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 HANS ANDERSEN'S 
 
 STORY BOOK. 
 
 A MEMOIR BY MARY HOWITT, 
 
 ILL U8TBA TJON&. 
 
 JX: 
 
 "Neto Yorft anti SSoston: 
 C. S. FRANCIS AND COMPANY, 
 
 M.DCOC.LX
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 MEMOIR OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN ^ *"7'^^- 
 A PICTURE-BOOK WITHOUT PICTURES - 3a ' 
 
 MY BOOTS '- 125^ 
 
 ^ SCENES ON THE DANUBE - - - - 133 
 
 M'HE SWINEHERD ..... .J€4 itl^ 
 
 THE REAL PRINCESS - - - - - 173 
 
 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE: 
 
 I. A Beginning - - - . . 7 
 
 II. What Befel the Councillor - - - 11 
 
 III. The Watchman's Adventure - - - 25 
 
 IV. A Moment of Head Importance — An Eve- 
 
 ning's " Dramatic Readings " — A most 
 
 strange Journey ... - 38 
 
 V. The Metamorphosis of the Copying-Clerk 49 
 
 VI. The best that the Galoshes gave - - <»6 
 
 THE FIR TREE - '5
 
 n CO NTS NTS. 
 
 ^r^HB SNOW-QUEEN— IN Seven Storiies: 
 
 T. Which treats of a Mirror, and of the 
 Splinters ..--.- 
 11. A Little Boy aud a Little Girl - - - 
 ni. The Flower-Garden ----- 
 
 IV. The Prince and Princess - - - - 
 
 V. The Little Ptobber-Maiden - - - 
 
 VT. The Lapland Woman and the Finland 
 
 Woman ------ 
 
 VII. The Palace of the Snow-Queen - - - 
 J^^sdTHE LEAP-FROG 
 
 the old house - . . - 
 
 the drop of water - 
 
 the happy family 
 
 the story of a mother - 
 
 the false collar 
 
 the shadow '\ 
 
 -"^ -the old street lamp - 
 
 the dream of little tuk 
 
 the naughty boy - 
 
 the two neighboring families 
 
 the darning needle - 
 ;7^'the little match-girl 
 
 the red shoes 
 
 94 
 
 97 
 108 
 121 
 133 
 
 142 
 149 
 137 
 
 9 
 
 25 
 
 29 
 
 36 
 
 47 
 
 52 
 
 78 
 
 92 
 
 102 
 
 107 
 
 128 
 
 135 
 
 141
 
 MEMOIR OF HANS C. ANDERSEN: 
 
 BY MARY HOWITT : 
 
 A PICTURE-BOOK WITHOUT PICTURES, 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES.
 
 MEMOIR. 
 
 Whether regarded as the human being as- 
 serting in his own person the true nobility of 
 mind and moral worth, or the man of genius, 
 whose works alone have raised him from the 
 lowest poverty and obscurity, to be an honor- 
 ed guest with kings and queens, Hans Chris- 
 tian Andersen is one of the most remarkable 
 men of his day. 
 
 Like most men of great original talent, he 
 is emphatically one of the people ; and writ 
 ing as he has done, principally of popular 
 life, he describes what he himself has suffered 
 and seen. Poverty or hardship, however, 
 never soured his mind ; on the contrary, 
 whatever he has written is singularly genial, 
 and abounds with the most kindly"and uni- 
 versal sympathy. Human Ufe, with all its, 
 9
 
 10 MEMOIR OF 
 
 : trials, privations, and its tears, is to him a holy 
 I thing ; he lays bare the heart, not to bring 
 (forth hidden and revolting passions or crimes, 
 ibut to show how lovely it is in its simplicity 
 /and truth : how touching in its weaknesses 
 and its short-commgs ; how much it is to be 
 loved and pitied, and borne and striven with. 
 In short, this great writer, with all the ardor 
 of a strong poetical nature, and with great 
 power in delineating passion, is eminently 
 \ Christian in spirit. 
 
 It is a great pleasure to me that I have 
 been the means of making the principal 
 works of Hans Christian Andersen known, 
 through my translations, to English readers ; 
 they have been well received by them, and I 
 now give a slight memoir of their author, 
 drawn from the True Story of his own Life, 
 sent by him to me for translation, and which 
 has lately been published. 
 
 The father of Hans Christian Andersen 
 was a shoemaker of Odense. When scarcely 
 twenty, he married a young girl about as 
 poor as himself. The poverty of this couple 
 may be imagined from the circumstance that 
 the house afforded no better bedstead than a
 
 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 11 
 
 wooden frame, made to support the cofibi of 
 some count in the neighborhood, whose body 
 lay in state before his interment. This frame, 
 covered with black cloth, and which the 
 young shoemaker purchased at a very low 
 price, served as the family bedstead many 
 years. Upon this humble bed was born, on 
 the second of April, 1805, Hans Christian 
 Andersen. 
 
 The father of Andersen was not without 
 education ; his mother was the kindest of 
 human beings ; they lived on the best terms 
 with each other, but still the husband was 
 not happy. He read comedies and the Ara- 
 ^bian Tales, and made a puppet theatre for 
 his little son, and often on Sundays took him 
 out with him into the woods round Odense, 
 where the solitude was congenial to his mind. 
 
