which took her out. “ Don’t let me fall! If I fall
on the ground I shall certainly never be found again, for I am so
fine!”

“That’s as it may be,” said the Fingers; and they grasped
her round the body.

“See, I’m coming with a train!” said the Darning-Needle,
and she drew a long thread after her, but there was no knot in
the thread.

The Fingers nointed the needle just at the cook’s slipper, in


200 THE DARNING-NEEDLE.

which the upper leather had burst, and was to be sewn to-
ether.

eC That’s vulgar work,” said the. Darning-Needle. “I shall never

get through. I’m breaking! I’m breaking!” And she really

broke. “ Did I not say so?” said the Darning-Needle; “I’m

too fine!”

“Now it’s quite useless,” said the Fingers; but they were
obliged to hold her fast, all the same; for the cook dropped some
sealing-wax upon the needle, and pinned her handkerchief to-
gether with it in front.

“So now I’m a breast-pin!” said the Darning-Needle. “I
knew very well that I should come to honour: when one is some-
thing, one comes to something!”

And she laughed quietly to herself—and one can never see
when a darning-needle laughs. There she sat, as proud as if she
was in a state coach, and looked all about her.

‘‘ May I be permitted to ask if you are of gold?” she inquired
of the pin, her neighbour. “ You havea verv pretty appearance,
and a peculiar head, but it is only little. You must take pains to
grow, for it’s not every one that has sealing-wax dropped upon
him.”

And the Darning-Needle drew herself up so proudly that she
fell out of the handkerchief right into the sink, which the cook
was rinsing out,

“ Now we’re going on a journey,” said the Darning-Needle.—
“Tf I only don’t get lost!”

But she really was lost.

“I’m too fine for this world,” she observed, as she lay in the
gutter. “ But I know who I am, and there’s always something
in that !” :

So the Darning-Needle kept her proud behaviour, and did not
lose her good humour. And things of many kinds swam over
her, chips and straws and pieces of old newspapers.

“ Only look how they sail!” said the Darning-Needle. “ They
don’t know what is under them! I’m here, I remain firmly here,
See, there goes a chip thinking of nothing in the world but of
himself—of a chip! There’s a straw going by now. How he
turns! how he twirls about! Don’t think only of yourself, you
might easily run up against a stone. There swims a bit of news-
paper. What’s written upon it has long been forgotten, and yet
it gives itself airs, I sit quietly and patiently here. I know who
I am, and I shall remain what I am.”

One day something lay close beside her that glittered splen-
didly ; then the Darning-Needle believed that it was a diamond;
but it was a Bit of broken Bottle; and because it shone, the
Darning-Needle spoke to it, introducing herself as a breast-pin.

“I suppose you are a diamond ?” she observed.

“Why, yes, something of that kind.”
THE DARNING-NEEDLE. 201





































The Cook with the Darning-Needle.

And then each believed the other to be a very valuable thing ;
and they began speaking about the world, and how very con-
ceited it was, ‘

‘“‘T have been ina lady’s box,” said the Darning-Needle, “and
this lady was a cook. She had five fingers on each hand, and I
never saw anything so conceited as those five fingers. And yet
they were only there that they might take me out of the box, and
put me back into it.”

“ Were they of good birth?” asked the Bit of Bottle.

“No, indeed,” replied the Darning-Needle, “but very haughty
There were five brothers, all of the finger family. They kept
202 THE DARNING-NEEDLE.

very proudly together, though they were of different lengths: the
outermost, the thumbling, was short and fat; he walked out in
front of the ranks, and only had one joint in his back, and could
only make a single bow; but he said if he were hacked off from
a man, that man was useless for service in war. Dainty-mouth,
the second finger, thrust himself into sweet and sour, pointed to
the sun and moon, and gave the impression when they wrote.
Longman, the third, looked at all the others over his shoulder.
Goldborder, the fourth, went about with a golden belt round his
waist; and little Playman did nothing at all, and was proud of
it, There was nothing but bragging among them, and there-
fore I went away.”

“And now we sit here and glitter!” said the Bit of Bottle.

At that moment more water came into the gutter, so that it
overflowed, and the Bit of Bottle was carried away.

“So, he is disposed of,” observed the Darning-Needle. “I
remain here, I am too fine. But that’s my pride, and my pride
ishonourable.” And proudly she sat there, and had many great
thoughts. “I could almost believe I had been born of a sunbeam,
I’m so fine! It really appears to me as if the sunbeams were
always seeking forme under the water. Ah! 1’mso fine that my
mother cannot find me. If I had my old eye, which broke off,
I think I should cry; but, no, I should not do that: it’s not genteel
to cry.”

One dayacouple of street boys lay grubbing in the gutter, where
they sometimes found old nails, farthings, and similar treasures,
It was dirty work, but they took great delight in it.

“Oh!” cried one, who had pricked himself with the Darning-
Needle. “There’s a fellow for you!”

“I’m not a fellow, I’m a young lady!” said the Darning-
Needle.

But nobody listened to her. The sealing-wax had come off,
and she had turned black; but black makes one look slender,
and she thought herself finer even than before.

“ Here comes an egg-shell sailing along” said the boys; and
they stuck the Darning-Needle fast in the egg-shell.

“White walls, and black myself! that looks well,” remarked
the Darning-Needle. “ Now one canseeme. I only hope I shall
not be sea-sick!” But she was not sea-sick at all. “It is good
against sea-sickness, if one has a steel stomach, and does not
forget that one is a little more than an ordinary person! Now
my sea-sickness is over. The finer one is, the more one can

ear.

“Crack!” went the egg-shell, for a hand-barrow went over-her,

“Good Heavens, how it crushes one!” said the Darning-
Needle. “I’m getting sea-sick now,—I’m quite sick.”

But she was not really sick, though the hand-barrow went over
her; she lay there at full length, and there she may lie,
203

THE FIR TREE.

“3; UT in the forest stood a pretty little Fir Tree. It hada
good place; it could have sunlight, air there was in
plenty, and all around grew many larger comrades—
pines as well as firs. But the little Fir Tree wished ardently to
become greater. It did not care for the warm sun and the fresh
air; it took no notice of the peasant children, who went about
talking together, when they had come out to look for strawberries
and raspberries, Often they come with a whole pot-full, or had
strung berries on a straw; then they would sit down by the little
Fir Tree and say, “ How pretty and small that one is!” and the
Fir Tree did not like to hear that at all.

Next year he had grown a great joint, and the following year he
was longer still, for in fir trees one can always tell by the number
of rings they have how many years they have been growing.

“Oh, if I were only as great a tree as the other!” sighed the
little Fir, “then I would spread my branches far around, and
look out from my crown into the wide world. The birds would
then build nests in my boughs, and when the wind blew I could
nod just as grandly as the others yonder.”

It took no pleasure in the sunshine, in the birds, and in the red
clouds that went sailing over him morning and evening.

When it was winter, and the snow lay all around, white and
sparkling, a hare would often come jumping along, and spring
right over the little Fir Tree. Oh! thismade him soangry. But
two winters went by, and when the third came the little Tree had
grown so tall that the hare was obliged to run round it.

“Oh! to grow, to grow, and become old; that’s the only fine
thing in the world,” thought the Tree.

In the autumn woodcutters always came and felled a few of
the largest trees; that was done this year too, and the little Fir
Tree, that was now quite well grown, shuddered with fear, for
the great stately trees fell to the ground with a crash, and their
branches were cut off, so that the trees looked quite naked, long,
and slender—they could hardly be recognized. But then they
were laid upon waggons, and horses dragged them away out of
a wood: Where were they going? What destiny awaited
them?

In the spring, when the Swallows and the Stork came, the Tree
asked them, “ Do you know where they were taken? Did you
not meet them?” :

The Swallows knew nothing about it, but the Stork looked
thoughtful, nodded his head, and said,

“Yes, I think so. I met many new ships when I flew out of


204 THE FIR TREE.

Egypt; on the ships were stately masts; I fancy these were the
trees. They smelt like fir. I can assure you they’re stately—
very stately.”

“Oh that I were only big enough to go over the sea! What
kind of thing is this sea, and how does it look?”

“Tt would take too long to explain all that,” said the Stork,
and he went away. see

“ Rejoice in thy vouth,” said the Sunbeams; “rejoice in thy
fresh growth, and in the young life that is within thee.”

And the wind kissed the Tree, and the dew wept tears upon
it; but the Fir Tree did not understand that.

When Christmas-time approached, quite young trees were
felled, sometimes trees which were neither so old nor so large as
this Fir Tree, that never rested, but always wanted to go away.
These young trees, which were almost the most beautiful, kept all
their branches ; they were put upon waggons, and horses dragged
them away out of the wood. :

“Where are they all going?” asked the Fir Tree. “ They are
not greater than ]—indeed, one of them was much smaller. Why
do they keep all their branches? Whither are they taken?”

“We know that! We know that!” chirped the Sparrows.
“Yonder in the town we looked in at the windows, We know
where they go. Oh! they are dressed up in the greatest pomp
and splendour that can be imagined. We have looked in at the
windows, and have perceived that they are planted in the middle
of the warm room, and adorned with the most. beautiful things—
gilt apples, honey-cakes, playthings, and many hundreds of
candles.”

“And then?” asked the Fir Tree, and trembled through all its
branches, “And then? What happens then?”

“Why, we have not seen anything more. But it was incom-
parable.” .

‘Perhaps I may be destined to tread this glorious path one
day !” cried the Fir Tree, rajoicingly. “That is even better than
travelling across the sea. How painfully I long for it! If it
were only Christmas now! Now I am great and grown up, like
the rest who were led away last year. Oh, if I were only on the
carriage ! If I were only in the warm room, among all the pomp
and splendour! And then? Yes, then something even better
will come, something far more charming, or else why should they
adorn me so? There must be something grander, something
greater still to come ; but what? Oh! I’m suffering, I’m long-
ing! I don’t know myself what is the matter with me !”

“Rejoice in us,” said Air and Sunshine. “ Rejoice in thy fresh
youth here in the woodland.”

But the Fir Tree did not rejoice at all, but it grew and grew ;
winter and summer it stood there, green, dark green. The people
who saw it said, “ That’s a handsome tree !” and at Christmas-
THE FIR TREE. 205

time it was felled before any one of the others. The axe cut deep
into its marrow, and the tree fell to the ground with a sigh: it
felt a pain, a sensation of faintness, and could not think at all of
happiness, for it was sad at parting from its home, from the place
where it had grown up: it knew that it should never again see
the dear old companions, the little bushes and flowers all around
—perhaps not even the birds. The parting was not at all agree-
able.

The Tree only came to itself when it was unloaded in a yard,
with other trees, and heard a man say,

“This one is famous ; we only want this one!”

Now two servants came in gay liveries, and carried the Fir Tree
into a large beautiful saloon. All around the walls hung pictures,
and by the great stove stood large Chinese vases with lions on
the covers ; there were rocking-chairs, silken sofas, great tables
covered with picture-books, and toys worth a hundred times a
hundred dollars, at least the children said so. And the Fir Tree
was put into a great tub filled with sand ; but no one could see
that it was a tub, for it was hung round with green cloth, and
stood on a large many-coloured carpet. Oh, how the Tree trem-
bled ! What was to happen now? The servants, and the young
ladies also, decked it out. On one branch they hung little nets,
cut out of coloured paper ; every net was filled with sweetmeats ;
golden apples and walnuts hung down as if they grew there, and
more than a hundred little candles, red, white, and blue, were
fastened to the different boughs. Dolls that looked exactly like
real people—the Tree had never seen such before—swung among
the foliage, and high on the summit of the Tree was fixed a tinsel
star. It was splendid, particularly splendid.

“ This evening,” said all, “this evening it will shine.”

“ Oh,” thought the Tree, “that it were evening already! Oh
that the lights may be soon lit up! When maythat be done? I
wonder if trees will come out of the forest to look at me? Will
the sparrows fly against the panes? Shall I grow fast here, and
stand adorned in summer and winter?”

Yes, he did not guess badly. But hehadacomplete backache
from mere longing, and the backache is just as bad for a Tree as
the headache for a person.

At last the candles were lighted. What a brilliance, what splen-
dour! The Tree trembled so in all its branches that one of the
candles set fire to a green twig, and it was scorched.

“ Heaven preserve us!” cried the young ladies; and they hastily
put the fire out. ‘

Now the Tree might not even tremble. Oh, that was terrible !
It was so afraid of setting fire to some of its ornaments, and it
was quite bewildered with all the brilliance. And now the folding-
doors were thrown open, and a number of children rushed in as
if they would have overturned the whole Tree ; the older people
206 THE FIR TREE.

followed more deliberately. The little ones stood quite silent, but
only for a minute ; then they shouted till the room rang: they
danced gleefully round the Tree, and one present after another
was plucked from it.

“What are they about?” thought the Tree. “What’s going to
be done?” .

And the candles burned down to the twigs, and as they burned
down they were extinguished, and then the children received per-
mission to plunder the Tree. Oh! they rushed in upon it, so
that every branch cracked again: if it had not been fastened by
the top and by the golden star to the ceiling, it would have fallen
down.

The children danced about with their pretty toys. No one
looked at the Tree except one old man, who came up and peeped
among the branches, but only to see if a fig or an apple had not
been forgotten.

“A story! a story!” shouted the children ; and they drew a
little fat man towards the tree; and he sat down just beneath
it, —“ for then we shall be in the green wood,” said he, “ and the
tree may have the advantage of listening to my tale. But I can
only tell one. Will you hear the story of Ivede-Avede, or of
Klumpey-Dumpey, who fell downstairs, and still was raised up
to honour and married the Princess ?”

““Ivede - Avede!” cried some, “ Klumpey- Dumpey!” cried
others, and there was a great crying and shouting. Only the Fir
Tree was quite silent, and thought, “ ShallI not be in it? shall I
have nothing to do in it?” But he had been in the evening’s
amusement, and had done what was required of him.

And the fat man told about Klumpey-Dumpey who fell down-
stairs, and yet was raised to honour and married the Princess,
And the children clapped their hands, and cried, “ Tell another !
tell another !” for they wanted to hear about Ivede-Avede; but
they only got the story of Klumpey-Dumpey. The Fir Tree
stood quite silent and thoughtful ; never had the birds in the
wood told such a story as that. Klumpey-Dumpey fell down-
stairs, and yet came to honour and married the Princess !

“Yes, so it happens in the world !” thought the Fir Tree, and
believed it must be true, because that was such a nice man who
told it. “ Well, who can know? Perhaps I shall fall downstairs
too, and marry a Princess !” And it looked forward with pleasure
to being adorned again, the next evening, with candles and toys,
gold and fruit. ‘‘To-morrow I shall not tremble,” it thought.
“T will rejoice in all my splendour. To-morrow I shall hear the
story of Klumpey-Dumpey again, and perhaps that of Ivede-
Avede too.”

And the Tree stood all night quiet and thoughtful,

In the morning the servants and the chambermaid came in.

“Now my splendour will begin afresh,” thought the Tree. But
THE FIR TREE. 207

they dragged him out of the room, and upstairs to the garret, and
here they put him in a dark corner where no daylight shone.

“What’s the meaning of this?” thought the Tree. “ What
am I to do here? What is to happen?”

And he leaned against the wall, and thought, and thought.
And he had time enough, for days and nights went by, and no-
body came up ; and when at length some one came, it was only
to put some great boxes in a corner. Now the Tree stood quite
hidden away, and the supposition is that it was quite forgotten.

“ Now it’s winter outside,” thought the Tree. ‘ The earth is
hard and covered with snow, and people cannot plant me ; there-
fore I suppose I’m to be sheltered here until spring comes. How
' considerate that is! | How good people are! If it were only not
so dark here, and so terribly solitary !—not even a little hare!
That was pretty out there in the wood, when the snow lay thick
and the hare sprang past ; yes,even when he jumped over me;
but then I did not like it. It is terribly lonely up here!”

““Piep! piep !” said a little Mouse, and crept forward, and then
came another little one. They smelt at the Fir Tree, and then
slipped among the branches.

“It’s horribly cold,” said the two little Mice, “ or else it would
be comfortable here. Don’t you think so, you old Fir Tree?”

“I’m not old at all,” said the Fir Tree. ‘There are many
much older than I.”

“Where do you come from?” asked the Mice, “ And what do
you know?” They were dreadfully inquisitive. “Tellus about
the most beautiful spot on earth. Have you been there? Have
you been in the store-room, where cheeses lie on the shelves, and
hams hang from the ceiling, where one dances on tallow candles,
and goes in thin and comes out fat?”

“7 don’t know that,” replied the Tree ; “but I know the wood,
where the sun shines and the birds sing.”

And then it told all about its youth.

And the little Mice had never heard anything of the kind ; and
they listened and said,

“What a number of things you have seen! How happy you
must have been!”

“1?” replied the Fir Tree ; and it thought about what it had
told. “ Yes, those were really quite happy times.” But then he
told of the Christmas Eve, when he had been hung with sweet-
meats and candles.

“Oh!” said the little Mice, “how happy you have been, you
old Fir Tree!”

“I’m not old at all,” said the Tree. “I only came out of the
wood this winter. 1’m only rather backward in my growth.”

“What splendid stories you can tell!” said the little Mice.

And next night they came with four other little Mice, to hear
what the Tree had to relate; and the more it said, the more
THE FIR TREE.