 Andersen's grandmother had also great 
 influence over him, and to her he was greatly 
 attached. She was employed in taking care 
 of a garden belonging to a lunatic asylum, 
 and here he spent most of the summer after- 
 noons of his early childhood. 
 
 Among his earliest recollections is^ the resi- 
 dence of the Spaniards in Funen, in the years
 
 12 MEMOIR OP 
 
 1808 and 1809. A soldier of an Asturian 
 regiment took him one day in his arms, 
 danced with him amid tears of joy, which no 
 doubt were called forth by the remembrance 
 of a child he had left at home, and pressed 
 the Madonna to his lips, which occasioned 
 great trouble to his pious mother, who was a 
 Lutheran. 
 
 In Odense at that time many old festivities 
 were still in use, which made a deep impres- 
 sion on the boy, and were as so much mate- 
 rial laid up in his richly poetical mind for 
 after use, as all who are familiar with his 
 works must be well aware. His father, 
 among other works, industriously read in his 
 Bible. One day he closed it with these words : 
 "Christ became a man like unto us, but a 
 very uncommon man ! " at which his wife 
 burst into tears, greatly distressed and shock- 
 ed at what she called " blasphemy." This 
 made a deep impres'sion on the boy, and he 
 prayed in secret for the soul of his father. 
 Another day his father said, " There is no 
 other devil but what a man bears in his own 
 breast ! " After which, finding his arm 
 scratched one morning when he awoke, his
 
 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 13 
 
 wife said it was a punishment of the devil, to 
 teach him his real existence. 
 
 The unhappy teniper of the father increas- 
 ed from day to day ; he longed to go forth 
 into the world. At that time war was raging 
 in Germany. Napoleon was his hero, and 
 as Denmark had now allied itself to France, 
 he enlisted as a private soldier in a recruiting 
 regiment, hoping that some time or other he 
 mit^ht return as a lieutenant. The neio^hbors, 
 however, thought it was all a folly to let him- 
 self be shot for no purpose at all. The corps 
 in which he served went no farther than Hol- 
 stein ; the peace succeeded, and the poor shoe- 
 mal^er returned to his trade, only chagrined 
 to have seen no service, nor even been in for- 
 eign lands. But though he had seen no ser- 
 vice, his health had suffered } he awoke one 
 morning delirious, and talked about cam- 
 paigns and Napoleon. Young Andersen, 
 then nine years old, was sent to the next vil- 
 lage to ask counsel from a wise woman. 
 
 " Will my poor father die ?" inquired he, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " If thy father will die," replied she, " thou 
 wilt meet his ghost on thy way home."
 
 14 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Terrified almost out of his senses lest he 
 should meet the ghost, he set out on his 
 homeward way, and reached his own door 
 without any such apparition presenting itself, 
 but for all that, his father died on the third 
 day. 
 
 From this time young Andersen was left 
 to himself The whole instruction that he 
 ever received was in a charity-school, and 
 consisted of reading, writing, and arithmetic, 
 but of the two last he knew scarcely any- 
 thing. 
 
 About this time he was engaged by the 
 widow of a clergyman in Odense, to read 
 aloud to herself and her sister-in-law. She 
 was the widow of a clergyman who had writ- 
 ten poems. In this house Andersen first heard 
 the appellation of /)oe^; and saw with what 
 love the poetical talent of the deceased pastor 
 was regarded. This sunk deeply into his 
 mind ; he read tragedies, and resolved to be- 
 come a poet, as this good man had been be- 
 fore him. 
 
 He wrote a tragedy, therefore, which the 
 two ladies praised highly ; it was handed 
 about in manuscript, and people laughed at
 
 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 15 
 
 it, and ridiculed him as the "play-writer." 
 This wounded him so deeply, that he passed 
 one whole night weeping, and was only pa- 
 cifitid, or rather, silenced, by his mother threat- 
 ening to give him a good beating for his folly. 
 Spile, however, of his ill success, he wrote 
 again and again, studying, among other de- 
 vices, German and French words, to give 
 dignity to his dialogue. Again the whole 
 town read his productions, and the boys 
 shouted after him as he went, " Liook ! look : 
 there goes the play-writer." 
 
 One day he took to his schoolmaster, as a 
 birthday present, a garland, with which he 
 had twisted up a little poem. The school- 
 master was angry with him ; he saw nothing 
 but folly and false quantities in the verses, 
 and thus the poor lad had nothing but trouble 
 and tears. 
 
 The worldly affairs of the mother grew 
 worse and worse, and as boys of his age 
 earned money in a manufactory near, it was 
 resolved that there also Hans Christian 
 should be sent. His old grandmother took 
 him to the manufactory, and shed bitter tears 
 because the lot of the boy was so early toil
 
 16 MEMOIR OF 
 
 and sorrow. The workmen in the factory 
 were principally German, and discovering 
 that Andersen had a fine voice, and knew 
 many popular songs, they made him sing to 
 them while the other boys did his work. He 
 knew himself that he had a good voice, be- 
 cause the neighbors always listened when he 
 sang at home, and once a whole party of rich 
 people had stopped to hear him, and had 
 praised his beautiful voice. Everybody in 
 the manufactory heard him with equal de- 
 hght. 
 