The Children and the Fir Tree.

clearly did it remember everything, and thought, “ Those were
quite merry days! But they may comeagain. Klumpey-Dumpey
fell downstairs, and yet he married the Princess, Perhaps I
may marry a Princes too!” And then the Fir Tree thought of
a pretty little birch tree that grew out in the forest : for the Fir
Tree, that birch was a real Princess.

“Who’s Klumpey-Dumpey ?” asked the little Mice,

And then the Fir Tree told the whole story. It could remem-
ber every single word ; and the little Mice were ready to leap to
the very top of the tree with pleasure. Next night a great many
more Mice came, and on Sunday two Rats even appeared ; but
THE FIR TREE. 2cQ

these thought the story was not pretty, and the little Mice were
sorry for that, for now they also did not lke it so much as before.

“Do you only know one story?” asked the Rats.

“Only that one,” replied the Tree. “I heard that on the hap-
piest evening of my life ; I did not think then how happy I was.”

“That’s a very miserable story. Don’t you know any about
bacon and tallow candles—a store-room story ?”

“ No,” said the Tree.

“ Then we’d rather not hear you,” said the Rats.

And they went back to their own people. The little Mice at
last stayed away also ; and then the Tree sighed and said,

“It was very nice when they sat round me, the merry little
Mice, and listened when I spoke to them. Now that’s past too.
But I shall remember to be pleased when they take me out.”

But when did that happen? Why, it was one morning that
people came and rummaged in the garret : the boxes were put
away, and the Tree brought out; they certainly threw him rather
roughly on the floor, but a servant dragged him away at once to
the stairs, where the daylight shone.

“ Now life is beginning again!” thought the Tree.

It felt the fresh air and the first sunbeams, and now it was out
in the courtyard. Everything passed so quickly that the Tree
quite forgot to look at itself, there was so much to look at all
round. The courtyard was close to a garden, and here every-
thing was blooming ; the roses hung fresh and fragrant over the
little paling, the linden trees were in blossom, and the swallows
cried, ‘‘ Quinze-wit! quinze-wit! my husband’s come!” But it was
not the Fir Tree that they meant.

“ Now I shall live!” said the Tree, rejoicingly, and spread its
branches far out; but, alas! they were all withered and yellow;
and it lay in the corner among nettles and weeds. The tinsel
star was still upon it, and shone in the bright sunshine.

In the courtyard a couple of the merry children were playing,
who haddanced round the tree at Christmas-time, and had rejoiced
over it. One of the youngest ran up and tore off the golden star.

“ Look what is sticking to the ugly old fir tree,” said the child,
and he trod upon the branches till they cracked again under his
boots.

And the Tree looked at all the blcoming flowers and the splen-
dour of the garden, and then looked at itself, and wished it had
remained in the dark corner of the garret ; it thought of its fresh
youth in the wood, of the merry Christmas Eve, and of the little
Mice which had listened so pleasantly to the story of Klumpey-
Dumpey.

“Past ! past !” said the old Tree. ‘‘Had I but rejoiced when
I could have done so! Past! past!”

And the servant eame and chopped the Tree into little pieces ;
a whole bundle lay there ; it blazed brightly under the great brew-

14
bI0 SOMETHING.

ing copper, and it sighed deeply, and each sigh was like a little
shot; and the children who were at play there ran up and seated
themselves at the fire, looked into it, and cried “ Puff! puff!”
But at each explosion, which was a deep sigh, the Tree thought
of a summer day in the woods, or of a winter night there, when
the stars beamed; he thought of Christmas Eve and of Klumpey-
Dumpey, the only story he had ever-heard or know how to tell ;
and then the Tree was burned.

The boys played in the garden, and the youngest had on his
breast a golden star, which the Tree had worn on its happiest
evening. Now that was past, and the Tree’s life was past, and
the-story is past too: past! past!—and that’s the way with all
stories.

SOMETHING.

WANT to be something !” said the eldest of five brothers.
“T want to do something in the world. I don’t care how
humble my position may be in society, if I only effect

some good, for that will really be something. I’ll make bricks,

for they are quite indispensable things, and then I shall truly
have done something.”

“ But that something will not be enough !” quoth the second
brother. “ What you intend doing is just as much as nothing at
all. It is journeyman’s work, and can be done by a machine.
No, I would rather be a bricklayer at once, for that is something
real; and that’s what I will be. That brings rank: as a brick-
layer one belongs to a guild, and is a citizen, and has one’s own
flag and one’s own house of call. Yes, and if all goes well, I will
keep journeymen. I shall become a master bricklayer, and my
wife will be a master’s wife—that is what / call something.”

“That’s nothing at all!” said the third. ‘That is beyond
the pale of the guild, and there are many of those in a town that
stand far above the mere master artizan. You may be an honest
man ; but as a ‘master’ you will after all only belong to those
who are ranked among common men. I know something better
than that. I will be an architect, and will thus enter into the
territory of artand speculation. I shall be reckoned among those
who stand high in point of intellect. I shall certainly have to
serve up from the pickaxe, so to speak; so I must begin as a
Carpenter’s apprentice, and must go about as an assistant, in a
cap, though I am accustomed to wear a silk hat. I shall have


SOMETHING. amt

to fetch beer and spirits for the common journeymen, and they
will call me ‘thou,’ and that is insulting! But I shall imagine
to myself that the whole thing is only acting, and a kind of mas-
querade. To-morrow—that is to say, when I have served my
time—lI shall go my own way, and the others will be nothing to
me. I shall go to the academy, and get instructions in drawing,
and shall be called an architect. Zhat’s something / I may get
to be called ‘sir,’ and even ‘ worshipful sir,’ or even get a handle
at the front or at the back of my name, and shall go on building
and building, just as those before me have built. That will always
be a thing to remember, and that’s what /call something !”

“ But Z don’t care at all for ¢ha¢ something,” said the fourth.
“ J won't sail in the wake of others, and be a copyist. I will be
a genius, and will stand up greater than all the rest of you to-
gether. I shall be the creator of a new style, and will give the
plan of a building suitable to the climate and material of the
country, for the nationality of the people, for the development of
the age—and an additional storey for my own genius.”

“ But supposing the climate and the material are bad,” said
the fifth, “that would be a disastrous circumstance, for these two
exert a great influence. Nationality, moreover, may expand itself
until it becomes affectation, and the development of the century
may run wild with your work, as youth often runs wild. I quite
realize the fact that none of you will be anything real, however
much you may believe in yourselves, But, do what you like, I
will not resemble you : I shall keep on the outside of things, and
criticise whatever you produce. To every work there is attached
something that is not right—something that has gone wrong;
and I will ferret that out and find fault with it; and ¢/a¢ will be
doing something /”

And he kept his word; and everybody said concerning this
fifth brother, “There is certainly something in him ; he has a
good head, but he does nothing.” And by that very means they
thought something of him!

Now, you see, this is only a little story; but it will never end
as long as the world lasts.

But what became of the five brothers? Why, this is zothing,
and not something.

Listen, it is a capital story. :

The eldest brother, he who manufactured bricks, soon became
aware of the fact that every brick, however small it might be,
produced for him a little coin, though this coin was only copper;
and many copper pennies laid one upon the other can be changed
into a shining dollar ; and wherever one knocks with sucha dollar
in one’s hand, whether at the baker’s, or the butcher’s, or the
tailor’s—-wherever it may be, the door flies open, and the visitor
is welcomed, and gets what he wants. You see, that is what
comes of bricks. Some of these belonging to the eldest brother

pA—2
212 SOMETHING.

certainly crumbled away, or broke in two, but there was a tise
even for these.

On the high rampart, the wall that kept out the sea, Margaret,
the poor woman, wished to build herself a little house. All the
faulty bricks were given to her, and a few perfect ones into the
bargain, for the eldest brother was a good-natured man, though he
certainly did not achieve anything beyond the manufacture of
bricks. The poor woman put together the house for herself. It
was little and narrow, and the single window was quite crooked.
The door was too low, and the thatched roof might have shown
better workmanship. But after all it was a shelter ; and from
the little house you could look far across the sea, whose waves
broke vainly against the protecting rampart on which it was built.
The salt billows spurted their spray over the whole house, which
was still standing when he who had given the bricks for its erec-
tion had long been dead and buried.

The second brother knew better how to build a wall, for he had
served an apprenticeship to it. When he had served his time and
passed his examination, he packed his knapsack and sang the
journeyman’s song :

“While I am young I'll wander, from place to place I'll roam,
And everywhere build houses, until I come back home ;

And youth will give me courage, and my true love won't forget ;
Hurrah, then, for a workman’s life! I'll be a master yet!”

And he carried his idea into effect. When he had come nome
and become a master, he built one house after another in the town.
He built a whole street ; and when the street was finished and
became an ornament to the place, the houses built a house for him
in return, that was to be his own. But how can houses build a
house? If youask them they will not answer you, but people will
understand what is meant by the expression, and say, “ Certainly,
it was the street that built his house for him.” It was little, and
the floor was covered with clay; but, when he danced with his
bride upon this clay floor, it seemed to become polished oak; and
from every stone in the wall sprang forth a flower, and the room
was gay, as if with the costliest paperhanger’s work. It was a
pretty house, and in it lived a happy pair. The flag of the guild
fluttered before the house, and the journeymen and apprentices
shouted hurrah! Yes, he certainly was something! And at last
he died; and ¢ha¢ was something too.

Now came the architect, the third brother, who had been at
first a carpenter’s apprentice, had worn a cap, and served as an
errand boy, but had afterwards gone to the academy, and risen
to become an architect, and to be called “honoured sir.” Yes,
if the houses of the street had built a house for the brother who
had become a bricklayer, the street now received its name from
the architect, and the handsomest house in it became his property.
That was something, and #e was something; and he had a long
SOMETEING. 213

title before and after his name. his children were called genvee/
children, and when he died his widow was ‘‘a widow of rank,”
and ¢hat is something !—and his name always remained at the
corner of the street, and lived on in the mouth of every one as
the street’s name—and ¢hat was something!

Now came the genius of the family, the fourth brother, who
wanted to invent something new and original, and an additional
storey on the top of it for himself. But the top storey tumbled
down, and he came tumbling down with it, and broke his neck.
Nevertheless, he had a splendid funeral, with guild flags and
music, poems in the papers, and flowers strewn on the paving-
stones in the street; and three funeral orations were held over
him, each one longer than the last, which would have rejoiced
him greatly, for he always liked it when people talked about him;
a monument also was erected over his grave. It was only one
storey high, but still it was something.

Now he was dead, like the three other brothers; but the last,
the one who was a critic, outlived them all; and that was quite
right, for by this means he got the last word, and it was of great
importance to him to have the last word. The people always
said he had a good head of his own. At last his hour came, and
he died, and came to the gates of Paradise. There souls always
enter two and two, and he came up with another soul that wanted
to get into Paradise too; and who should this be but old Dame
Margaret from the house upon the sea-wall.

“T suppose this is done for the sake of contrast, that I and this
wretched soul should arrive here at exactly the same time,” said
the critic. “Pray, who are you, my good woman?” he asked.
“Do you want to get in here too?”

And the old woman courtesied as well as she could: she thought
it must be St. Peter himself talking to her.

“I’m a poor old woman of a very humble family,” she replied.
“T’m old Margaret that lived in the house on the sea-wall.”

“Well, and what have you done? What have you accomplished
down there?”

“T have really accomplished nothing at all in the world: no-
thing that I can plead to have the doors here opened tome. It
would be a real mercy to allow me to slip in through the gate.”

“Tn what manner did you leave the world?” asked he, just for
the sake of saying something; for it was wearisome work stand-
ing there and saying nothing.

“Why, I really don’t know how I left it. Iwas sick and mise-
rable during my last years, and could not well bear creeping out
of bed, and going out suddenly into the frost and cold. It was
a hard winter, but I have got out of it allnow. Fora few days
the weather was quite calm, but very cold, as your honour must
very well know. The sea was covered with ice as far as one could
look. All the people from the town walked out upon the ice. and
214 SOMETHING.

I think they said there was a dance there, and skating. There
was beautiful music and a great feast there too; the sound came
into my poor little room, where I lay ill, And it was towards the
evening; the moon had risen beautifully, but was not yet in its
full splendour. I looked from my bed out over the wide sea, and
far off, just where the sea and sky join, a strange white cloud came
up. I lay looking at the cloud, and I saw a little black spot in
the middle of it, that grew larger and larger; and now I knew
what it meant, for I am old and experienced, though this token
is not often seen. I knew it, and a shuddering came upon me.
Twice in my life I have seen the same thing ; and I knew there





Dame Margery jives her Bed for a Beacon.

would be an awful tempest, and a spring flood, which would over-
whelm the poor people who were drinking and dancing and re-
joicing —young and old, the whole city had issued forth: who was
to warn them, if no one saw what was coming yonder, or knew,
as I did, what it meant? I was dreadfully alarmed, and felt more
lively than I had done for a long time. ‘I crept out of bed, and
got to the window, but could not crawl any farther, I was so ex-
hausted. But I managed to open the window. I saw the people
outside running and jumping about on the ice; I could see the
beautiful flags that waved in the wind. I heard the boys shouting
‘hurrah!’ and the servant men and maids singing. There were
all kinds of merriment going on. But the white cloud with the
SOMETHING, "arg

black spot! I cried as loud as I could, but nu one heard me;
I was too far from the people. Soon the storm would burst, and
the ice would break, and all who were upon it would be lost with-
out remedy. They could not hear,me, and I could not come out
tothem. Oh, if I could only bring them ashore! Then kind
Heaven inspired me with the thought of setting fire to my bed,
and rather to let the house burn down, than that all those people
should perish miserably. I succeeded in lighting up a beacon for
them. The red flame blazed up on high, and I escaped out of
the door, but fell down exhausted on the threshold, and could get
no farther. The flames rushed out towards me, flickered through
the window, and rose high above the roof. All the people on the
ice yonder beheld it, and ran as fast as they could, to give aid to
a poor old woman who, they thought, was being burned to death,
Not one remained behind. I heard them coming; but I also
became aware of a rushing sound in the air; I heard a rumbling
like the sound of heavy artillery ; the spring flood was lifting the
covering of ice, which presently burst and cracked into a thousand
fragments. But the people succeeded in reaching the sea-wall
—I saved them all! But I fancy I could not bear the cold and
the fright, and so I came up here to the gates of Paradise. Iam
told they are opened to poor creatures like me—and now I have.
no house left down upon the rampart: not that I think this will
give me admission here.”

Then the gates of heaven were opened, and the angel led the
old woman in. She left a straw behind her, a straw that had
been in her bed when she set it on fire to save the lives of many;
and this straw had been changed into the purest gold—into gold
that grew and grew, and spread out into beauteous leaves and
flowers.

“ Look, this is what the poor woman brought,” said the angel
to the critic. ‘“ What dost ¢houw bring? I know that thou hast
accomplished nothing—thou hast not made so much as a single
brick. Ah, if thou couldst only return, and effect at least as
much as that! Probably the brick, when thou hadst made it,
would not be worth much; but if it were made with a good will,
it would at least be something. But thou canst not go back, and
I can do nothing for thee !”

Then the poor soul, the old dame who had lived on the dyke,
put ina petition for him. She said,

“ His brother gave me the bricks and the pieces out of which
I built up my house, and that was a great deal for a poor woman
like me. Could not all those bricks and pieces be counted as a
single brick in his favour? It was an act of mercy. He wants
it now; and is not this the very fountain of mercy ?”

Then the angel said,

“ Thy brother, him whom thou hast regarded as the least
among you all, he whose honest industry seemed to thee as the
216 A LEAF FROM THE SKY.

most humble, hath given thee this heavenly gift. Thou shalt not
be turned away. It shall be vouchsafed to thee to stand here
without the gate, and to reflect, and repent of thy life down
yonder ; but thou shalt not be admitted until thou hast in earnest
accomplished something.” :

“TI could have said that in better words!” thought the critic,
but he did not find fault aloud; and for him, after all, that was
“ SOMETHING!”

A LEAF FROM THE SKY.

IGH up yonder, in the thin clear air, flew an angel with a
flower from the heavenly garden. As she was kissing
the flower, a very little leaf fell down into the soft soil

in the midst of the wood, and immediately took root, and

sprouted, and sent forth shoots among the other plants.

“A funny kind of slip that,” said the Plants.

And neither Thistle or Stinging-Nettle would recognize the
stranger.

“ That must be a kind of garden-plant,” said they.

And they sneered; and the plant was despised by them as
being a thing out of the garden.

“Where are you coming?” cried the lofty Thistles, whose
leaves are all armed with thorns. “You give yourself a good
deal of space. That’s all nonsense—we are not here to support
you!” they grumbled.

And winter came, and snow covered the plant; but the plant
imparted to the snowy covering a lustre as if the sun was shining
upon it from belowas from above. When spring came, the plant
appeared as a blooming object, more beautiful than any produc-
tion of the forest. ;

And now appeared on the scene the botanical professor, who
could show what he was in black and white. He inspected the
plant and tested it, but found it was not included in his botanica
system; and he could not possibly find out to what class it
belonged.

“That must be some subordinate species,” he said. “I don’t
know it. It’s not included in any system.”

“ Not included in any system!” repeated the Thistles and the
Nettles.

The great trees that stood round about saw and heard it; but
they said not a word, good or bad, which is the wisest thing to do
for people who are stupid.


A LEAF FROM THE SKY. 217

There came through the forest a poor innocent girl. Her heart
was pure, and her understanding was enlarged by faith. Her
whole inheritance was an old Bible; but out of its pages a voice
said to her, ‘‘ If people wish to do us evil, remember how it was
said of Joseph. They imagined evil in their hearts, but God
turned it to good. If we suffer wrong—if we are misunderstood
and despised—then we may recall the words of Him who was
purity and goodness itself, and who forgave and prayed for those
who buffeted and nailed Him to the cross.”