 " I can act comedy as well !" said the poor 
 boy one day, encouraged by their applause, 
 and began to recite whole scenes from the 
 comedies which his father had been in the 
 habit of reading. The workmen were de- 
 lighted, and the other boys were made to do 
 his tasks while he amused them all. This 
 smooth life of comedy acting and singing 
 lasted but for a short time, and he returned 
 home. 
 
 " The boy must go and act at the theatre !" 
 many of the neighbors said to his mother ; 
 but as she knew of no other theatre than that 
 of the strolling players, she shook her head,
 
 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 17 
 
 and resolved rather to put her son apprentice 
 to a tailor. 
 
 He was now twelve, and had nothing to 
 do ; he devoured, therefore, the contents of 
 every book which came in his way. His 
 favorite reading was an old prose translation 
 of ^akspere. From this, with little figures 
 which he made of pasteboard, he performed 
 the whole of King Lear, and the Merchant 
 of Venice. ^' 
 
 "Andersen's passion for reading, and his 
 beautiful voice, had in the meantime drawn 
 upon him the attention of several of the 
 higher families of the city, who introduced 
 him to their houses. His simple, child-like 
 behavior, his wonderful memory, and his 
 sweet voice, gave to him a peculiar charm ; 
 people talked of him, and he soon had many 
 friends ; among others, a Colonel Guldborg^ 
 brother to the well-known poet of that name, 
 and who afterwards introduced him to Prince 
 Christian of Denmark. 
 
 About this time his mother married a 
 
 second time, and as the step-father would not 
 
 spend a penny, or do any thing for her son's 
 
 education, he had still more leisure. He had 
 
 2 I
 
 18 MEMOIR OF 
 
 no playfellows, and often wandered by him- 
 self to the neighboiing forest, or seated himself 
 at home, in a corner of the house, and dressed 
 up little dolls for his theatre^ his mother in 
 the meantime thinking that, as he was des- 
 tined for a tailor, this was all good practice. 
 
 At length the time came when he was to 
 be confirmed. On this occasion he had his 
 first pair of boots ; he was very vain of them, 
 and that all the world might see them, he 
 pulled them up over his trousers. An old 
 sempstress was employed to make him a con- 
 , firmation-suit out of his deceased father's 
 / great coat. Never before had he been possess- 
 ed of such excellent clothes ; the very thoughts 
 of them disturbed his devotions on the day of 
 consecration. 
 
 It had been determined that Andersen was 
 to be apprenticed to a tailor after his confir- 
 mation, but he earnestly besought his mother 
 to give up this idea, and consent to his going 
 to Copenhagen, that he might get employ- 
 ment at the theatre there. He read to her 
 the lives of celebrated men who had been 
 quite as poor as himself, and assured her that 
 be also would cne day be a celebrated maa
 
 HANS CHRISTIAN ^ .VDERSEN. 19 
 
 For several years he had been hoarding up 
 his money ; he had now about thirty shilhngs, 
 Enghsh, which seemed to him an inexhausti- 
 ble sum. As soon as his mother heard of 
 this fund, her heart inclined towards his 
 wishes, and she promised to consent on con- 
 dition that they should consult a wise woman, 
 and that his going or staying should be de- 
 cided by her augury. The sibyl was fetched 
 to the house, and after she had read the cards, 
 and studied the coffee-grounds, she pronounc- 
 ed these words. 
 
 " Your son will become a great man. The 
 city of Odense will one day be illuminated 
 in his honor." 
 
 A prophecy like this removed all do'ubts. 
 
 " Go, in God's name !" said his mother, and 
 he lost no time in preparing for his great 
 journey. 
 
 Some one had mentioned to him a certain 
 female dancer at the Royal Theatre as a 
 person of great influence ; he obtained, there- 
 fore, from a gentleman universally esteemed 
 in Odense, a letter of introduction to this lady ; 
 and with this, and his thirteen rix-dollars, he 
 commenced the journey on which depended
 
 20 »'EMQIR OP 
 
 his whole fate. His mother accompanied 
 him to the city gate, and there his good old 
 grandmother met him ; she kissed him with 
 many tears, blessed him, and he never saw 
 her more. 
 
 It was not until he had crossed the Great 
 Belt that he felt how forlorn he was in the 
 world ; he stepped aside from the road, fell 
 on his knees, and besought God to be his 
 friend. He rose up comforted, and walked 
 on through towns and villages, until, on Mon- 
 day morning, the 5th of September, 1819, he 
 saw the towers of Copenhagen ; and with his 
 little bundle under his arm he entered that 
 great city. 
 
 On the day after his arrival, dressed in his 
 confirmation-suit, he betook himself, with his 
 letter of introduction in his hand, to the 
 house of the all-potential dancer. The lady 
 allowed him to wait a long time on the steps 
 of her house, and when at length he entered, 
 his awkward, simple behavior and appear- 
 ance displeased her ; she fancied him insane, 
 more particularly as the gentleman from 
 whom he brought the letter was unknown to 
 her.
 