The girl stood still in front of the wonderful plant, whose great
leaves exhaled a sweet and refreshing fragrance,and whose flowers
glittered like a coloured flame in the sun ; and from each flower
there came a sound as though it concealed within itself a deep
fount of melody that thousands of years could not exhaust. With
pious gratitude the girl looked upon this beautiful work of the
Creator, and bent down one of the branches towards itself to
breathe in its sweetness; and a light arose in her soul. It seemed
to do her heart good ; and gladly would she have plucked a flower,
but she could not make up her mind to break one off, for it would
soon fade if she did so. Therefore the girl only took a single leaf,
and laid it in her Bible at home; and it lay there quite fresh,
always green, and never fading.

Among the pages of the Bible it was kept ; and with the Bible
it was laid under the young girl’s head, when, a few weeks after-
wards, she lay in her coffin, with the solemn calm of death on her
gentle face, as if the earthly remains bore the impress of the truth
that she now stood before her Creator.

But the wonderful plant still bloomed without in the forest. It
was almost like a tree to look upon ; andall the birds of passage
bowed before it.

“ That’s giving itself foreign airs now,” said the Thistles and
the Burdocks ; “ we never behave like that here.”

And the black snails actually spat at the flower.

Then came the swineherd. He was collecting thistles and
shrubs, to burn them for the ashes. The wonderful plant was
placed bodily in his bundle.

“Tt shall be made useful,” he said ; and so said, so done.

But soon afterwards, the King of the country was troubled with
a terrible depression of spirits. He was busy and industrious, but
that did him no good. They read him deep and learned books,
and then they read from the lightest and most superficial that
they could find; but it was of no use. Then one of the wise men
of the world, to whom they had applied, sent a messenger to tell
the King that there was one remedy to give him relief and to cure
him. He said:

‘In the King’s own country there grows in a forest a plant of
heavenly origin. Itsappearance is thus and thus, It cannot be
mistaken,”
218 THE JEWISH GIRL.

“T fancy it was taken up in my bundle, and burned to ashes
long ago,” said the swineherd; “ but I did not know any better.”

“You did not know any better! Ignorance of ignorances!”

And those words the swineherd might well take to himself,
for they were meant for him, and for no one else.

Not another leaf was to be found ; the only one lay in the coffin
of the dead girl, and no one knew anything about that.

And the King himself, in his melancholy, wandered out to the
spot in the wood.

“ Here is where the plant stood,” hesaid ; “it is a sacred place.”

And the place was surrounded with a golden railing, and a
sentry was posted there.

The botanical professor wrote a long treatise upon the heavenly
plant. For this he was gilded all over, and this gilding suited
him and his family very well. And indeed that was the most
agreeable part of the whole story. But the King remained as
low-spirited as before ; but that he had always been, at least so
the sentry said.

THE JEWISH GIRL.

(57,\@l| MONG the children in a charity school sat a little Jewish
girl. She was a good, intelligent child, the quickest in
all the school; but she had to be excluded from one
lesson, for she was not allowed to take part in the Scripture-
lesson, for it was a Christian school.

In that hour the girl was allowed to open the geography-book,
or to do her sum for the next day ; but that was soon done; and
when she had mastered her lesson in geography, the book indeed
remained open before her, but the little one read no more in it:
she listened silently to the words of the Christian teacher, who
soon became aware that she was listening more intently than
almost any of the other children.

“Read your book,.Sara,” the teacher said, in mild reproof;
but her dark beaming eye remained fixed upon him; and once
when he addressed a question to her, she knew how to answer
better than any of the others could have done. She had heard
and understood, ana had kept his words in her heart.

When her father, a poor honest man, first brought the girl to
the school, he had stipulated that she should be excluded from
the lessons on the Christian faith. But it would have caused dis-
turbance, and perhaps might have awakened discontent in the
minds of the others, if she had been sent from the room during


THE JEWISH GIRL. 219

the hours in question, and consequently she stayed; but this
could not go on any longer.

The teacher betook himself to her father, and exhorted him
either to remove his daughter from the school, or to consent that
Sara should become a Christian.

“T can no longer bea silent spectator of the gleaming eyes of
the child, and of her deep and earnest longing for the. words of
the Gospel,” said the teacher.

Then the father burst into tears.

“T know but little of the commandment given to my fathers,”
he said; “ but Sara’s mother was steadfast in the faith, a true
daughter of Israel, and I vowed to her as she lay dying that our *
child should never be baptized. I must keep my vow, for it is
even as a covenant with God Himself.”

’ And accordingly the little Jewish maiden quitted the Christian
school.

Years have rolled on.

In,one of the smallest provincial towns therc dwelt, as a ser-
vant m a humble household, a maiden who held the Mosaic faith.
Her hair was black as ebony, her eye dark as night, and yet full
of splendour and light, as is usual with the daughters of Israel.
It was Sara. The expression in the countenance of the now
grown-up maiden was still that of the child sitting on the school-
room bench, and listening with thoughtful eyes to the words of
the Christian teacher.

Every Sunday there pealed from the church the sounds of the
organ and the song of the congregation. The strains penetrated
into the house where the Jewish girl, industrious and faithful in
all things, stood at her work.

“Thou shalt keep holy the Sabbath-day,” said a voice within
her, the voice of the Law; but her Sabbath-day was a working
day among the Christians, and that seemed unfortunate to her.
But then the thought arose in her soul: “ Doth God reckon by
days and hours?” And when this thought grew strong within
her, it seemed a comfort that on the Sunday of the Christians the
hour of prayer remained undisturbed ; and when the sound of
the organ and the songs of the congregation sounded across to
her as she stood in the kitchen at her-work, and even that place
seemed to become a sacred one to her. Then she would read in
the Old Testament, the treasure and comfort of her people, and
it was only in this one she could read ; for she kept faithfully in
the depths of. her heart the words the teacher had spoken when
she left the school, and the promise her father had given to her
dying mother, that she should never receive Christian baptism,
or deny the faith of her ancestors. The New Testament was to
be a sealed book to her; and yet she knew much of it, and the
Gospel echoed faintly among the recollections of her youth,







A rT aa
Le OT












220 THE JEWISH GIRL,
rn
yet WES

— wy 2 Se

— mi







Hy

























































== nr.

Sara listening to the Singing in the Church.

One evening she was sitting in a corner of the living-room.
Her master was reading aloud ; and she might listen to him, for
it was not the Gospel that he read, but an old story-book, there-
fore she might stay. The book told of a Hungarian knight who
was taken prisoner by a Turkish pasha, who caused him to be
yoked with his oxen to the plough, and driven with blows of the
whip till the blood came, and he almost sank under the pain and



THE JEWISH GIRL. 22t

ignominy he endured. The faithful wife of the knight at home
parted with all her jewels, and pledged castle and land. The
knight’s friends amassed large sums, for the ransom demanded
was almost unattainably high ; but it was collected at last, and
the good knight was freed from servitude and misery. But soon
another summons came to war against the foes of Christianity :
the knight heard the cry, and he could stay no longer, for he had
neither peace nor rest. He caused himself to be lifted on his war-
horse; and the blood came back to his cheek, his strength ap-
peared to return, and he went forth to battle and to victory. The
very same pasha who had yoked him to the plough became his
prisoner, and was dragged to his castle. But not an hour had
passed when the knight stood before the captive pasha, and said
to him,

“What dost thou suppose awaiteth thee ?”

“T know it,” replied the Turk. “ Retribution.”

“Yes, the retribution of the Christian!” resumed the knight.
“The doctrine of Christ commands us to forgive our enemies,
and to love our fellow-man, for it teaches us that God is love.
Depart in peace, depart to thy home: I will restore thee to thy
dear ones; but in future be mild and merciful to all who are
unfortunate.”

Then the prisoner broke out into tears, and exclaimed,

“‘ How could I believe in the possibility of such mercy? Misery
and torment seemed to await me, they seemed inevitable ; there-
fore I took poison, which I secretly carried about me, and in a
few hours its effects willslay me. I must die—there is no remedy !
But before I die, do thou expound to me the teaching which in-
cludes so great a measure of love and mercy, for it is great and
godlike! Grant me to hear this teaching, and to die a Christian.”
And his prayer was fulfilled.

That was the legend which the master read out of the old
story-book, All the audience listened with sympathy and plea-
sure; but Sara, the Jewish girl, sitting alone in her corner, lis-
tened with a burning heart; great tears came into her gleaming
black eyes, and she sat there with a gentle and lowly spirit as
she had once sat on the school bench, and felt the grandeur of
the Gospel; and the tears rolled down over her cheeks.

But again the dying words of her mother rose up within her:

“Let not my daughter become a Christian,” the voice cried;
and together with it arose the words of the Law: “Thou shalt
honour thy father and thy mother.” .

“Tam not admitted into the community of the Christians,” she
said; “they abuse me for being a Jew girl—our neighbour’s boys
hooted me last Sunday, when I stood at the open church door,
and looked in at the flaming candles on the altar, and listened
to the song of the congregation, Ever since I sat upon the
school bench I have felt the force of Christianity, a force like
222 THE JEWISH GIRL.

that of a sunbeam, which streams into my soul, however tirmly
I may shut my eyes against it. But I will not pain thee in thy
grave, O my mother, I will not be unfaithful to the oath of my
father, I will not read the Bible of the Christians. I have the
religion of my people, and to that will I hold!”

And years rolled on again.

The master died. His widow fell into poverty, and the servant
girl was to be dismissed. But Sara refused to leave the house:
she became the staff in time of trouble, and kept the household
together, working till late in the night to earn the daily} bread
through the labour of her hands, for no relative came forward to
assist the family; and the widow became weaker every day, and
lay for months together on the bed of sickness. Sara worked
hard, and in the intervals sat kindly ministering by the sick-bed:
she was] gentle and pious, an angel of blessing in the poverty-
stricken house.

“Yonder on the table lies the Bible,” said the sick woman to
Sara, “Read me something from it, for the night appears to be
- pene, so long !—and my soul thirsts for the word of the

ord.”

And Sara bowed her head. She took the book, and folded her
hands over the Bible of the Christians, and opened it, and read
to the sick woman. Tears stood in her eyes, which gleamed and
shone with ecstacy, and light shone in her heart.

“O my mother,” she whispered to herself, “ thy child may not
receive the baptism of the Christians, or be admitted into the
congregation—thou hast willed it so, and I shall respect thy
command: we will remain in union together here on earth; but
beyond this earth there is a higher union, even union in God!
He will be at our side, and lead us through the valley of death.
It is He that descendeth upon the earth when it is athirst, and
covers it with fruitfulness. I understand it—i know not how I
came to learn thetruth; but it is through Him, through Christ!”

And she started as she pronounced the sacred name, and there
came upon her a baptism as of flames of fire, and her frame shook,
and her limbs tottered so that she sank down fainting, weaker
even than the sick woman by whose couch she had watched.

“Poor Sara!” said the people; “she is overcome with night
watching and toil!” .

They carried her out into the hospital for the sick poor. There
she died ; and from thence they carried her to the grave, but not
to the churchyard of the Christians, for yonder was no room for
the Jewish girl; outside, by the wall, her grave was dug.

But God’s sun, that shines upon the graves of the Christians,
throws its beams also upon the grave of the Jewish girl beyond
the wall; and when the psalms are sung in the churchyard of the
Christians, they echo likewise over her lonely testing-place; and
THE ELDER TREE MOTHER, 223

she who sleeps beneath is included in the call to the resurrection,
in the name of Him who spake to His disciples:

“John baptized you with water, but I will baptize you with the
Holy Ghost !”

THE ELDER TREE MOTHER.



fal] HERE was once a little boy who had caught cold; he had

laest| gone out and got wet feet ; no one could imagine how it

~ had happened, for it was quite dry weather. Now his
mother undressed him, put him to bed, and had the tea-urn
brought in to make a good cup of elder tea, for that warms well.
At the same time there also came in at the door the friendly old
man who lived all alone at the top of the house, and was very
solitary. He had neither wife nor children, but he was very
fond of little people, and knew so many stories that it was quite
delightful.

“ Now you are to drink your tea,” said the mother, “and then
perhaps you will hear a story.”

“Ah! if one only could tell anew one!” said the old man, with
a friendly nod. “ But where did the little man get his feet wet?”
he asked.

“Yes,” replied the mother, ‘no one can tell how that came
about.”

‘“‘ Shall I have a story?” asked the boy.

“ Yes, if you can tell me at all accurately—for I must know
that first—how deep the gutter is in the little street through which
you go to school.”

“Just half-way up to my knee,” answered the boy, “ that is, if
I put my feet in the deep hole.”

“You see, that’s how we get our feet wet,” said the old gentle-
man. “Now I ought certainly to tell you a story; but 1 don’t
know any more.”

_ You can make up one directly,” answered the little boy.
“Mother says that everything you look at can be turned into a
story, and that you can make a tale of everything you touch.”

“Yes, but those stories and tales are worth nothing! No, the
real ones come of themselves. They knock at my forehead and
say, ‘Here I am!’”

“Will there soon be a knock?” asked the little boy, and the
mother laughed, and put elder tea in the pot, and poured hot
water upon it.

“A story! a story!”
224 THE ELDER TREE MOTHER.

“Yes, if a story would come of itself; but that kind of thing is
very grand; it only comes when it’s in the humour.—Wait!” he
cried all at once; “here we have it. Look you; there’s one in
the tea-pot now.”

And the little boy looked acioss at the tea-pot. The lid raised
itself more and more, and the elder flowers came forth from it,
white and fresh; they shot forth long fresh branches even out of
the spout, they spread abroad in all directions, and became larger
and larger; there was the most glorious elder bush—in fact, quite
a great tree.. It penetrated even to the bed, and thrust the cur-
tains aside: how fragrant it was, and how it bloomed! And in
the midst of the tree sat an old, pleasant-looking woman in a
strange dress. It was quite green, like the leaves of the elder
tree, and bordered with great white elder blossoms: one could
not at once discern whether this border was of stuff or of living
green and real flowers. ;

“What is the woman’s name?” the little boy asked.

“The Romans and Greeks,” replied the old man, “ used to call
her a Dryad; but we don’t understand that: out in the sailor’s
suburb we have a better name for her; there she’s called Elder
Tree Mother, and it is to her you must pay attention: only listen,
and look at that glorious elder tree.

“ Just such a great blooming tree stands outside; it grew there
in the corner of a poor little yard, and under this tree two old
people sat one afternoon in the brightest sunshine. It was an old,
old sailor, and his old, old wife; they had great-grandchildren,
and were soon to celebrate their golden wedding ;* but they could
not quite make out the date, and the Elder Tree Mother sat in
the tree and looked pleased, just as she does here. ‘I know very
well when the golden wedding is to be,’ said she; but they did
not hear it—they were talking of old times.

“* Yes, do you remember,’ said the old seaman, ‘ when we were
quite little, and ran about and played together? it was in the very
same yard where we are sitting now, and we planted little twigs
in the yard, and made a garden.’

“* Yes,’ replied the old woman, ‘I remember it very well: we
watered the twigs, and one of them was an elder twig; that struck
root, shot out other green twigs, and has become a great tree,
under which we old people sit.’

“ Surely,’ said he; ‘and yonder in the corner stood a butt of
water; there I swam my boat; I had cut it out myself. Howit
could sail! But I certainly soon had to sail elsewhere myself.’

“* But first we went to school and learned something,’ said she,
‘and then we were confirmed; we both cried, but in the afternoon
we went hand in hand to the round tower, and looked out into
the wide world, over Copenhagen and across the water ; then we

* The golden wedding is celebrated in several countries of the Continent, by the
two wedded pairs who survive to see the fiftieth anniversary of their marriage-day,
THE ELDER. TREE MOTHER. 225

went out to Fredericksberg, where the King and Queen were
sailing in their splendid boats upon the canals,’

“But I was obliged to sail elsewhere, and that for many years,
far away on long voyages.’

“¢ Yes, I often cried about you,’she said. ‘I thought you were
dead and gone, and lying down in the deep waters, rocked by
the waves. Many a night I got up to look if the weathercock
was turning. Yes, it turned indeéd; but you did not come, I
remember so clearly how the rain streamed down from the sky.
The man with the cart who fetched away the dust came to the
place where I was in service. I went down with him to the dust-
bin, and remained standing in the doorway. What wretched
weather it was! And just as I stood there the postman came,
up and gave me a letter. It wasfrom you! How that letter had
travelled about! I tore it open and read; I ]Jaughed and wept
at once, | was so glad. There it stood written that you were in
the warm countries where the coffee-beans grow. You told me
so much, and | read it all while the rain was streaming down, and
I stood by the dust-bin. _Then somebody came and clasped me
round the waist.’

“* And you gave him a terrible box on the ear—one that
sounded!’

“¢T did not know that it was you. You had arrived just as
quickly as your letter. And you were so handsome; but that
you are still. You had a large yellow silk handkerchief in your
pocket, and a hat on your head. You were so handsome! And,
gracious! what weather it was, and how the street looked!’

“Then we were married,’ said he; ‘do you remember? And
then when our first little boy came, and then Marie, and Neils,
and Peter, and Jack, and Christian ?’

“Yes; and how all of these have grown up to be respectable
people, and every one likes them,’

“* And their children have had little ones in their turn, said
the old sailor... ‘ Yes, those are children’s children! They’re of
the right sort. It was, if I don’t mistake, at this very season of
the year that we were married ?’ ;

““* Yes; this is the day of your golden wedding,’ said the Elder
Tree Mother, putting out her head just between the two old
people; and they thought it was a neighbour nodding to them,
and they looked at each other, and took hold of one another's
hands.

“Soon afterwards came their children and grandchildren-—
these knew very well that it was the golden wedding-day; they
had already brought their congratulations in the morning, but
the old people had forgotten it, while they remembered every-
thing right well that had happened years and years ago.

‘And the elder tree smelt so sweet, and the sun that was just
setting shone just in the faces of the old couple, so that their

a“ 15
226 THE ELDER TREE MOTHER.

cheeks looked quite red ; and the youngest of their grandchildren
danced about them, and cried-out quite gleefully that there was
to be a feast this evening, for they were to have hot potatoes;
and the Elder Mother nodded in the tree, and called out ‘hurrah!’
with all the rest.”

“ But that was not a story,” said the little boy who had heard
it told.

“ Ves, so you understand it,” replied the old man; “but let us
ask the Elder Mother about it.” ‘

“That was not a story,” said the Elder Mother ; “ but now it
comes; but of truth the strangest. stories are formed, otherwise
my beautiful elder tree could not have sprouted forth out of the
tea-pot.”

‘Ana then she took the little boy out of bed, and laid him upon
her bosom, and the blossoming elder branches wound round them,
so that they sat as it were in the thickest arbour, and this arbour
flew with them through the air. It was indescribably beautiful.
Elder Mother all at once became a pretty young girl; but her
dress was still of the green stuff with the white blossoms that
Elder Mother had worn; in her bosom she had a real elder
blossom, and on her head a wreath of elder flowers ; her eyes were
so large and blue, they were beautiful to look at! She and the
boy were of the same age, and they kissed each other and felt
similar joys.

Hand in hand they went forth out of the arbour, and now they
stood in the beauteous flower garden of home. The father’s staff
was tied up near the fresh grass-plot, and for the little boy there
was life in that staff. As soon as they seated themselves upon it,
the polished head turned into a noble neighing horse’s head, with
a flowing mane, and four slender legs shot forth; the creature was
strong and spirited, and they rode at a gallop round the grass-
plot—hurrah!

“ Now we’re going to ride many miles away,” said the boy ;
“we'll ride to the nobleman’s estate, where we went last
year.” ; .

And they rode round and round the grass-plot, and the little
girl, who, as we know, was no one else but Elder Mother, kept
crying out,

‘Now we’re in the country! Do yousee the farm-house, with
the great baking-oven standing out of the wall like an enormous
egg by the wayside? The elder tree spreads its branches over
it, and the cock walks about, scratching for his hens; look how
he struts! Now we are near the church; it lies high up on the
hill, under the great oak trees, one of which is half dead. Now
we are at the forge, where the fire burns, and the half-clad men
beat with their hammers, so that the sparks fly far around. Away,
away, to the splendid nobleman’s seat!”

And everything that the little maiden mentioned, as she sat on
THE ELDER TREE MOTHER. 227

the stick behind him, flew past them, and the little boy sawit all,
though they were only riding round and round the grass-plot.
Then they played in the side walk, and scratched up the earth to
make a little garden; and she took elder flowers out of her hair
and planted them, and they grew just like those that the old
people had planted when they were little, as has been already
told. They went hand in hand, just as the old people had done
in their childhood ; but not to the high tower, or to the Fredericks-
berg Garden. No, the little girl took hold of the boy round the
body, and then they flew far away out into the country.

And it was spring, and summer came, and autumn, and winter,
and thousands of pictures were mirrored in the boy’s eyes and
heart, and the little maiden was always singing to him.

He will never forget that; and throughout their whole journey
the elder tree smelt so sweet, so fragrant: he noticed the roses
and the fresh beech trees; but the elder tree smelt stronger than
all, for its flowers hung round the little girl’s heart, and he often
leaned against them as they flew onward.

“ Here it is beautiful in spring!” said the little girl.

And they stood in the green beech wood, where the thyme lay
spread in fragrance at their feet, and the pale pink anemones
looked glorious among the vivid green.

“Oh that it were always spring in the merry green wood !”

“Here it is beautiful in summer !” said she.

And they passed by old castles of knightly days, castles whose
high walls and pointed turrets were mirrored in the canals, where
swans swam about, and looked down the old shady avenues, In
the fields the corn waved like a sea, in the ditches yellow and red
flowers were growing, and in the hedges wild hops and bloon:ing
convolvulus. In the evening the moon rose round and large, and
the haystacks in the meadows smelt sweet.

“Here it is beautiful in autumn!” said the little girl.

And the sky seemed twice as lofty and twice as blueas before,
and the forest was decked in the most gorgeous tints of red,
yellow, and green. The hunting dogs raced about; whole flocks
of wild ducks flew screaming over the Huns’ Graves, on which
bramble bushes twined over the old stones. The sea was dark
blue, and covered with ships with white sails; and in the barns
sat old women, girls, and children, picking hops into a large tub;
the young people sang songs, and the older ones told tales of
magicians and goblins. It could not be finer anywhere.

“Here it is beautiful in winter!” said the little girl.

And all the trees were covered with hoar frost, so that they
looked like white trees of coral. The snow crumbled beneath
one’s feet, as if every one had new boots on; and one shooting
star after another fell from the sky. In the room the Christmas
tree was lighted up, and there were presents, and there was hap-
piness. In the country people’s farm-houses the violin sounded,
228 THE ELDER TREE MOTHER,

and there were many games for apples; and even the poorest
child said, “It is beautiful in winter!”

Yes, it was beautiful ; and the little girl showed the boy every-
thing ; and still the blossoming tree smelt sweet, and still waved
the red flag with the white cross, the flag under which the old
seaman had sailed. The boy became a youth, and was to go
out into the wide world, far away to the hot countries where the
coffee grows. But when they were to part, the little girl took an
elder blossom from her breast, and gave it to him to keep. It
was laid in his hymn-book, and in the foreign land, when he
opened the book, it was always at the place where the flower of
remembrance lay; and the more he looked at the flower the
fresher it became, so that he seemed, as it were, to breathe the
forest air of home; then he plainly saw the little girl looking out
with her clear blue eyes from between the petals of the flower,



The Boy and his Mother.

and then she whispered, “ Here it is beautiful in spring, summer,
autumn, and winter!” and hundreds of pictures glided through
his thoughts.

Thus many years went by, and now he was an old man, and
sat with his old wife under the blossoming elder tree: they were
holding each other by the hand, just as the great-grandmother
and great-grandfather had done outside; and, like these, they
spoke of old times and of the golden wedding. The little maiden
with the blue eyes and with the elder blossoms in her hair sat up
in the tree, and nodded to both of them, and said, “ To-day is
our golden wedding-day!” and then she took two flowers out of
her hair and kissed them, and they gleamed first like silver and
then like gold, and when she laid them on the heads of the old
people each changed into a golden crown. There they both sat,
FARM-VYARD COCK AND WEATHERCOCK. 229

like a King and a Queen, under the fragrant tree which looked
quite like an elder bush, and he told his old wife of the story of
the Elder Tree Mother, as it had been told to him when he was
quite a little boy, and they both thought that the story in-many
pone resembled their own, and those parts they liked the best
of all.

“Yes, thus it is!” said the little girl in the tree. “Some call
me Elder Tree Mother. others the Dryad, but my real name is
Remembrance: it is I who sit in the tree that grows on and on,
and I can think back and tell stories. Let me see if you have
still your flower.”

And the old man opened his hymn-book: there lay the elde1
blossom as fresh as if it had only just been placed there; and
Remembrance nodded, and the two old people with the golden
crowns on their head sat in the red evening sunlight, and they
closed their eyes, and—and—the story was finished.

The little boy lay in his bed and did not know whether he had
been dreaming or had heard a tale told; the tea-pot stood on
the table, but no elder bush was growing out of it, and the old
man who had told about it was just going out of the door, and
indeed he went.

* How beautiful that was!” said the little boy. “ Mother, I
have been in the hot countries.”

“Yes, I can imagine that!” replied his mother. ‘“ When one
drinks two cups of hot elder tea one very often gets into the hot
countries!” And she covered him up well, that he might not
take cold. “You have slept well while I disputed with him as to
whether it was a story or a fairy tale.”

“ And where is the Elder Tree Mother?” asked the little lad.

“‘She’s in the tea-pot,” replied his mother; “ard there she
may stay.”

THE FARM-YARD COCK AND THE WEATHER-
COCK.

i] HERE were two Cocks—one on the dunghill, the other on
the roof. Both were conceited; but which of the two
effected most? Tellus your opinion ; but we shall keep
our own nevertheless.

The poultry-yard was divided by a partition of boards from
another yard, in which lay a manure-heap, whereon lay and grew
a great Cucumber, which was fully conscious of being a forcing-
bed plant.


230 FARM-VARD COCK AND WEATHERCOCK

“‘That’s a privilege of birth,” the Cucumber said to herself.
* Not all can be born cucumbers ; there must be other kinds too.
The fowls, the ducks, and all the cattle in the neighbouring yard
are creatures too. I now look up to the Yard Cock on the par-
tition. He certainly is of much greater consequence than the
Weathercock, who is so highly placed, and who can’t even creak,
much less crow ; and he has neither hens nor chickens, and
thinks only of himself, and perspires verdigris. But the Yard
Cock—he’s something like a cock! His gait is like a dance, his
crowing is music ; and wherever he. comes, it is known directly.
What a trumpeter he is! If he would only comein here! Even
if he were to eat me up, stalk and all, it would be quite a blissful
death,” said the Cucumber.

In the night the weather became very bad. Hens, chickens,
and even the Cock himself sought shelter. The wind blew down
the partition between the two yards with a crash; thetilescame .
tumbling down, but the Weathercock sat firm. He did not even
turn round; he could not turn round, and yet he was young and
newly cast, but steady and sedate. He had been “ born old,” and
did not at all resemble the birds that fly beneath the vault of
heaven, such as the sparrows and the swallows. He despised
those, considering them piping birds of trifling stature— ordinary
song birds. The pigeons, he allowed, were big and shining, and
gleamed like mother-o’-pearl, and looked like a kind of weather-
cocks ; but then they were fat and stupid, and their whole en-
deavour was to fill themselves with food.

‘‘ Moreover, they are tedious things to converse with,” said the
Weathercock.

The birds of passage had also paid a visit to the Weathercock,
and told him tales of foreign lands, of airy caravans, and exciting
robber stories ; of encounters with birds of prey; and that was
interesting enough for the first time, but the Weathercock knew
ae afterwards they always repeated themselves, and that was
tedious.

“ They are tedious, and all is tedious,” he said. ‘No one is,
fit to associate with, and one and all of them are wearisome and
stupid. The world is worth nothing,” he cried.: “The whole
thing is a stupidity.”

The Weathercock was what is called “used up ;” and that
quality would certainly have made him interesting in the eyes of
the Cucumber if she had known it; but she had only eyes for
ar Cock, who had now actually come into her own
yard.

The wind had blown down the plank, but the storm had passed
over.

“What do you think of tat crowing?” the Yard Cock in-
quired of his hens and chickens. “It was a little rongh—the
elegance was wanting.”
.

THE OLD GRAVESTONE. 231

And hens and chickens stepped upon the muck-heap, and the
Cock strutted to and fro on it like a knight.

“ Garden plant!” he cried out to the Cucumber ; and in this
one word she understood his deep feeling, and forgot that he
was pecking at her and eating her up—a happy death!

And the hens came, and the chickens came, and when one of
them runs the rest run also; and they clucked and chirped, and
looked at the Cock, and were proud that he was of their kind.

“ Cock-a-doodle-doo !” he crowed. ‘ The chickens will grow
up large fowls if 1 make a noise in the poultry-yard of the world.”

And hens and chickens clucked and chirped, and the Cock told
them a great piece of news:

“ A cock can lay an egg! and do you know what there is in
that egg? In that egg lies a basilisk. No one can stand the
sight of a basilisk. Men know that, and now you know it too—
you know what is in me, and what a Cock of the world I am.”

And with this the Yard Cock flapped his wings, and made his
comb swell up, and crowed again; and all of them shuddered—
all the hens and the chickens; but they were proud that one of
their people should be such a cock of the world. They clucked
and chirped, so that the Weathercock heard it ; and he heard it,
but he never stirred.

“It’s all stupid stuff!” said a voice within the Weathercock.
“The Yard Cock does not lay eggs, and I am too lazy to lay any.
If 1 liked, I could lay a wind-egg ; but the world is not worth a -
wind-egg. And now I don’t like even to sit here any longer.”

And with this the Weathercock broke off; but he did not kill
the Yard Cock, though he intended to do so, as the hens declared.
And what does the moral say >—‘ Better to crow than to be ‘ used
up’ and break off.

THE OLD GRAVESTONE.

N a little provincial town, in the time of the year when the
people say “the evenings are drawing in,” there was one
evening quite a social gathering in the home of a father

of a family. The weather was still mild and warm. The lamp
gleamed on the table; the long curtains hung down in folds be-
fore the open windows, by which stood many flower-pots; and
outside, beneath the dark blue sky, was the most beautiful moon-
shine. But they were not talking about this. They were talking
about the old great stone which lay belowin the courtyard, close
by the kitchen door, and on which the maids often laid the clean
232 THE OLD GRAVESTONE.

‘copper kitchen utensils that they might dry in the sun, and where
the children were fond of playing. It was, in fact, an old grave-
stone. .

“Yes,” said the master of the house, “I believe the stone comes
from the old convent churchyard; for from the church yonder,
the pulpit, the memorial boards, and the gravestones were sold.
My father bought the latter, and they were cut in two to be used
as paving-stones ; but that old stone was kept back, and has been
lying in the courtyard ever since.”

“One can very well see that it is a gravestone,” observed the
eldest of the children ; “ we can still decipher in it an hour-glass
and a piece of an angel ; but the inscription which stood below it
is quite effaced, except that you may read the name Preden, and
a great S close behind it, and a little farther down the name of
Martha, But nothing more can be distinguished, and even that
is only plain when it has been raining, or when we have washed
the stone.”

“On:my word,that must be the gravestone of Preben Schwane
and his wife !”

These words were spoken by an old man; so old, that he might
well have been the grandfather of all who were present in the
room.

“Yes, they were one of the last pairs who were buried in the
old churchyard of the convent. They were an honest old couple.
I can remember them from the days of my boyhood. Every one
knew them,and every one esteemed them. They were the oldest
pair here in the town. The people declared they had more than
a tub-full of gold ; and yet they went about very plainly dressed,
in the coarsest stuffs, but always with splendidly clean finen.
They were a fine old pair, Preben and Martha! When both of
them sat on the bench at the top of the steep stone stairs in front
of the house, with the old linden tree spreading its branches above
them, and nodded at one in their kind gentle way, it seemed quite
to do one good. They were very kind to the poor; they fed them
and clothed them; and there was judgment in their benevolence
and true Christianity. The old woman died first: that day is still
quite clear before my mind. 1 was a little boy, and had accom-
panied my father over there, and we were jist there when she fell
asleep. The old man was very much moved, and wept like a child.
The corpse lay in the room next to the one ‘where we sat; and
he spoke to my father and to a few neighbours who were there,
and said how lonely it would be now in his house, and how good
and faithful she (his dead wife) had been, how many years they
had wandered together through life, and how it came about that
they came to know each other and to fall in love. 4 was, as I
have to-d you, a boy and only stood by and listened to what the
others said ; but.it filled me with quite a ‘strange emotion to listen
to the old man, and to watch how his cheeks gradually flushed
THE OLD GRAVESTONE. 233



red when he spoke of the days of their courtship, and told how
beautiful she was, and how many little innocent pretexts he had
invented to meet her. And then he talked of the wedding-day,
and his eyes gleamed ; he seemed to talk himself back into that
time of joy. And yet she was lying in the next room—dead—an
old: woman ; and he was an old man, speaking of the past days
of hope! Yes, yes, thus it is! Then I was but a child, and now
Iam old—as old as Preben Schwane was then. Time passes away,
and all things change. I can very weil remember the day when
she was buried, and how Preben Schwane walked close behind
234 THE OLD GRAVESTONE,

the coffin. A few years before, the couple had caused their grave-
stone to be prepared, and their names to be engraved on it, with
the inscription, all but the date. In the evening the stone was
taken to the churchyard, and laid over the grave ; and the year
afterwards it was taken up, that old Preben Schwane might be laid
to rest beside his wife. They did not leave behind them anything
like the wealth people had attributed to them: what there was
went to families distantly related to them—to people of whom,
until then, one had known nothing. The old wooden house, with
the seat at the top of the steps, beneath the lime tree, was taken
down by the corporation ; it was too old and rotten tobe left stand-
ing. Afterwards, when the same fate befell the convent church,
and the graveyard was levelled, Preben and Martha’s tombstone
was sold, like everything else, to any one who would buy it and
that is how it has happened that this stone wasnot hewn in two,
as many another has been, but that it still lies below in the yard
as a scouring-bench for the maids and a plaything for the children.
The high road now goes over the resting-place of old Preben and
his wife. No one thinks of them any more.” :

And the old man who had told all this shook his head scorn-
fully.

“Forgotten! Everything will be forgotten !” he said.