 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 21 
 
 He next went to the director of the the- 
 atre, requesting some appointment. 
 
 "You are too thin for the theatre," was 
 the answer he obtained. 
 
 "Oh," rephed poor Andersen, "only ensure 
 me one hundred rix-dollars, and I will soon 
 get fat !" 
 
 But the director would make no agreement 
 of this kind, and then informed him that 
 they engaged none at the theatre but^people 
 of education. This settled the questioiTfTie 
 had nothing to say on his own behalf, and, 
 dejected In spirit, went out into the street. 
 He knew no human creature ; he thought of 
 death, and this though^'' turned his mind to^ 
 God. 
 
 " When everything goes adversely," sai< 
 he, " th'eiTGfod will help me ; it is written so 
 in every book that I ever read, and jn God I 
 will put my trust ! " 
 
 Days and weeks went on, bringing with 
 them nothing but disappointment and des- 
 pair ; his money was all gone, and for some 
 time he worked with a joiner. At length, 
 as, 'vith a heavy heart, he was walking one 
 day along the crowded streets of the city, it 
 
 ^vi- ^\ V a . L, ^ L\ 
 
 K
 
 22 MEMOIR OP 
 
 occurred to him that as yet nobody had 
 heard his fine voice. Full of this thought, 
 he hastened at once to the house of Professor 
 Siboni, where a large paity happened to be 
 at dinner, and among the guests Baggesen, 
 the poet, and the celebrated composer, Pro- 
 fessor Weyse. He knocked at the door, 
 which was opened by a female servant, and 
 to her he related, quite open-heartedly, how 
 forlorn and friendless he was, and how great 
 a desire he had to be engaged at the theatre ; 
 the young woman went in and related this 
 to the company. All were interested in the 
 little adventurer ; he was ordered in, and de- 
 sired to sing, and to give some scenes from 
 Holberg. One of these scenes bore a resem- 
 blance to his own melancholy circumstances, 
 and he burst into tears. The company ap- 
 plauded him. 
 
 " I prophecy," said Baggesen, " that thou 
 wilt turn out something remarkable- only 
 don't become vain when the public admires 
 thee." 
 
 Profesvsor Siboni promised immediately thai 
 he Avould cultivate Andersen's voice, and that 
 he should make his debut at the Theatre
 
 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 23 
 
 Royal. He had a good friend too in Profes- 
 sor Weyse, and a year and a half were spent 
 in elementary instruction. But a new mis- 
 fortune now befell him ; he lost his beautiful 
 yoice^ nd Siboni counselled him to put him- 
 self to some handicraft trade. He once more 
 seemed abandoned to a hopeless fate. Cast- 
 ing about in his mind who might possibly 
 befriend him, he bethought himself of the poet 
 Guldborg, whose brother the colonel had 
 been so kind to him in Odense. To him he 
 went, and in him he happily found a friend; 
 although poverty still pursued him, and his 
 sufferings, which no one knew, almost over- 
 came him. 
 
 He wrote a rhymed tragedy, which obtain- 
 ed some little praise from Oehlenschlagei .and 
 Ingemann — but no debut was permitted him 
 on the theatre. He wrote a second and third, 
 but the theatre would not accept them. 
 These youthful efforts fell, however, into the 
 hand of a powerful and good man. Confer- 
 ence Counsellor Collin, who, perceiving the 
 genius tFat slumbered in the young"poet, 
 went immediately to the king, and obtained 
 permission from him that he should be sent,
 
 24 MEMOIR OF 
 
 at Government charges, to one of the learned 
 schools in the provinces, in which, however, 
 he sufiered immensely, till his heart was 
 almost broken by unkindness. From this 
 school he went to college, and became very 
 soon favorably known to the public by true 
 poetical "works. Ingemann, Oehlenschlager, 
 and others then obtained for him a royal 
 stipend, to enable him to travel; and he 
 visited Germany, France, Switzerland, and 
 Italy. Italy, and the poetical character of 
 life in that beautiful country, inspired him ; 
 and he wrote the " Improvisatore," one of the 
 most exquisite works, whether for truthful 
 delineation of character, or pure and noble 
 sentiment, that ever was penned. This 
 work most harmoniously combines the warm 
 coloring and intensity of Italian life with 
 the freshest and strong simplicity of the 
 north. His romance of " O. T." followed ; 
 this is a true picture of the secluded, sober 
 life of^the north, and is a great favorite 
 ihere. His third work, "Only a Fiddler," 
 is remarkable for its strongly drawn personal 
 and national characteristics, founded upon 
 his own experience in early life. Perhaps
 
 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 25 
 
 there never was a more affecting picture of 
 the hopeless attempts of a genius of second 
 rate order to combat against and rise above 
 poverty and adverse circumstances, than is 
 given in the Ufe of poor Christian, who dies 
 at last "only a fiddler." 
 