And then they spoke in the room of other things; but the
youngest child, a boy with great serious eyes, mounted up on a
chair, behind the window-curtains, and looked out into the yard,
where the moon was pouring its radiance over the old stone—the .
old stone that had always appeared to him so tame and flat, but
which lay there now like a great leaf of a book of chronicles. All
that the boy had heard about old Preben and his wife seemed
concentrated in the stone; and he gazed at it, and looked at the
pure bright moon and up into the clear air, and it seemed as
though the countenance of the Creator was beaming over His.
world.

“Forgotten! Everything will be forgotten!” was repeated in
the room.

But in that moment an invisible angel kissed the boy’s fore-
head, and whispered to him:

“ Preserve the seed-corn that has been entrusted to thee, that
it may bear fruit. Guard it well! Through thee, my child, the
obliterated inscription on the old tombstone shall be chronicled «
in golden letters to future generations! The old pair shall
wander again arm in arm through the streets, and smile, and sit
with their fresh healthy faces under the lime tree on the bench
by the steep stairs, and nod at rich and poor. The seed-corn of
this hour shall ripen in the course of time to a blooming poem,
The beautiful and the good shall not be forgotten; it shall live
on in legend and in song.”


235

THE OLD BACHELOR’S NIGHTCAP.



3) HERE is a street in Copenhagen that has this strange
| name— Hysken Stride.” Whence comes this name
and what is its meaning? It is said to be German;
but injustice has been done to the Germans in this matter, for it
would have had to be “ Hiauschen,” and not “ Hysken.” For here
stood, once upon a time, and indeed for a great many years, a
few little houses, which were principally nothing more than mere
wooden booths, just as we see now in the market-places at fair-
time. They were, perhaps, a little larger, and had windows; but
the panes consisted of horn or bladder, for glass was then too
expensive to be used in every house. But then we are speaking
of a long time ago—so long since, that grandfather and great-
grandfather, when they talked about them, used to speak of them
as “the old times ”—in fact, it is several centuries ago.

The rich merchantsin Bremen and Lubeck carried on tradewith
Copenhagen. They did not reside in the town themselves, but
sent their clerks, who lived in the wooden booths in the Haiuschen
Street, and sold beer and spices. The German beer was good,
and there were many kinds of it, as there were, for instance,
Bremen, and Prussinger, and Sous beer, and even Brunswick
mumm; and quantities of spices were sold—saffron, and aniseed,
and ginger, and especially pepper. Yes, pepper was the chief
article here; andso it happened that the German clerks got the
nickname “pepper gentry ;” and there was a condition made
with them in Lubeck and in Bremen, that they would not marry
at Copenhagen, and many of them became very old. They had
to care for themselves, and to look after their own comforts, and -
to put out their own fires—when they had any; and some of
them became very solitary old boys, with eccentric ideas and
eccentric habits. From them all unmarried men, who have
attained a certain age, are called in Denmark “ pepper gentry ;”
and this must be understood by all who wish to comprehend
this history. a :

The “ pepper gentleman” becomes a butt for ridicule, and is
continually told that he ought to put on his nightcap, and draw it
down over his eyes, and do nothing but sleep. The boys sing,

"Cut, cut wood,
Poor bachelor so good.
Go, take your nightcap, go to rest,
For’tis the nightcap suits you best!”
Yes, that’s what they sing about the “pepperer”—thus they
make game of the poor bachelor and his nightcap, and turn it
into ridicule, just because they know very little about either. Ah, .
236 THE OLD BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP.

that kind of nightcap no one should wish to earn! And why
not ?—We shall hear.

In the old times the “ Housekin Street” was not paved, and
the people stumbled out of one hole into another, as in a neglected
byeway ; and it was narrow too. The booths leaned side by side,
and stood so close together that in the summer-time a sail was
often stretched from one booth to its opposite neighbour, on
which occasion the fragrance of pepper, saffron, and ginger be-
came doubly powerful. Behind the counters young men were
seldom seen. The clerks were generally old boys; but they did
not look like what we should fancy them, namely, with wig, and
nightcap, and plush small-clothes, and with waistcoat and coat
buttoned up to the chin. No, grandfather’s great-grandfather
may look like that, and has been thus portrayed, but the “ pepper
gentry” had no superfluous means, and accordingly did not have
their portraits taken; though, indeed, it would be interesting
now to have a picture of one of them, as he stood behind the
counter or went to church on holy days. His hat was high-
crowned and broad-brimmed, and sometimes one of the youngest
clerks would mount a feather. The woollen shirt was hidden
behind a broad clean collar, the close jacket was buttoned up to
the chin, and the cloak hung loose over it; and the trousers
were tucked into the broad-toed shoes, for the clerks did not
wear stockings. In their girdles they sported a dinner-knife and
spoon, and a larger knife was placed there also for the defence of
the owner; and this weapon was often very necessary. Just so
was Anthony, one of the oldest clerks, clad on high days and
holy days, except that, instead of a high-crowned hat, he wore a
low bonnet, and under it a knitted cap (a regular nightcap), tc
which he had grown so accustomed that it was always on his
head; and he had two of them—nightcaps, of course. The old
fellow was a subject for a painter. He was as thin as a lath, had
wrinkles clustering round his eyes and mouth, and long bony
fingers, and bushy grey eyebrows; over the left eye hung quite
a tuft of bair, and that did not look very handsome, though it
made him very noticeable. People knew that he came from
Bremen; but that was not his native place, though his master
lived there. His own native place was in Thuringia, the town of
Eisenach, close by the Wartburg. Old Anthony did not speak
much of this, but he thought of it all the more.

The old clerks of the Hauschen Street did not often come to-
gether. Each one remained in his booth, which was closed early
in the evening; and then it looked dark enough in the street:
only a faint glimmer of light forced its way through the little
-horn-pane in the roof; and in the booth sat, generally on his bed,
the old bachelor, his German hymn-book in his hand, singing an
evening psalm in a low voice; or he went about in the booth
till late into the night, and busied himself about all sorts of things.
THE OLD BACHELORS NIGHTCAP. 237

It was certainly not an amusing life. To be astranger ina strange
land is a bitter lot: nobody cares for you, unless you happen to
get in anybody’s way.

Often:when it was dark night outside, with snow and rain, the
place looked very gloomy and lonely. No lamps were to be seen,
with the exception of one solitary light hanging before the picture
of the Virgin that was fastened against the wall. The plash of
the water against the neighbouring rampart at the castle wharf
could be plainly heard. Such evenings are long and dreary,
unless people devise some employment for themselves. There is
not always packing or unpacking to do, nor can the scales be
polished or paper bags be made continually; and, failing these,
people should devise other employment for themselves. And that
is just what old Anthony did; for he used to mend his clothes
and put pieces on his boots. When heat last sought his couch,
he used from habit to keep his nightcap on. He drew it downa
little closer; but soon he would push it up again, to see if the
light had been properly extinguished. He would touch it, press
the wick together, and then lie down on the other side, and draw
his nightcap down again; but then a doubt would come upon
him, if every coal in the little fire-pan below had been properly
deadened and put out—a tiny spark might have been left burn-
ing, and might set fire to something and cause damage. And
therefore he rose from his bed, and crept down the ladder, for it
could scarcely be called a stair. And when he came to the fire-
pan, not a spark was to be discovered, and he might just go back
again. But often, when he had gone half of the way back, it
would occur to him that the shutters might not be securely fas-
tened; yes, then his thin legs must carry him downstairs once
more. He was cold, and his teeth chattered in his mouth when
he crept back again to bed; for the cold seems to become doubly
severe when it knows it cannot stay much longer. He drew up
the coverlet closer around him, and pulled down the nightcap
lower over his brows, and turned his thoughts away from trade
and from the labours of the day. But that did not procure him
agreeable entertainment; for now old thoughts came and put up
their curtains, and these curtains have sometimes pins in them,
with which one pricks oneself, and one cries out “Oh!” and they
prick into one’s flesh and burn so, that the tears sometimes come
into one’s eyes; and that often happened to old Anthony— hot
tears. The largest pearls streamed forth, and fell on the coverlet
or on the floor, and then they sounded as if one of his heart-strings
had’ broken. Sometimes again they seemed to rise up in flame,
illuminating a picture of life that never faded out of his heart.
If he then dried his eyes with his nightcap, the tear and the
picture were indeed crushed, but the source of the tears remained,
and welled ‘up afresh from his heart. The pictures did not come
up in the order in which the scenes had occurred in reality, for
238 THE OLD BACHELOR'S NIGHICAF.

very often the most painful would come together; then again the
most joyful would come, but these had the deepest shadows of
all.
The beech woods of Denmark are acknowledged to be fine,

but‘the woods of Thuringia arose far more beautiful in the eyes

of Anthony. More mighty and more venerable seemed to him

the old oaks around the proud knightly castle, where the creeping

plants hung down over the stony blocks of the rock; sweeter

there bloomed the flowers of the apple tree than in the Danish

land. This he remembered very vividly. A glittering tear rolled

down over his cheek; and in this tear he could plainly see two

children playing—a boy and a girl. The boy had red cheeks,

and yellow curling hair, and honest blue eyes. He was the son

of the merchant Anthony—it was himself. The little girl had

brown eyes and black hair, and had a bright clever look. She

was the burgomaster’s daughter Molly. The two were playing

with an apple. They shook the apple, and heard the pips rattling

init. Then they cut the apple in two, and each of them took a

half; they divided even the pips, and ate them all but one, which

the little girl proposed that they should lay in the earth.

“Then you shall see,” she said, “what will come out. It will
be something you don’t at all expect. A whole apple tree will
come out, but not directly.”

And she put the pip in a flower-pot, and both were very busy
and eager about it. The boy made a hole in the earth with his
finger, and the little girl dropped the pip in it, and they both
covered it with earth,

“Now, you must not take it out to-morrow to see if it has
struck root,” said Molly. ‘That won’t do at all. I did it with
my flowers; but only twice. I wanted to see if they were grow- -
ing—and I didn’t know any better then—and the plants withered.”

Anthony took away the flower-pot, and every morning, the
whole winter through, he looked at it; but nothing was to be
seen but the black earth, At length, however, the spring came,
and the sun shone warm again ; and the two little green leaves
came up out of the pot. é

“Those are for me and Molly,” said the boy. “That’s beau-
tiful—that’s marvellously beautiful ! ”

Soon a third leaf made its appearance. Whom did that re-
present? Yes, and there came another, and yet another. Day
by day and week by week they grew larger, and the plant began
to take the form of a real tree. And all this was now mirrored
in a single tear, which was wiped away and disappeared; but it
might come again from its source in the heart of old Anthony.

In the neighbourhood of Eisenach a row of stony mountains
rises up. One of these mountains is round in outline, and lifts
itself above the rest, naked and without tree, bush, or grass. It
is called the Venus Mount. In this mountain dwells Lady Venus,
THE OLD BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP. 239

one of the deities of the heathen times. She is also calied Lady
Holle; and every child in and around Eisenach has heard about
her. She it was who lured Tannhauser, the noble knight and
minstrel, from the circle of the singers of the Wartburg into her
mountain.

Little Molly and Anthony often stood by this mountain ; and
once Molly said,

“You may knock and say, ‘ Lady Holle, open the door—Tann-
hauser is here!’ ”

But Anthony did not dare. Molly, however, did it, though she
only said the words “ Lady Holle, Lady Holle!” aloud and dis-
tinctly ; the rest she muttered so indistinctly that Anthony felt
convinced she had not really said anything ; and yet she looked
as bold and saucy as possible—as saucy as when she sometimes
came round him with other little girls in the garden, and all
wanted to kiss him because he did not like to be kissed and tried
to keep them off; and she was the only one who dared to kiss
him in spite of his resistance.

““T may kiss him!” she would say proudly.

That was her vanity ; and Anthony submitted, and thought no
more about it. :

How charming and how teazing Molly was! It was said that
Lady Holle in the mountain was beautiful also, but that her
seauty was like that of a tempting fiend. The greatest beauty
and grace was possessed by Saint Elizabeth, the patron of the
country, the pious Princess of Thuringia, whose good actions
have been:immortalized in many places in legends and stories,
In the chapel her picture hung, surrounded by silver lamps ; but
it was not in the least like Molly.

The apple tree which the two children had planted grew year
by year, and became taller and taller—so tall, that it had to be
transplanted into the garden, into the fresh air, where the dew
fell and the sun shone warm. And the tree developed itself
strongly so that it could resist the winter. And it seemed as if,
after the rigour of the cold season was past, it put forth blossoms
in spring for very joy. In the autumn it brought two apples —
one for Molly and one for Anthony. It could not well have pro-
duced less.

The tree had grown apace, and Molly grew like thetree. She
was as fresh as an apple blossom ; but Anthony was not long to
behold this flower. All things change! Molly’s father left his
old home, and Molly went with him, far away. Yes, in our time
steam has made the journey they took a matter of a few hours,
but then more than a day and a night were necessary to go so
far eastward from Eisenach to the farthest border of Thuringia,
to the city which is still called Weimar.

And Melly wept, and Anthony wept; but all their tears melted
jnto one, and this tear had the rosy, charming hue of joy. For
240 THE OLD BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP.

Molly told him she loved him—loved him more than all the
splendours of Weimar. :

One, two, threeyears went by, and during this period two letters
were received. One came by a carrier, and a traveller brought
the.other. The way was long and difficult, and passed through
many windings by towns and villages,

Often had Molly and Anthony heard of Tristram.and Iseult,
and often had the boy applied the story to himself and Molly,
though the name Tristram was said to mean “born in tribulation;”
and that did not apply to Anthony, nor would he ever be able to
think, like Tristram, ‘‘ She has forgotten me.” But, indeed, Iseult
did not forget her faithful knight; and when both were laid to
rest in the earth, one on each side of the church, the linden trees
grew from their graves over the church roof, and there encountered
each other in bloom. Anthony thought that was beautiful, but
mournful; but it could not become mournful between him and
Molly ; and he whistled a song of the old minnesinger, Walter
of the Vogelverde:

** Under the lindens
Upon the heath.”

And especially that passage appeared charming to him:

“ From the forest, down in the vale,
Sang her sweet song the nightingale.”

This song was often in his mouth, and he sang and whistled it
in the moonlight night, when he rode along the deep hollow way
on horseback to get to Weimar and visit Molly. He wished to
come unexpectedly, and he came unexpectedly.

He was made welcome with full goblets of wine, with jovial
company, fine company, and a pretty room and a good bed were
provided for him; and yet his reception was not what he had
dreamed and fancied it would be. He could not understand him-
self—he could not understand the others ; but we can understand
it. One may be admitted into a house and associate with a family
without becoming one of them. One may converse together as
one would converse in a post-carriage, and know one another as
people know each other ona journey, each incommoding the other
and wishing that either oneself or the good neighbour were away.
Yes, that was the kind of thing Anthony felt.

“T aman honest girl,” said Molly, “and I myself will tell you
what it is. Much has changed since we were children together—
changed inwardly and outwardly. Habit and will have no power
over our hearts. Anthony, I should not like to have an enemy
in you, now that I shall soon be far away from here. Believe
me, I entertain the best wishes for you; but to feel for you what I
know now one may feel for a man, has never been the case with
me. You must reconcile yourself to this. Farewell, Anthony.”

And Anthony bade her farewell. No tear came into his eye,
THE OLD BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP. 241

but he felt that he was no longer Molly’s friend. Hot iron and
cold iron alike take the skin from our lips, and we have the same
feeling when we kiss it; and he kissed himself into hatred as
into love,

Wi hin twenty-fourhours Anthony was back in Eisenach, though
certainly the horse on which he rode was ruined.

“ What matter !” he said : “I amruined too; and I will destroy
everything that can remind me of her, or of Lady Holle, or Venus
the heathen woman! I will break down the apple tree and tear
it up by the roots, so that it shall never bear flower or fruit
more!”

But the apple tree was not broken down, though he himself was
broken down, and bound ona couch by fever. What was it that
raised him up again? A medicine was presented to him which
had strength to do this—-the bitterest of medicines, that shakes
up body and spirit together. Anthony’s father ceased to be the
richest of merchants. Heavy days—days of trial—were at the
door; misfortune came rolling into the house like great waves
of the sea, The father became a poor man. Sorrow and suffering
took away his strength. Then Anthony had to think of something
else besides nursing his love-sorrows and his anger against Molly.
He had to take his father’s place—to give orders, to help, to act
puerta and at last to go out into the world and earn his

read.

Anthony went to Bremen. There he learned what poverty and
hard living meant ; and these sometimes make the heart hard,
and sometimes soften it, even too much.

How different the world was, and how different the people were
from what he had supposed them to be in his childhood! What
were the minnesinger’s songs to him now ?—an echo, a vanishing
sound! Yes, that is what he thought sometimes; but again the
songs would sound in his soul, and his heart became gentle.

““God’s will is best !” he would say then. “ It was well that I
was not permitted to keep Molly’s heart—that she did not remain
true to me. What would it have led to now, when fortune has
turned away from me? She quitted me before she knew of this
loss of prosperity, or had any notion of what awaited me. That
was amercy of Providence towards me. Everything has happened
for the best. It was not her fault—and I have been so bitter, and
have shown so much rancour towards her!”

And years went by. Anthony’s father was dead, and strangers
lived in the old house. But Anthony was destined to see it again.
His rich employer sent him on commercial journeys and his duty
led him into his native town of Eisenach. The old Wartburg stood
unchanged on the mountain, with “the monk and the nun” hewn
out instone. The great oaks gave to the scene the outlines it had
possessed in his childish days. The Venus Mount glimmered grey
and naked over thevalley. He would have been glad to ay “Lady

I
242 THE OLD ‘BACHELOR’S NIGHTCAP.

Holle, Lady Holle, unlock the door, and I shall enter and remain
in my native earth !”

That was a sinful thought, and he blessed himself to drive it
away. Then a little bird out of the thicket sang clearly, and the
old minne-song came into his mind:

** From the forest down in the vale,
Sang her sweet song the nightingale.”

And here in the town of his childhood, which he thus saw again
through tears, much came back into 1°; remembrance. The
paternal house stood as in the old times; but the garden was
altered, and a field-path led over a portion of the old ground, and -
the apple tree that he had not broken down stood there, but
outside the garden, on the farther side of the path. But the
sun threw its rays on the apple tree as in the old days, the dew
descended gently upon it as then, and it bore such a burden of.
fruit that the branches were bent down towards the earth.

“That flourishes!” he said. “ The tree can grow!”

Nevertheless, one of the branches of the tree was broken.
Mischievous hands had torn it down towards the ground; for
now the tree stood by the public way.

“They break its blossoms off without a feeling of thankfulness
—they steal its fruit and break the branches. One might say of
the tree as has been said cf some men—‘ It was not sung at his
cradle that it should comethus.’ How brightly its history began,
and what has it come to? Forsaken and forgotten—a garden
tree by the hedge, in the field, and on the public way! There it
stands unprotected, plundered, and broken! It has certainly
not died, but in the course of years the number of blossons will
diminish ; at last the fruit will cease altogether; and at last—at
last all will be over!”

Such were Anthony’s thoughts under the tree; such were his
thoughts during many a night in the lonely chamber of the
wooden house in the distant land—in the Hduschen Street in
Copenhagen, whither his rich employer, the Bremen merchant,
had sent him, first making it a condition that he should not
marry. :

“Marry! Ha, ha!” he laughed bitterly to himself. :

Winter had set in early; it was freezing hard. Without, a
snow-storm was raging, so that everyone who could do so re-
mained at home: thus, too, it happened that those who lived
opposite to Anthony did not notice that for ‘two days his house
had not been unlocked, and that he. did not show himself; for
who would go out unnecessarily in such weather ?

They were grey gloomy days; and in the house, whose windows
were not of glass, twilight only alternated with dark night. Old
Anthony had not left his bed.during the two days, for he had
not the strength to rise; he had for a long time felt in his limbs
THE OLD BACHELOR’S NIGHTCAP. 243

the hardness of the weather. Forsaken by all, lay the old bachelor,
unable to help himself. He could scarcely reach the water-jug
that he had placed by his bed-side, and the last drop it con-
tained had been consumed. It was not fever, nor sickness, but
old age that had struck him down. Up yonder, where his couch
was placed, he was overshadowed as it were bv continual night.
A little spider, which however, he could not see, busily and cheer-
fully spun its web around him, as if it were weaving a little.crape
banner that should wave when the old man closed his eyes.

The time was very slow, and long, and dreary. Tears he had
none to shed, nor did he feel pain. The thought of Molly never
came into his mind. He felt as if the world and its noise coa-
cerned him no longer—as if he were lying outside the world, and
no one were thinking of him. For amoment he felt a sensation
of hunger—of thirst. Yes, he felt them both. But nobody came
totend him—nobody. He thought of those who had once suffered
want; of Saint-Elizabeth, as she had once wandered on earth;
of her, the saint of his home and of his childhood, the noble
Duchess of Thuringia, the benevolent lady who had been accus-
tomed to visit the lowliest cottages, bringing to the inmates re-
freshment and comfort. Her pious deeds shone bright upon his
soul. He thought of her as she had come to distribute words of
comfort, binding up the wounds of the afflicted and giving ‘meat
to the hungry, though her stern husband had chidden her for it.
He thought of the legend told of her, how she had been carry-
ing the full basket containing food and wine, when her husband,
who watched her footsteps, came forth and asked angrily what
she was carrying, whereupon she answered, in fear and trembling,
that the basket contained roses which she had plucked in the
garden; how he had torn away the white cloth from the basket.
and a miracle had been performed for the pious lady; for bread
and wine, and everything in the basket, had been transformed
into roses! ,

Thus the saint’s memory dwelt in Anthony’s quiet mind ; thus

she stood bodily before his downcast face, before his warehouse
in‘the simple booth inthe Danish land. Heuncovered his head,
and looked into her gentle eyes, and everything around him was
beautiful and roseate. Yes, the roses seemed to unfold them-
selves in fragrance.’ There came to him a sweet, peculiar odour
of apples, and he saw a blooming apple tree, which spread its
branches above him—it was the tree which Molly and he had
planted together.
_ And the tree strewed down its fragrant leaves upon him, cool-
ing his burning brow. The leaves fell upon his parched lips,
and were like strengthening bread and wine; and they fell upon
his breast, and he felt reassured and calm, and inclined to sleep
peacefully. . ;

“Now I shall sleep,” he whispered to himself. - Sleep is re-

16—2
244 LHE CZD BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP.

freshing. To-morrow I shall be upon my feet again, and strong
and well—glorious, wonderful! That apple tree, planted in true
affection, now stands hefore me in heavenly radiance——”

And he slept.

The day afterwards—it was the third day that his shop had
remained closed—the snow-storm had ceased, and a neighbour
from the opposite house came over towards the booth where
dwelt old Anthony, who had not yet shown himself. Anthony
lay stretched upon his bed—dead—with his old cap clutched



lightly in his two hands! They did not put that cap on his head
in his coffin, for he had a new white one.

Where were now the tears that he had wept? What had be-
come of the pearls? They remained in the nightcap—and the
true ones do not come out in the wash—they were preserved in
the nightcap, and in time forgotten; but the old thoughts and
the old dreams still remained in the “ bachelor’s nightcap.” Don’t
wish for such a cap for yourself. It would make your forehead
very hot, would make your pulse beat feverishly, and conjure up
dreams which appear like reality. The first who wore that
dA ROSE FROM THE GRAVE OF HOMER. 245

identical cap afterwards felt all that at once, though it was half
a century afterwards; and that man was the burgomaster him-
self, who, with his wife and eleven children, was well and firmly
established, and had amassed a very tolerable amount of wealth.
He was immediately seized with dreams of unfortunate love, of
bankruptcy, and of heavy times.

“ Hallo! how the nightcap burns!” he cried, and tore it from
his head,

And a pearl rolled out, and another, and another, and they
sounded and glittered.

“This must be gout,” said the burgomaster. “ Something
dazzles my eyes!”

They were tears, shed half a century before by old Anthony
from Eisenach.

Every one who afterwards put that nightcap upon his head
had visions and dreams which excited him not a little. His own
history was changed into that of Anthony, and became a story;
in fact, many stories. But some one else may tell them. We
have told the first. And our last word is—don’t wish for “the
Old Bachelor’s Nightcap.”

A ROSE FROM THE GRAVE OF HOMER.

LL the songs of the East tell of the love of the nightingale
to the rose; in the silent starlit nights the winged
; songster serenades his fragrant flower.

Not far from Smyrna, under the lofty plantains, where the
merchant drives his loaded camels, that proudly lift their long
necks and tramp over the holy ground, I saw a hedge of roses.
Wild pigeons flew among the branches of the high trees, and
their wings glistened, while a sunbeam glided over them, as if
they were of mother-o’-pearl.

The rose hedge bore a flower which was the most beautiful
arnong all, and the nightingale sang to her of his woes; but the
Rose was silent—not a dew-drop lay, like a tear of sympathy,
upon her leaves: she bent down over a few great stones.

“Here rests the greatest singer of the world!” said the Rose:
“over his tomb will I pour out my fragrance, and on it I will let
fall my leaves when the storm tears them off. He who sang of
Troy became earth, and from that earth I have sprung. I,a
rose from the grave of Homer, am too loftv to hlaom for a poor
nightingale '”


246 WALDEMAR DAA AND HIS DAUGHTERS.

And the nightingale sang himself to death.

The camel-driver came with his loaded camels and his black
slaves: his little son found the dead bird, and buried the little
songster in the grave of the great Homer. And the rose trem-
bled in the wind. The evening came, and the Rose wrapped her
leaves more closely together, and dreamed thus:

“Tt was a fair sunshiny day; a crowd of strangers drew near,
for they had undertaken a pilgrimage to the grave of Homer.
Among the strangers was a singer from the North, the home of
clouds and of the Northern Light. He plucked the Rose, placed
it in a book, and carried it away into another part of the world,
to his distant fatherland. The Rose faded with grief, and lay in
the narrow book, which he opened in his home, saying, ‘ Here is
a rose from the grave of Homer.’”

This the flower dreamed ; and she awoke and trembled in the
wind. A drop of dew fell from the leaves upon the singer’s grave.
The sun rose, and the Rose glowed more beauteous than before;
it was a hot day, and she was in her own warm Asia. Then foot-
steps were heard, and Frankish strangers came, such as the Rose
had seen in her dream ; and among the strangers was a poet from
the North : he plucked the Rose, pressed a kiss upon her fresh
mouth, and carried her away to the home of the clouds and of the
Northern Light. 3

Like’a mummy the flower corpse now rests in his “ Iliad,” and,
as in a dream, she hears him open the book and say, “ Here is a
rose from the grave of Homer.”

—~>—-

THE WIND TELLS ABOUT WALDEMAR DAA
AND HIS: DAUGHTERS.

RYVa HEN the wind. sweeps across the grass, the field has a
ANB] ‘tipple like a pond, and when it sweeps across the corr

‘ the field waves to and fro like a high sea. That is called
the wind’s dance ; but the wind does not dance only, he also tells
stories ; and how loudly he can sing out of his deep chest, and
how different it sounds in the tree-tops in the forest, and through
the loopholes and clefts and cracks in walls! Do you see how
the wind drives the clouds up yonder, like a frightened flock of
sheep? Do you hear how the wind howls down here through
the open valley, like a watchman blowing his horn? With won-
derful tones he whistles and screams down the chimney and into
the fireplace. The fire crackles and flares up, and shines far jntq


WALDEMAR DAA AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 247

the room, and the little place is warm and snug, and it is pleasant
to sit there listening to the sounds. Let the Wind speak, for he
knows plenty of stories and fairy tales, many more than are known
to any of us. Just hear what the Wind can tell.

“ Huh—uh—ush ! roar along!” That is the burden of the
song.

“ By the shores of the Great Belt, one of the straits that unite
the Cattegat with the Baltic, lies an old mansion with thick red
walls,” says the Wind. ‘‘I know every stonein it ; I saw it when
it still belonged to the castle of Marsk Stig on the promontory.
But it had to be pulled down, and the stone was used again for
the walls of a new mansion in another place, the baronial mansion
of Borreby, which still stands by the coast.

“T knew them, the noble lords and ladies, the changing races



The Home of Waldemar Daa.

that dwelt there, and now! ’m going to tell about Waldemar Daa
and his daughters. How proudly he carried himself—he was of
royal blood! He could do more than merely hunt the stag and
empty the wine-can. ‘It sha// be done,’ he was accustomed to say.

“ His wife walked proudly in gold-embroidered garments over
the polished marble floors. The tapestries were gorgeous, the
furniture was expensive and artistically carved. She had brought
gold and silver plate with her into the house, and there was
German beer in the cellar. Black fiery horses neighed in the
stables. There was a wealthy look about the house of Borreby
at that time, when wealth was still at home there.

“Four children dwelt there also ; three delicate maidens, Ida,
Joanna, and Anna Dorothea: I have never forgotten their names,
248 WALDEMAR DAA AND HIS DAUGHTERS.

“They were rich people, noble people, born in affluence, nur-
tured in affluence. :

“ Hush—sh! roaralong !” sang the Wind; then he continued :

“I did not see here, as in other great noble houses, the high-
born lady sitting among her women in the great hall turning the
spinning-wheel: here she swept the sounding chords of the
cithern, and sang to the sound, but not always the old Danish
melodies, but songs of a strange land. It was ‘live and let live’
here : stranger guests came from far and near, the music sounded,
the goblets clashed, and I was not able to drown the noise,” said
the Wind. “ Ostentation, and haughtiness, and splendour, and
display, and rule were there, but the fear of the Lord was not
there.

“ And it was just on the evening of the first day of May,” the
Wind continued. “ I came from the west, and had seen how the
ships were being crushed by the waves, with all on board, and
flung on the west coast of Jutland. I had hurried across the
heath, and over Jutland’s wood-girt eastern coast, and over the
Island of Fiinen; and now I drove over the Great Belt, groaning
and sighing. :

“Then I lay down to rest on the shore of Seeland, in the neigh-
bourhood of the great house of Borreby, where the forest, the
splendid oak forest, still rose. :

“The young men-servants of the neighbourhood were collect-
ing branches and brushwood under the oak trees ; the largest and
driest they could find they carried into the village, and piled them
up in a heap, and set them on fire ; the men and maids danced,
singing in a circle round the blazing pile.

“T lay quite quiet,” continued the Wind; “but I silently
touched a branch, which had been brought by the handsomest
of the men servants, and the wood blazed up brightly, blazed up
higher than all the rest ; and now he was the chosen one, and
bore the name of Street-goat, and might choose his Street-lamp
first from among the maids; and there was mirth and rejoicing,
greater than I had ever heard before in the halls of the rich baro-
nial mansion. :

“And the noble lady drove towards the baronial mansion, with
her three daughters, in a gilded carriage drawn by six horses.
The daughters were young and fair—three charming blossoms,
rose, lily, and pale hyacinth. The mother wasa proud tulip, and
never acknowledged the salutation of one of the men or maids
who paused in their spot to do her honour: the gracious lady
seemed a flower that was rather stiff in the stalk.

“ Rose, lily, and pale hyacinth ; yes, I saw them all three!
Whose lambkins will they one day become? thought 1; their
Street-goat will be a gallant knight, perhaps a prince. Huh—sh!
hurry along ! hurry along !

“Yes, the carriage rolled on with them, and the peasant people
WALDEMAR DAA AND AIS DAUGHTERS. 249

resumed their dancing. They rode that summer through all the
villages round about. But in the night, when I rose again,” said
the Wind, “the very noble lady lay down, to rise again no more:
that thing came upon her which comes upon all—there is nothing
new in that.
“Waldemar Daa stood for a space silent and thoughtful. ‘ The
proudest tree can be bowed without being broken, said a voice
within him. His daughters wept, and all the people in the man-
sion wiped their eyes ; but Lady Daa had driven away—and I
drove away too, and rushed along—huh—sh!” said the Wind.

“IT returned again ; I often returned again over the Island or
Fiinen and the shores of the Belt, and I sat down by Borreby,
by the splendid oak wood ; there the heron made his nest, and
wood-pigeons haunted the place, and blue ravens, and even the
black stork, It was still spring; some of them were yet sitting
on their eggs, others had already hatched their young. But how
they flew up, how they cried! The axe sounded, blow upon blow:
the wood was to be felled. Waldemar Daa wanted to build a
noble ship, a man-of-war,a three-decker, which the King would
be sure to buy; and therefore the wood must be felled, the land-
mark of the seamen, the refuge of the birds. The hawk started
up and flew away, for its nest was destroyed; the heron and all
the birds of the forest became homeless, and flew about in fear
and in anger: I could well understand how they felt. Crows
and ravens croaked aloud as if in scorn. ‘Crack! crack! the
nest cracks, cracks, cracks !’

“Far in the interior of the wood, where the noisy swarm of
labourers were working, stood Waldemar Daa and his three
daughters; and all laughed at the wild cries of the birds; only
one, the youngest, Anna Dorothea, felt grieved in her heart; and
when they made preparations to fell a tree that was almost dead,
and on whose naked branches the black stork had built his nest,
whence the little storks were stretching outtheir heads, she begged
for mercy for the little things, and the tears came into her eyes.
Therefore the tree with the black stork’s nest was left standing.
The tree was not worth speaking of.

“There was a great hewing and sawing, and a three-decker was
built. The architect was of low origin, but of great pride ; his
eyes and forehead told how clever he was, and Waldemar Daa
was fond of listening to him, and so was Waldemar’s daughter
Ida, the eldest, who was now fifteen years old ; and while he built
a ship for the father, he was building for himself an airy castle,
into which he and Ida were to go as a married couple—which
might indeed have happened, if the castle with stone walls, and
ramparts, and moats had remained. But in spite of his wise
head, the architect remained but a poor bird ; and, indeed, what
business has a sparrow to take part in a dance of peacocks?
250 WALDEMAR DAA AND HIS DAUGHTERS.

Huh—sh ! I careered away, and he careered away too, for he was
not allowed to stay; and little Ida very soon got over it, because
she was obliged to get over it.

“The proud black horses were neighing in the stable; they
were worth looking at, and accordingly they were looked at. The
Admiral, who had been sent by the King himself to inspect the
new ship and take measures for its purchase, spoke loudly in
admiration of the beautiful horses.

“Theard all that,” said the Wind. “I accompanied the gentle-
men through the open door, and strewed blades of straw like
bars of gold before their feet. Waldemar Daa wanted to have
zold, and the Admiral wished for the proud black horses, and
that is why he praised them so much; but the hint was not
taken, and consequently the ship was not bought. It remained
on the shore covered over with boards, a Noah’s ark that never
got to the water—Huh—sh!: rush away ! away !—and that was
a pity.