 In all these works Andersen has drawn 
 from his own experience, and in this lies their 
 extraordinary power. There is a child-like 
 tenderness and simplicity in his writmgs ; a 
 sympathy with the poor and the struggling* ^ 
 and an elevation and purity of tone^ which 
 have something absolutely hol^^bout them ■; 
 it is the inspirairon of true genius, combined 
 with great experience of life, and a spirit 
 baptized with the tenderness of Christianity. 
 This is it which is the secret of the extreme 
 charm his celebrated stories have for children. 
 They are as simple and as touching as the old 
 Bible narratives of Joseph and his brethren, 
 and the little lad who died in the corn field. 
 We wonder not at their being the most pop- 
 ular books of their kind in Europe. 
 
 It has been my happiness, as I said before, 
 to translate his three piincipal works, his 
 Picture Book without Pictures, and several of
 
 26 MEMOIR OF 
 
 his stories for children. They have been 
 likewise translated into German, and some 
 of them into Dutch, and even Russian. He 
 speaks nobly of this circumstance in his hfe. 
 " My works," says he, " seem to come forth 
 under a lucky star, they fly over all lands. 
 There is something elevating, but at the same 
 time something terrific in seeing one's thoughts 
 spread so far, and among so many people ; 
 it is indeed almost a fearful thing to belong 
 to so many. The noble and good in us be- 
 comes a blessing, but the bad, one's errors, 
 shoot forth also ; and involuntarily the prayer 
 forces itself from us — ' God ! let me never 
 write down a word of which I shall not be 
 able to give an account to thee !' a peculiar 
 feeling, a mixture of joy and anxiety, fills m}?- 
 heart every time my good genius conveys 
 my fictions to a foreign people." 
 
 Of Andersen's present life we need only say 
 that he spends a great deal of his time in 
 traveling ; he goes from land to land, and 
 from court to court, everywhere an honored 
 guest, and enjoying the glorious reward of 
 a manly struggle against adversity, and the
 
 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 27 
 
 triumph of a lofty and pure genius in seeing 
 its claims generously acknowledged. 
 
 Let US now see the son of the poor shoe- 
 maker of Odense — the friendless, ill-clad, al- 
 most heart-broken boy of Copenhagen — on 
 one of those occasions, which would make an 
 era in the life of any other literary man, but 
 which are of every day occurrence in his. I 
 will quote from his own words. 
 
 " I received a letter from the ministry. Count 
 Rantzau Breitenburg, containing an invita- 
 tion from their majesties of Denmark to join 
 them at the watering-place of Fohr; this 
 island lies in the North S^a, on the coast of 
 Sleswick. It was just now five and-twenty 
 years since I, a poor lad, traveled alone and 
 helpless to Copenhagen. Exactly the five-and 
 twentieth anniversary would be celebrated by 
 my being with my king and queen. Every- 
 thing which surrounded me, man and nature, 
 reflected themselves imperishably in my soul ; 
 I felt myself, as it were, conducted to a point 
 from which I could look forth more distinctly 
 over the past, with all the good fortune and 
 happiness w^hich it had evolved for me. 
 
 " Wyck, the largest town of Fohr, in which
 
 28 MEMOIR OF 
 
 are the baths, is built like a Dutch town 
 with houses one story high, sloping roofs^ 
 and gables turned to the street. The number 
 of strangers there, and the presence of the 
 Court, gave a peculiar animation to it. The 
 Danish flag was seen waving, and music was 
 heard on all hands. I was socm established 
 in my quarters, and was invited every day to 
 dine with their majesties as well as to pass 
 the evening in their circle. On several eve- 
 nings I read aloud my little stories to them^ 
 and nothing could be more gracious and kind 
 than they were. It is so well when a noble 
 human nature will reveal itself, where other- 
 wise only the king's crown and the purple 
 mantle might be discovered. 
 ^ " I sailed in the train of their majesties, to 
 the largest of the Halligs, those grassy runes 
 in the ocean, which bear testimony to a 
 sunken country. The violence of the sea has 
 changed the mainland into islands, has again 
 riven these, and buried men and villages. 
 Year after year are new portions rent away 
 and in half a century's time there will be no- 
 thing left but sea. The Halligs are now low 
 islets, covered with a dark turf, on which a few
 
 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 29 
 
 flocks graze. When the sea rises, these are 
 driven to the garrets for refuge, and the waves 
 roll over this little region, which lies miles dis- 
 tant from any shore. Oland, which we visited, 
 contains a little town ; the houses stand 
 closely side by side, as if in their sore need 
 they had huddled together ; they are all erect- 
 ed on a platform, and have little windows like 
 the cabin of a ship. There, solitary through 
 half the year, sit the wives and daughters 
 spinning. Yet I found books in all the 
 houses ; the people read and work, and the 
 sea rises round the houses, which lie like a 
 wreck on the ocean. The church-yard is 
 half washed away ; coffins and corpses are 
 frequently exposed to view. It is an appalling 
 sight, and yet the inhabitants of the Halligs 
 are attached to their httle home, and fre- 
 quentl y die of home-sickness when removed 
 "Irom it. 
 
 " We found only one man upon the island, 
 and he had only lately arisen from a sick- 
 bed ; the others were out on long voyages. 
 We were received by women and girls ; they 
 had erected before the church a trium- 
 phal arch with flowers, which they had
 
 30 MEMOIR OF 
 
 fetched from Fohr, but it was so small and 
 low, that one was obliged to go round it ; it 
 nevertheless showed their good will. The 
 Queen was deeply affected by their having 
 cut down their only shrub, a rose-bush, to lay 
 over a marshy place which she had to cross. 
 
 " On our return, dinner was served on board 
 the royal steamer, and afterwards as we sail- 
 ed in a glorious sunset through this archipe- 
 lago, the deck of the vessel was changed to a 
 dancing hall : servants flew hither and thith- 
 er with refreshments ; sailors stood upon the 
 paddle-boxes and took soundings, and their 
 deep tones might be heard giving the depth 
 of the water. The moon rose round and 
 large, and the promontory of Amrom assumed 
 the appearance of a snow-covered chain of 
 Alps." 
 
 The next day he visited the wild regions 
 about the promontory, but our space will not 
 admit of our giving any portions of wild and 
 grand sea-landscape which he here describes. 
 In the evening he returned to the royal din- 
 ner-table. It was on the above mentioned 
 five-and-twentieth anniversary, on the 6th of 
 September ; he says,
 
 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 31 
 
 "The whole of my former life passed in 
 review before my mind. I was obliged to 
 summon all my strength to prevent myself 
 bursting into tears. There are moments of 
 gratitude, in which we feel, as it were, a de- 
 sire to press God to our hearts ! How deeply 
 I felt at this time my own nothingness, and 
 low all, all had come from him ! After din- 
 ner the king, to whom Rantzau had told how 
 interesting the day was to me, wished me 
 happiness, and that most kindly. He wished 
 me happiness in that which I had endured 
 and won. He asked me about my early, 
 struggling life, and I related to him some 
 traits of it. 
 
 " In the course of conversation he asked 
 me of my annual income. I told him. 
 
 " ' That is not much,' said he. 
 
 " ' But I do not need much,' I replied ; 
 * my writings furnish something.' 
 
 " ' If I can in any way be serviceable to 
 you. come to me,' said the king in conclusion. 
 
 " In the evening, during the concert, some 
 of my friends reproached me for not making 
 use of my opportunity. 
 
 " ' The king,' said they ' put the words 
 into youv mouth.'
 
 32 MEMOIR. 
 
 " ' I could not have done more,' said 1 ^ Mf 
 the king thought I required an addition to 
 my income, he would give it of his own free 
 will.' 
 
 " And I was right ; in the following year 
 the king increased my annual stipend, so that 
 with this and my writings I can live honor- 
 ably and free from care. 
 
 " The 5th of September was to me a festi- 
 val day. Even the German visitors at the 
 baths honored me by drinking my health in 
 the pump-room. 
 
 " So many flattering cn-cumstances, some 
 people argue, may spoil a man and make 
 him vain. But no, they do not spoil him, 
 they make him, on the contrary, better ; they 
 purify his mind, and he thereby feels an im- 
 pulse, a wish to deserve all that he enjoys." 
 
 Such are truly the feelings of a pure and 
 noble nature. Andersen has stood the test 
 through every trial, of poverty and adversity ; 
 the harder trial that of a sun-bright prosper- 
 ity, is now proving him, and so far, thank 
 God, the sterling nature of the man has re- 
 mained unspoiled.
 
 A PICTURE-BOOK WITHOUT PICTURES.
 
 It is wonderful ! When my heart feela 
 the mc it warmly, and my emotions are the 
 noblest, it is as if my hands and my tongue 
 were tied ; I cannot describe, I cannot ex- 
 press my own inward state ; and yet I am a 
 painter ; my eye tells me so ; and every one 
 who has seen my sketches and my tablets ac- 
 knowledges it. 
 
 I am a poor youth ; I live over there in one 
 of the narrowest streets, but I have no want 
 of light, because I live up aloft, with a view 
 over all the house-tops. The first day I 
 came into the city it seemed to me so confined 
 and lonesome ; instead of the woods and the 
 35
 
 36 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 greeu breezy heights, I had only the grey 
 chimneys as far as I could see. I did not 
 possess one friend here ; not a single face 
 which I knew saluted me. 
 
 One evening, very much depressed in mind, 
 I stood at my window ; I opened it and look- 
 ed out. Nay, how glad it made me ; I saw 
 a face which I knew ; a round, friendly face, 
 that of my dearest* friend in heaven ; it was 
 the Moon — the dear old Moon, the very same, 
 precisely the same, as when she peeped at 
 me between the willow trees on the marshes. 
 I kissed my hand to her ; she shone right 
 down into my chamber, and promised me, 
 that every night when she was out she would 
 take a peep at me. And she has honestly 
 kept her word — pity only that she can re- 
 main for so short a time ! 
 
 Every night she comes she tells me one 
 thing or another which she has seen either 
 that night or the night before. "Make a 
 sketch," said she, on her first visit, " of what
 
 WITHOUT PICTUREJJ. 6l 
 
 I tell thee, and thus thou shalt make a really- 
 beautiful picture-book !" 
 