Me In the winter, when the fields were covered with snow, and
the water with large blocks of ice that I blew up on to the coast,”
continued the Wind, “crows and ravens came, all as black as
might be, great flocks of them, and alighted on the dead, deserted,
lonely ship by the shore, and croaked in hoarse accents of the
wood that was no more, of the many pretty birds’ nests destroyed,
and the little ones left without a home; and all for the sake of
that great bit of lumber, that proud ship that never sailed
forth.

“I made the snow-flakes whirl, and the snow lay like a great
lake high around the ship, and drifted over it. I Jet it hear my
voice, that it might know what a storm has to say. Certainly I
did my part towards teaching it seamanship. Huh—sh! push
along!

“And the winter passed away; winter and summer, both
passed away, and they are still passing away, even as I pass
away; as the snow whirls along, and the apple blossom whirls
along, and the leaves fall—away ! away !—and men are passing
away too!

“ But the daughters were still young, and little Ida was a rose,
as fair to look upon as on the day when the architect saw her. I
often seized her long brown hair, when she stood in the garden
by the apple tree, musing, and not heeding how I strewed blossoms
on her hair, and loosened it, while she was gazing at the red sun
and the golden sky, through the dark underwood and the trees
of the garden. \

“ Her sister was bright and slender as alily. Joannahad height
and deportment, but was like her mother, rather stiff in the stalk.
She was very fond of walking through the great hall, where hung
the portraits of her ancestors. The women were painted in dresses
of silk and velvet, with a tiny little hat embroidered with pearls,
WALDEMAR DAA AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 251

on their plaited hair. They were handsome women. The gentle-
men were represented clad in steel, or in costly cloaks lined with
squirrel’s skin; they wore little ruffs, and swords at their sides,
-but not buckled to their hips. Where would Joanna’s picture find
a place on that wall some day? and how would /e look, her noble
lord and husband? This is what she thought of, and of this she
spoke softly to herself. I heard it as I swept into the long hall,
and turned round to come out again.

“ Anna Dorothea, the pale hyacinth, a child of fourteen, was
quiet and thoughtful ; her great deep blue eyes had a musing look,
but the childlike smile still played around her lips: I was not
able to blow it away, nor did I wish to do so.

“We met in the garden, in the hollow lane, in the field and
meadow; she gathered herbs and flowers which she knew would
be useful to her father in concocting the drinks and drops he dis-
tilled. Waldemar Daa was arrogant and proud, but he was also
a learned man, and knew a great deal. That was np'secret, and
many opinions were expressed concerning it. In his chimney
there was a fire even in summer-time. He would lock the door
of his room, and for days the fire wou!d be poked and raked ; but
of this he did not talk much—the forces of nature must be con-
quered in silence; and soon he would discover the art of making
the best thing of all—the red gold.

“ That is why the chimney was always smoking, therefore the
flames crackled so frequently. Yes, I was there too,” said the
Wind. “ ‘Let it go,’ I sang down through the chimney: ‘ it will
end in smoke, air, coals, and ashes! You will burn yourself!
Hu-uh-ush! drive away! drive away!’ But Waldcmar Daa did
not drive it away.

“The splendid black horses in the stable—-what became of
them? what became of the old gold and silver vessels in cup-
boards and chests, the cows in the fields, and the house and home.
itself? Yes, they may melt, may melt in the golden crucible, and
yet yield no gold.

“Empty grew the barns and store-rooms, the cellars and maga-
zines. ‘The servants decreased in number, and the mice multi-
plied. Then a window broke, and then another, and I could get
in elsewhere besides at the door,” said the Wind. ‘“ ‘Where the
chimney smokes the meal is being cooked,’ the proverb says.
But here the chimney smoked that devoured all the meals, for
the sake of the red gold.

“I blew through the courtyard-gate like a watchman blowing
his horn,” the Wind went on, “but no watchman was there. I
twirled the weathercock round on the summit of the tower, and
it creaked like the snoring of the warder, but no warder was there ;
only mice and rats were there. Poverty laid the tablecloth;
poverty sat in the wardrobe and in the larder; the door fell off
its hinges, cracks and fissures made their appearance, and
252 WALDEMAR DAA AND HIS DAUGHTERS.

I went in and out at pleasure; and that is how I know all
about it.

“ Amid smoke and ashes, amid sorrow and sleepless nights, the
hair and beard of the master turned grey, and deep furrows
showed themselves around his temples; his skin turned pale and
yellow, as his eyes looked greedily for the gold, the desired gold.

“TI blew the smoke and ashes into his face and beard: the
result of his labour was debt instead of pelf. I sung through the
burst window-panes and the yawning clefts in the walls. I blew
into the chests of drawers belonging to the daughters, wherein
lay the clothes that had become faded and threadbare from being
worn over and over again. That was not the song that had been
sung at the children’s cradle. The lordly life had changed to a
life of penury. I was the only one who rejoiced aloud in that
castle,” said the Wind. “I snowed them up. and they say snow
keeps people warm. They had no wood, and the forest from
which they might have brought it was cut down, . It was a biting
frost. 1 rushed in through loopholes and passages, over gables
and roofs, that I might be brisk. They were lying in bed because
of the cold, the three high-born daughters, and their father was
crouching under his leathern coverlet. Nothing to bite, nothing
to break, no fire on the hearth—there was a life for high-born
people! Huh-sh! let it go! But this is what my Lord Daa
could zo¢ do—he could zof let it go.

“After winter comes spring, he said. ‘After want, good
times will come: one must not loose patience; one must learn
to wait! Now my house and lands are mortgaged, it is indeed
high time; and the gold will soon come. At Easter!’

“I heard how he spoke thus, looking at a spider’s web. ‘ Thou
cunning little weaver, thou dost teach me perseverance. Let
them tear thy web, and thou wilt begin it again, and complete it.
Let them destroy it again, and thou wilt resolutely begin’ to work
again—again! That is what we must do, and that will repay
itself at last.’

“It was the morning of Easter-day. The bells sounded from
the neighbouring church, and the sun seemed to rejoice in the
sky. The master had watched through the night in feverish
exgitement, and had been melting and cooling, distilling and
mixing. 1 heard him sighing lke a soul in despair; I heard
him praying, and I noticed how | held his breath. The lamp
was burned out, but he did not notice it. I blew fiercely at the
fire of coals, and it threw its red glow upon his ghastly white
face, lighting it up with a glare, and his sunken eyes looked forth
wildly out of their deep sockets—but they became larger and
larger, as though they would burst.

“Look at the alchymic glass! It glows in the crucible, red
hot, and pure and heavy! He lifted it with a trembling hand,
and cried with a trembling voice, ‘Gold! gold!’
WALDEMAR DAA AND HIS DAUGHTERS. | 253

“He was quite dizzy—I could have blown him down,” said the
Wind; “ but I only fanned the glowing coals, and accompanied
him through the door to where his daughters sat shivering. His
coat was powdered with ashes, and there were ashes in his beard
and in his tangled hair. He stood straight up, and held his costly
treasure on high, in the brittle glass. ‘ Found, found !—Gold,
gold!’ he shouted, and again held aloft the glass to let it flash in
the sunshine; but his hand trembled, and the alchymic glass fell
clattering to the ground, and broke into a thousand pieces; and
the last bubble of his happiness had burst! Hu—uh—sh!
rushing away !—and | rushed away from the gold-maker’s house.

“ Late in autumn, when the days are short, and the mist comes
and strews cold drops upon the berries and leafless branches, I
came back in fresh spirits, rushed through the air, swept the sky
clear, and snapped the dry twigs—which is certainly no great
labour, but yet it must be done. Then there was another kind
of sweeping clean at Waldemar Daa’s, in the mansion of Borreby.
His enemy, Owe Rainel, of Basnis, was there with the mortgage
of the house and everything it contained in his pocket. I drummed
against the broken window-panes, beat against the old rotten
doors, and whistled through cracks and rifts—huh-sh! Mr. Owe
Rainel did not like staying there. Idaand Anna Dorothea wept
bitterly ; Joanna stood pale and proud, and bit her thumb till it
bled—but what could that avail? Owe Rainel offered to allow
Waldemar Daa to remain in the mansion till the end of his life,
but no thanks were given him for his offer. I listened to hear
what occurred. I saw the ruined gentleman lift his head and
throw it back prouder than ever, and I rushed against the house
and the old lime trees with such force, that one of the thichest
branches broke, one that was not decayed; and the branch re-
mained lying at the entrance as a broom when any one wanted
to sweep the place out; and a grand sweeping out there was--I
thought it would be so.

“Tt was hard on that day to preserve one’s composure; but
their will was as hard as their fortune.

“There was nothing they could call their own except the clothes
they wore: yes, there was one thing more—the alchymist’s glass,
a new one that had lately been bought, and filled with what had
been gathered up from the ground of the treasure which promised
so much, but never kept its promise. Waldemar Daa hid the
glass in his bosom, and taking his stick in his hand, the once rich
gentleman passed with his daughters out of the house of Borreby.
1 blew cold upon his heated cheeks, I stroked his grey beard and
his long white hair, and I sang as well as I could,—‘ Huh-sh!
gone away! gone away!’ And that was the end of the wealth
and splendour.

“Ida walked on one side of the old man, and Anna Dorothea
254 WALDEMAR DAA AND HIS DAUGHTERS.

onthe other. Joanna turned round at the entrance—why? For-
tune would not turn because she did so. She looked at the old
walls of what had once been the castle of Marsk Stig, and per-
haps she thought of his daughters:

‘** The eldest gave the youngest her hand,
And forth they went to the far-off land.’

Was she thinking of this old song? Here were three of them,
and their father was with them too. They walked along the road
on which they had once driven in their splendid carriage—they
walked forth as beggars, with their father, and wandered out into
the open field, and intoa mud hut, which they rented for a dollar
and a half a year—into their new house with the empty. rooms
and empty vessels. Crows and magpies fluttered above them,
and cried, as if in contempt, ‘Craw! craw! out of the nest ! craw!
craw!’ as they had done in the wood at Borreby when the trees
were felled.

“Daa and his daughters could not help hearing it. I blew about
their ears, for what use would it be that they should listen?

“ And they went to live in the mud hut on the open field, and
I wandered away over moor and field, through bare bushes and
leafless forests, to the open waters, the free shores, to other lands
—huh-uh-ush ! away, away !—year after year!”

And how did Waldemar Daaand his daughters prosper? The
Wind tells us:

“The one I saw last, yes, for the last time, was Anna Dorothea,
the pale hyacinth: then she was old and bent, for it was fifty years
afterwards. She lived longer than the rest: she knew all.

“Yonder on the heath, by the Jutland town of Wiborg, stood
the fine new house of the canon, built of red bricks with pro-
jecting gables; the smoke came up thickly from the chimney.
The canon’s gentle lady and her beautiful daughters sat in the
bay window, and looked over the hawthorn hedge of the garden
towards the brown heath. What were they looking at? Their
glances rested upon the stork’s nest without, and on the hut, which
was almost falling in; the roof consisted of moss and houseleek,
in so far as a roof existed there at all—the stork’s nest covered the
greater part of it, and that alone was in proper condition, for it
was kept in order by the stork himself.

“That is a house to be looked at, but not to be touched: I
must deal gently with it,” said the Wind. ‘“ For the sake of the
stork’s nest the hut has been allowed to stand, though it has been
a blot upon the landscape. They did not live to drive the stork
away, therefore the old shed was left standing, and the poor woman
who dwelt in it was allowed to stay: she had the Egyptian bird
to thank for that; or was it perchance her reward, because she
had once interceded for the nest of its black brother in the forest
WALDEMAR DAA AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 255

pf Borreby? At that time she, the poor woman, was a young child,
a pale hyacinth in the rich garden. She remembered all that
tight well, did Anna Dorothea.

“*Oh! oh!’ Yes, people can sigh like the wind moaning in
the rushes and reeds. ‘Oh! oh!’ she sighed, ‘no bells sounded
at thy burial, Waldemar Daa! The poor schoolboys did not even
sing a psalm when the former Lord of Borreby was laid in the
earth to rest! Oh, everything has an end, even misery. Sister
Ida became the wife of a peasant. That was the hardest trial
that befell our father, that the husband ofa daughter of his should
be a miserable serf, whom the proprietor could mount upon the
wooden horse for punishment! I suppose he is under the ground
now. And thou, Ida? Alas, alas! it is not ended yet, wretch
that Iam! Grant me that I may die, kind Heaven!’

‘That was Anna Dorothea’s prayer in the wretched hut which
was left standing for the sake of ‘the stork.

“T took pity on the fairest of the sisters,” said the Wind. “ Her
courage was like that of a man, and in man’s clothes she took
service as a sailor on board a ship. She was sparing of words,
and of a dark countenance, but willing at her work. But she did
not know how to climb; so I blew her overboard before anybody
found out that she was a woman, and, according to my thinking,

- that was well done!” said the Wind.

“On such an Easter morning as that on which Waldemar Daa
had fancied that he had found the red gold, I heard the tones of
a psalm under the stork’s nest, among the crumbling walls—it
was Anna Dorothea’s last song.

“There was no window, only a hole in the wall. The sun rose
up hke a mass of gold, and louked through. What a splendour
he diffused! Her eyes and her: heart were breaking—but that
they would have done, even if the sun had not shone that morn-
my on Anna Dorothea.

“The stork covered her hut till her death. I sang at her
grave!” said the Wind. ‘I sang at her father’s grave; I know
where his grave is, and where hers is, and nobody else knows it.

“ New times, changed times! Theold high road runs through
cultivated fields; the new road winds among the trim ditches, and
soon the railway will come with its train of carriages, and rush
over the graves which are forgotten like the names—hu-ush !—
passed away! passed away!

“That is the story of Waldemar Daa and his daughters. Tell
it better, any of you, if you know how,” said the Wind, and turned
away—-and he was gone.
256

FIVE OUT OF ONE SHELL.



|] HERE were five peas in one shell: they were green, and
e the pod was green, and so they thought all the world was
green ; and that was just as it should be. The shell grew
and the peas grew; they accommodated themselves to circum-
stances, sitting all ina row. The sun shone without, and warmed
the husk, and the rain made it clear and transparent; it was mild
and agreeable in the bright day and in the dark night, just as it
should be, and the peas as they sat there became bigger and
bigger, and more and more thoughtful, for something they
must do.

“ Are we to sit here everlastingly ?” asked one. “I’m afraid
we shall become hard by long sitting. It seems tome there must
be something outside—I have a kind of inkling of it.”

And weeks went by. The peas became yellow, and the pod
also.

“All the world’s turning yellow,” said they; and they had a
right to say it.

Suddenly they felt a tug at the shell. The shell was torn off,
passed through human hands, and glided down into the pocket
of a jacket, in company with other full pods.

‘‘ Now we shall soon be opened!” they said; and that is just
what they were waiting for.

“T should like to know who of us will get farthest!” said the
smallest of the five. ‘Yes, now it will soon show itself.”

“What is to be will be,” said the biggest.

“Crack!” the pod burst, and all the five peas rolled out into
the bright sunshine, There they lay in a child’s hand. A little
boy was clutching them, and said they were fine peas for his
pea-shooter; and he put one in directly and shot it out.

“Now I’m flying out into the wide world, catch me if you
can!” And he was gone.

“TI,” said the second, “I shall fly straight into the sun. That’s
a shell worth looking at, and one that exactly suits me” And
away he went.

“We'll go to sleep wherever we arrive,” said the two next, “but
we shall roll on all the same.” And they certainly rolled and
tumbled down on the ground before they got into the pea-shooter ;
hee they were put in for all that. “We shall go farthest,” said
they. :

“ What is to happen will happen,” said the last, as he was shot
forth out of the pea-shooter; and he flew upa gainst the old board
under the garret window, just into a crack which was filled up
with moss and soft mould ; and the moss closed round him ; there
FIVE OUT OF ONE SHELL. 257

he lay, a prisoner indeed, but not forgotten by provident na-
ture.

“ What is to happen will happen,” said he.

Within, in the little garret, lived a poor woman, who went out
in the day to clean stoves, chop wood small, and to do other hard
work of the same kind, for she was strong and industrious too.
But she always remained poor; and at home in the garret lay
her half-grown only daughter, who was very delicate and weak:
for a whole year she had kept her bed, and it seemed as if she
could neither live nor die.

‘* She is going to her little sister,” the woman said. “I had only
the two children, and it was not an easy thing to provide for both,
but the good God provided for one of them by taking her home
to Himself; now I should be glad to keep the other that was left
me; but I suppose they are not to remain separated, and my sick
girl will go to her sister in heaven.”

But the sick girl remained where she was. She lay quiet and
patient all day long while her mother went to earn money out of
doors. It was spring, and early in the morning, just as the mother
was about to go out to work, the sun shone mildly and pleasantly
through the little window, and threw its rays across the floor ; and
the sick girl fixed her eyes on the lowest pane in the window.

“What may that green thing be that looks in at the window?
It is moving in the wind.”

And the mother stepped to the window, and half opened it.
“Oh!” said she, “on my word, that is a little pea which has taken
root here, and is putting out its little leaves. How can it have
got into the crack? ‘That is a little garden with which you can
amuse yourself.” ;

And the sick girl’s bed was moved nearer to the window, so that
she could always see the growing pea; and the mother went forth
to her work.

“Mother, I think I shall get well,” said the sick child in the
evening. “The sun shone in upon me to-day delightfully warm.
The little pea is prospering famously, and I shall prosper too, and
get up, and go out into the warm sunshine.”