 This I have done ; and in this way I might 
 give a new Thousand and One Nights in 
 pictures : but that would be too much ; those 
 which I have given have not been selected, 
 but are just as I heard them. A great, ge- 
 nial-hearted painter, a poet, or a musician, 
 may make more of them if he will ; that 
 which I present is only a slight outline on 
 paper, and mixed up with my own thoughts, 
 because it was not every night that the moon 
 came ; there was now and then a cloud be- 
 tween us,
 
 38 A PXCTURE-BOOK 
 
 FIRST EVENING. 
 
 Last night, — these are the Moon's owu 
 words, — I glided through the clear air of In- 
 dia; I mirrored myself in the Ganges. My 
 beams sought to penetrate the thick fence 
 which the old plantains had woven, and 
 which formed itself into an arch as firm as 
 the shell of the tortoise. A Hindoo girl, light 
 as the gazelle, beautiful as Eve, came forth 
 from the thicket. There is scarcely anything 
 so airy and yet so affluent in the luxuriance 
 of beauty, as the daughter of India. I could 
 see her thoughts through her delicate skin 
 The thorny lianas tore her sandals from her 
 feet, but she stepped rapidly forward ; the 
 wild beast which came from the river, where 
 it had quenched its thirst, sprang past her.
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 30 
 
 for the girl held in her hand a burning lamp. 
 I could see the fresh blood in her lingers as 
 she curved them into a shade for the flame. 
 She approached the river ; placed the lamp 
 on the stream ; and the lamp sailed away. 
 The flame flickered as if it would go out; 
 but still it burned, and the girl's dark, flash- 
 ing eyes followed it with her whole soul 
 beaming from under her long silken eyelashes ; 
 she knew that if the lamp burned as long 
 as she could see it, then her beloved was alive; 
 but if it went out, then that he was dead. 
 The lamp burned and fluttered, and her heart 
 burned and fluttered also ; she sank on her 
 knee and breathed a prayer : close beside 
 her, in the grass, lay a water-snake, but she 
 thought only of Brama and her beloved. " He 
 lives !" exclaimed she, rejoicingly, and the 
 mountains repeated her words, " he lives !"
 
 40 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 SECOND EVENING. 
 
 It was last evening, — said the Moon. — 
 that I peeped down into a yard inclosed 
 by houses. A hen was there with eleven 
 chickens ; a little g-irl was playing around 
 them ; the hen set up a cackling cry, she 
 was frightened, and spread out her wings 
 over her eleven young ones. With that, out 
 came the father of the child and scolded her. 
 This evening (it is only a few minutes since,) 
 the moon looked down again into that yard. 
 Everything was quite still ; presently, how- 
 ever, out came the little girl, and stole very 
 softly to the hen-house, lifted the latch, and 
 crept in to the hen and the chickens. The hen 
 and chickens set up a loud cry, and flew here 
 and there, and the little girl ran after thenv
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 41 
 
 Again the father came out, and now he was 
 v^ery angry indeed, and scolded her, and 
 pulled her out of the hen-house by her arm ; 
 she hung back her head, and there were large 
 tears in her blue eyes. 
 
 " What wast thou doing here ?" asked the 
 father. She wept ; " I only wanted," said she, 
 " to kiss the hen, and ask her to forgive me 
 for yesterday: but I did not dare to tell 
 thee." 
 
 The father kissed the sweet innocent on 
 her forehead; the moonlight fell lovingly 
 upon her eyes and mouth.
 
 42 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 THIRD EVENING. 
 
 In a narrow street, just by, — said the 
 Moon, — which is so very confined that only 
 just for one minute can my beams fall upon 
 the walls of the houses — and yet at this 
 moment I can look abroad and see the world 
 as it moves — into this narrow street I looked 
 and saw a woman. Sixteen years ago and 
 she was a child ; she lived away in the 
 country, and played inthe old pastor's garden. 
 The hedges of roses had grown out of bounds 
 for many years: they threw their wild un- 
 trimmed branches across the path, and sent 
 up long, green shoots into the apple-trees ; 
 there was only a rose here and there, anJ 
 they were not beautiful as the queen of flow- 
 ers may be, although the color and ths
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 43 
 
 odor were there. The pastor's httle daughter, 
 however, was a much more beautiful rose : she 
 sate upon her little wooden stool under the 
 wild untrimmed hedge, and kissed her doll 
 with the broken face. 
 
 Ten years later I saw her again ; I saw 
 her in the splendid dancing-hall ; she was 
 the lovely bride of a rich tradesman, and I 
 rejoiced in her good fortune. I visited her ivi 
 the still evening. Alas ! my rose had put 
 forth also wild shoots like the roses in the 
 pastor's garden ! 
 
 Every-day life has its tragedy — this evening 
 I saw the last act. Sick to death, she lay in 
 that narrow street, upon her bed. The wick- 
 ed landlord, her only protector, a man rude 
 and cold-hearted, drew back the curtain. 
 " Get up r said he, " thy cheeks are pale 
 and hollow ; paint thyself ! Get money, or I 
 will turn thee out into the streets ! Get up 
 quickly !" 
 