‘God grant it!” said the mother, but she did not believe it
would be so; but she took care to prop with a little stick the green
plant which had given her daughter the pleasant thoughts of life,
so that it might not be broken by the wind; she tied a piece of
string to the window-sill and to the upper part of the frame, so
that the pea might have something round which it could twine,
when it shot up; and it did shoot up indeed—one could see how
it grew every day.

“ Really, here is a flower coming!” said the woman one day;
and now she began to cherish the hope that her sick daughter
would recover. Sheremembered that lately the chi’d had spoken
much more cheerfully than before, that in the last few days she

17
258 FIVE OUT OF ONE SHELL.



ee NEES
The Poor Woman and her Sick Daughter.

had risen up in bed of her own accord, and had sat upright, look-
ing with delighted eyes at the little garden in which only one plant
THE METAL PIG. 259

grew. A week afterwards the invalid for the first time sat up for
a whole hour. Quite happy, she sat there in the warm sunshine:
the window was opened, and outside before it stood a pink pea-
blossom, fully blown, The sick girl bent down and gently kissed
the delicate leaves. This day was like a festival.

“The Heavenly Father Himself has planted that pea, and
caused it to prosper, to be a joy to you, and to mealso, my blessed
child !” said the glad mother; and she smiled at the flower, as if
it had been a good angel.

But about the other peas? Why, the one who flew out into the
wide world and said, “ Catch me if you can,” fell into the gutter
on the roof, and found a home in a pigeon’s crop ; the two lazy
ones got just as far, for they, too, were eaten up by pigeons, and
thus, at any rate, they were of some real use; but the fourth, who
wanted to go up into the sun, fell into the sink, and lay there in
the dirty water for weeks and weeks, and swelled prodigiously.

“ How beautifully fat I’m growing !” said the Pea, “TI shall
burst at last ; and I don’t think any pea can do more than that.
I’m the most remarkable of all the five that were in the shell.”

And the Sink said he was right.

But the young girl at the garret window stood there with gleam-
ing eyes, with the roseate hue of health on her cheeks, and folded
her thin hands over the pea-blossom, and thanked Heaven for it.

“1,” said the Sink, “stand up for my own pea.”

¢ THE METAL PIG.

the city of Florence, not far from the Piazza del Gran-
duca, there runs a little cross street, I think it is called
Porta Rosa. In this street, in front of a kind of market hall
where vegetables are sold, there lies a Pig artistically fashioned
of metal. The fresh clear water pours from the jaws of the crea-
ture, which has become a blackish-green from age ; only the snout
shines as if it had been polished, and indeed it has been, by many
hundreds of children and /azzaronz, who seize it with their hands,
and place their mouths close to the mouth of the animal, to drink.
It is a perfect picture to see the well-shaped creature clasped by
a half-naked boy, who lays his red lips against its jaw.

Every one who comes to Florence can easily find the place ;
he need only ask the first beggar he meets for the Metal Pig,
and he will find it.

It was late on a winter evening. The mountains were covered
17--2


2v0 THE METAL Pit.

with snow; but the moon shone, and moonlight in Italy is just
as good as the light of a murky Northern winter’s day ; nay, it is
better, for the air shines and lifts us up, while in the North the
cold grey leaden covering seems to press us downwards to the
earth—the cold damp earth, which will once press down our coffin.

In the Grand Duke’s palace garden, under a penthouse roof,
where a thousand roses bloom in winter, a little ragged boy had
been sitting all day long, a boy who might serveas a type of Italy,
pretty and smiling, and yet suffering. He was hungry and thirsty,
but no one gave him anything ; and when it became dark, and
the garden was to be closed, the porter turned him cut. Long
he stood musing on the bridge that spans the Arno, and looked

A

=
a



The Metal Pig.

at the stars, whose light glittered in the water between him and
the splendid marble bridge of Della Trinitd.

He took the way towards the Metal Pig, half knelt down,
clasped his arms round it, put his mouth against its shining
snout, and drank the fresh water in deep draughts. Close by lay
a few leaves of salad and one or two chestnuts ; these were his
supper. No one was in the street but himself—it belonged to
him alone; and he boldly sat down on the Pig’s back, bent for-
ward, so that his curly head rested on the head of the animal,
end before he was aware fell asleep.

It was midnight. The Metal Pig stirred, and he heard it say
THE METAL PIG. 261

quite distinctly, “ You little boy, hold tight, for now I am going
to run,” and away it ran with him. This was a wonderful ride.
First they got to the Pzazza del Granduca, and the metal horse
which carries the Duke’s statue neighed aloud, the painted coats
of arms on the old council-house looked like transparent pictures,
and Michael Angelo’s “ David” swung his sling: there was a
strange life stirring among them. The metal groups represent-
ing persons, and the rape of the Sabines, stood there as if they
were alive: a cry of mortal fear escaped them, and resounded
over the splendid square.

By the Palazzo Degli Ufizt, in the arcade, where the nobility
assemble for the Carnival amusements, the Metal Pig stopped.
“ Hold tight,” said the creature, “ for now we are going upstairs.” ©
The little boy spoke not a word, for he was half frightened, half
delighted.

They came into a long gallery where the boy had already been.
The walls shone with pictures; here stood statues and busts, all
in the most charming light, as if it had been broad day; but the
most beautiful of all was when the door of a side room opened :
the little boy could remember the splendour that was there, but
on this night everything shone in the most glorious colours.

Here stood a beautiful woman, as radiant in beauty as nature
and the greatest master of sculpture could make her: she moved
her graceful limbs, dolphins sprang at her feet, and immortality
shone out of her eyes. The world calls her the Venus de Medici.
By her side are statues in which the spirit of life has been breathed
into the stone ; they are handsome unclothed men. One was
sharpening a sword, and was called the Grinder ; the Wrestling
Gladiators formed another group ; and the sword was sharpened,
and they strove for the Goddess of Beauty.

The boy was dazzled by all this pomp : the walls gleamed with
bright colours, and everything was life and movement.

What splendour, what beauty shone from hall to hall ! and the
little boy saw everything plainly, for the Metal Pig went step by
step from one picture to another through all this scene of mag-
nificence. Each fresh glory effaced the last. One picture only
fixed itself firmly in his soul especially, through the very happy
children introduced into it, for these the little boy fancied he had
greeted in the daylight.

Many persons pass by this picture with indifference, and yet
it contains a treasure of poetry. It represents the Saviour de-
scending into hell. But these are not the damned whom the
spectator sees around him, they are heathen. The Florentine
Agniolo Bronzino painted this picture. Most beautiful is the
expression on the faces of the children,—the full confidence that
they will get to heaven. two little beings are already embracing,
and one little one stretches out his hand towards another who
stands below him, and points to himself as if he were saying, “I
262 THE METAL PIG.

am going to heaven!” The older people stand uncertain, hoping,
hut bowing in humble adoration before the Lord Jesus. The
boy’s eyes rested longer on this picture than on any other. The
Metal Pig stood still before it. A low sigh was heard : did it
come from the picture or from the animal? The boy lifted up
his hands towards the smiling children; then the Pig ran away
with him, away through the open vestibule.

“Thanks and blessings to yourself,” replied the Metal Pig. “I
have helped you, and you have helped me, for with only an inno-
cent child on my back do I receive power to run! Yes, you see,
I may even step into the rays of the lamp in front of the pictu e
of the Madonna, only I may not go into the church. But from
without, when you are with me, I may look in through the open
door. Do not get down from my back; if you do so, I shall lie
dead as you see me in the day-time at the Porta Rosa.”

“T will stay with you, then, you dear creature!” cried the little
boy.

So they went in hot haste through the streets of Florence, out
into the place before the church of Sazéa Croce. The folding
doors flew open, and lights gleamed out from the altar through
the church into the deserted square.

A wonderful blaze of light streamed forth from a monument in
the left aisle, and athousand moving stars seemed to forma glory
round it. A coat of arms shone upon the grave, a red letter in
a blue field seemed to glow like fire. It was the grave of Galileo.
The monument is unadorned, but the red ladder is a significant
emblem, as if it were that of art, for in art the way always leads
up a burning ladder, towards heaven. The prophets of mind soar
upwards towards heaven, like Elias of old.

To the right, in the aisle of the church, every statue on the
richly carved sarcophagi seemed endowed with life. Here stood
Michael Angelo, there Dante with the laurel wreath round his
brow, Alfieri and Machiavelli ; for here the great men, the pride
of Italy, rest side by side.* It is a glorious church, far more
beautiful than the marble cathedral of Florence, though not so
large.

It seemed as if the marble vestments stirred, as if the great
forms raised their heads higher and looked up, amid song and
music, to the brighter altar glowing with colour, where the white-
clad boys swing the golden censers ; and the strong fragrance
streamed out of the church into the open square,

The boy stretched forth his hand towards the gleaming light,

+ Opposite to the grave of Galileo is the tomb of Michael Angelo. On the monu-
ment his bust is displayed, with three figures, representing Sculpture, Painting, and
Architecture. Close byis a monument to Dante, whose corpse is interred at Ravenna:
on this monument Italy is represented pointing to a colossal statue of the poet, while
Poetry weeps over his loss. A few paces farther on is Alfieri’s monument, adorned
with laurel, the lyre, and dramatic masks: Italy weeps at his grave. Machiavelli
here closes the series of celebrated men.
THE METAL Pic, 263

ana in a moment the Metal Pig resumed its headlong career: he
was obliged. to cling tightly; and the wind whistled about his
ears ; he heard the church door creak on its hinges as it closed;
but at the same moment his senses seemed to desert him, he felt
a cold shudder pass over him, and awoke.

It was morning, and he was still sitting onthe Metal Pig, which
stood where it always stood on the Porta Rosa, and he had slipped
half off its back:

Fear and trembling filled the soul of the boy at the thought
of her whom he called mother, and who had yesterday sent him
forth to bring money ; for he had none, and was hungry and
thirsty. Once more he clasped his arms round the neck of his
metal horse, kissed its lips, and nodded farewell to it Then he
wandered away into one of the narrowest streets, where there is
scarcely room for a laden ass. A great iron-clamped door stood
ajar; he passed through it, and climbed up a brick stair with dirty
walls and a rope for a balustrade, till he came to an open gallery
hung with rags; from here a flight of stairs led down into the
court, where there was a fountain, and great iron wires led up to
the different storeys, and many water-buckets hung side by side,
and at times the roller creaked, and one of the buckets would
dance into the air, swaying so that the water splashed out of it
down into the courtyard, A second ruinous brick staircase here
led upwards. Two Russian sailors were running briskly down,and
almost overturned the poor boy: they were going home from
nee nightly carouse. A large woman, no longer young, followed
them.

“What do you bring home ?” she asked ‘the boy.

“Don’t beangry,” he pleaded. “I received nothing—nothing
at all.” And he seized the mother’s dress, and would have
kissed it.

They went into the little room. I will not describe it, but only
say that there stood in it an earthen pot with handles, made for
holding fire, and called a marito. This pot she took in her arms,
warmed her fingers, and pushed the boy with her elbow:

“ Certainly you must have brought some money ?” said she.

The boy wept, and she struck him with her foot, so that he
cried aloud.

“Will you be silent, or Ill break your screaming head !”

And she brandished the fire-pot which she held in her hand,
The boy crouched down to the earth with a scream of terror
Then a neighbour stepped in, also with a savito in her arms,

“ Felicita,” she said, “ what are you doing to the child?”

“ The child is mine,” retorted Felicita, “I can murder himif
I like, and you too, Giannina.” .

And she swung her fire-pot. The other lifted up hers in self.
defence, and the two pots clashed together with such fury that
fragments, fire, and ashes flew about the room; but at the same
264 THE METAL PIG.

monicut the boy rushed out at the door, sped across the court-
yard, and fled from the house. The poor child ran till he was
quite out of breath. He stopped by the church, whose great doors
had opened to him the previous night, and wert in. Everything
was radiant. The boy knelt down at the first grave on the right
hand, the grave of Michael Angelo, and soon he sobbed aloud.
People came and went, and Mass was performed; but no one
noticed the boy, only an elderly citizen stood still, looked at him,
and then went away like the rest.

Hunger and thirst tormented the child; he was quite faint and
ill, and he crept into a corner between the marble monuments,
and went to sleep. Towards evening he was awakened by a tug
at his sleeve; he started up, and the same citizen stood before
him.

“ Are you ill? Where do you live? Have you been here all
day?” were three of the many questions the old man asked of
him.

He answered, and the old man took him into his little house,
close by, in a back street. They came into a glover’s workshop,
where a woman sat sewing busily. A little white Spitz dog, so
closely shaven that his pink skin could be seen, frisked about
on the table and gambolled before the boy.

“Innocent souls soon make acquaintance,” said the woman,

And she caressed the boy and the dog. The good people gave
the child food and drink, and said he should be permitted to stay
the night with them ; and next day Father Guiseppe would speak
to his mother. A little simple bed was assigned to him, but for
him who had often slept on the hard stones it was aroyal couch;
and he slept sweetly, and dreamed of the splendid pictures and
of the Metal Pig.

Father Guiseppe went out next morning: the poor child was
not glad of this, for he knew that the object of the errand was to
send him back to his mother. He wept, and kissed the merry
little dog, and the woman nodded approvingly at both.

What news did Father Guiseppe bring home? He spoke a great
deal with his wife, and she nodded and stroked the boy’s cheek

“ He is a capital lad!” said she. “ He may become an accom.
plished glove-maker, like you; and look what delicate fingers he
has! Madonna intended him for a glove-maker.”

And the boy stayed in the house, and the woman herself taught
him to sew: he ate well, slept well, and became merry, and began
to tease Bellissima, as the little dog was called; but the woman
grew angry at this, and scolded and threatened him with her
finger. This touched the boy’s heart, and he sat thoughtful in
his little chamber. This chamber looked upon the street in which
skins were dried ; there were thick bars of iron before his window.
He could not sleep, for the Metal Pig was always present in his
thoughts, and suddenly he heard outside a pit-pat, That must
THE METAL PIG. 265

be the Pig! He sprang to the window, but nothing was to be
seen—it had passed by already.

“Help the gentleman to carry his box of colours,” said the
woman next morning to the boy, when their young neighbour the
artist passed by, carrying a paint-box and a large rolled canvas.

The boy took the box and followed the painter: they betook
themselves to the gallery, and mounted the same staircase which
he remembered well from the night when he had ridden on the
Metal Pig. He recognized the statues and pictures, the beautiful
marble Venus, and the Venus that lived in the picture ; and again
he saw the Madonna, and the Saviour, and St. John.

They stood still before the picture by Bronzino, in which Christ
is descending into hell, and the children smiling around Him in
the sweet expectation of heaven. The poor child smiled too, for
he felt as if his heaven were here.

“Go home now,” said the painter, when the boy had stood
until the other had set up his easel.

“ May I see you paint?” asked the boy. “ May I see you put
the picture upon this white canvas?”

“T am not going to paint yet,” replied the man; and he brought
out a piece of white chalk. His hand moved quickly; his eye
measured the great picture, and though nothing appeared but a
thin line, the figure of the Saviour stood there, as in the coloured
picture.

“Why don’t you go?” said the painter.

And the boy wandered home silently, and seated himself on the
table and learned to sew gloves, :

But all day long his thoughts were in the picture gallery; and
so it came that he pricked his fingers, and was awkward; but he
did not tease Bellissima. When evening came, and when the
house door stood open, he crept out: it was cold but starlight, a
bright beautiful evening. Away he went through the already
deserted streets, and soon came to the Metal Pig. He bent
down on it, kissed its shining mouth, and seated himself on its
back.

“You happy creature!” he said; “how I have longed for you!
We must take a ride to-night.”

The Metal Pig lay motionless, and the fresh stream gushed
forth from itsmouth. The little boy sat astride on its back; then
something tugged at his clothes. He looked down, and there was
Bellissima—little smooth-shaven Bellissima—barking as if she
would have said, “ Here am I too: why are you sitting there ?”
A fiery dragon could not have terrified the boy so much as did the
little dog in this place. Bellissima in the street, and not dressed,
as the old lady called it! What would be the end of it? The dog
never came out in winter, except attired in a little lamb-skin, which
had been cut out and made into a coat for him; it was made to
fasten with a red ribbon round the little dog’s neck and body,
266 THE METAL PIG.

and was adorned with bows and with bells. The dog looked
almost like a little kid, when in winter he got permission to
patter out with his mistress. Bellissima was outside, and not
dressed! what would be the end of it? All his fancies were put
to flight; yet the boy kissed the Metal Pig once more, and then
took Bellissima on his arm: the little thing trembled with cold,
therefore the boy ran as fast as he could.

“What are you running away with there?” asked two police
soldiers whom he met and at whom Bellissima barked. “Where
have you stolen that pretty dog?” they asked, and they took it
away from him.

“ Oh, give it back to me!” cried the boy despairingly.

“Tf you have not stolen him, you may say at home that the
dog may be sent for from the watch-house.” And they told him
where the watch-house was, and went away with Bellissima.

Here was a terrible calamity! The boy did not know whether
he should jump into the Arno, or go home and confess everything ;
they would certainly kill him, he thought.

“But I will gladly be killed ; then I shall die and go to heaven,”
he reasoned. And he went home, principally with the idea of
being killed.

The door was locked, and he could not reach the knocker; no
one was in the street, but a stone lay there, and with this he
thundered at the door.

“Who is there?” cried somebody from within.

“TItis I,” said he. “ Thedogis gone. Open the door and then
kill me!”

There was quite a panic. Madame was especially concerned
for poor Bellissima. She immediately lo