 " Death is at my heart !" said she, " oh ! 
 let me rest !" 
 
 He compelled her to rise ; painted her 
 cheeks, twined roses in her hair, placed her 
 at the window, with a burning hght beside
 
 44 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 her, and went his way. I glanced at her ; 
 she sate hiimoveable ; her hands fell upon hei 
 lap. The window blew open, so that one of 
 the panes of glass was broken ; but she 
 moved not ; the curtains of the window were 
 blown around her like a flame. She was 
 dead. From that open window the dead 
 preached powerfully ; my rose of the pastor's 
 garden !
 
 WITHOX^T PICTURES. 45 
 
 FOURTH EVENING. 
 
 I was last evening at a German play, — > 
 said the Moon ; — it was in a little city. The 
 theatre was a stable ; that is to say, the 
 stalls were made use of and decorated for 
 boxes, the old wood-work was covered over 
 with figured paper. There hung from the 
 low roof a little iron chandelier, and in order 
 that it might rise the moment the prompter's 
 bell rang (as is the custom in large theatres)^ 
 it was now covered by a tub turned upside 
 down. The bell rang, and the little iron 
 chandelier made a leap of half an ell, and by 
 that token people knew that the comedy had 
 begun. A young prince and his wife, who 
 were traveling through the town, were to be 
 present at the performance, and therefore it
 
 46 A PICTURE-BOCK 
 
 was a, very full house, excepting that under 
 the chandelier it was like a little crater. Not 
 a single soul sate there ; the chandelier kept 
 dropping its oil — drop ! drop ! It was so hot 
 in the little theatre that they were obliged to 
 open all the holes in the walls to let in fresh 
 air, and through all these peeped in lads and 
 lasses from the outside, although the police 
 sate by and dro^ e them off with sticks. 
 
 Close by the orchestra, people saw the 
 young princely couple sitting in two old arm- 
 chairs, which otherwise would have been 
 occupied by the burgomaster and his lady; 
 as it was, however, they sate upon wooden 
 benches, like other townsfolk. " One may 
 see that there are falcons above falcons !" was 
 Madame's silent observation ; and after this 
 all became more festal ; the chandelier made 
 a leap upwards, the people began counting on 
 their fingers, and I — yes, the Moon — was 
 present during the whole comedy.
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 47 
 
 FIFTH EVENING. 
 
 Yesterday, — said the Moon, — I looked 
 down upon busy Paris. I gazed into the 
 chambers of the Louvre. An old grandmother, 
 wretchedly clad, and who belonged to the 
 lower class, entered the large, empty throne- 
 room, accompanied by one of the under ser- 
 vants of the palace. It had cost her many 
 small oacrifices, and very much eloquence 
 had she used before she could be admitted 
 here. She folded her thin hands, and looked 
 as reverentially around her as if she had been 
 in a church. 
 
 " It was here !" she said, " here !" and she 
 approached the throne which was covered 
 with a cloth of rich velvet, trimmed with gold. 
 " There !" said she, " there !" and she bowed
 
 48 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 Ler knee and kissed the crimson velvet — 1 
 think she wept. 
 
 "It was not that velvet," said the at- 
 tendant, while a smile played round his 
 mouth. 
 
 " But still it was here !" said the woman, 
 "and it looked in this room just so!" 
 
 "Just so," rephed he ; " and yet it was not 
 just so either : the windows were beaten out ; 
 the doors were torn off their hinges, and 
 there was blood upon the floor! You can 
 say, however, for all that, that your son 
 died upon the throne of France !" 
 
 " Died !" repeated the old woman. 
 
 No more was said ; they left the hall ; 
 the shades of evening fell deeper, and the 
 moonlight streamed in with twofold bright- 
 ness on the rich velvet of the throne of 
 France. 
 
 I will tell thee a story. It was in the 
 revolution ot July, towards evening, on the 
 most brilliant day of victory, when every 
 house was a fortress, every window a redoubt, 
 the people stormed the Tuilleries. Even 
 women and children fought among the com- 
 batants ; they thronged in through the
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. AM 
 
 chambers and halls of the palace. A poor, 
 half-grown lad, in ragged clothing, fouglit 
 desperately among the elder warriors ; mor- 
 tally wounded at length by the thrusts of 
 many bayonets, he sank to the ground ; this 
 took place in the throne-room. They wrap- 
 ped the velvet about his wounds ; the blood 
 streamed over the royal purple. It was a 
 picture ! The magnificent hall ; the combat- 
 ing groups ; a rent banner on the floor ; the 
 tri-colored flag floating above the bayonets; 
 and upon the throne the poor lad, with his 
 pale, glorified countenance, his eyes turned 
 towards heaven ; his limbs stitfening in 
 death ; his uncovered breast ; his miserable 
 garments, and around these the rich folds of 
 the velvet, embroidered with silver lilies ! 
 
 As that boy lay in the cradle, it had been 
 foretold that he should die on the throne of 
 France ! His mother's heart had dreamed 
 of a new Napoleon. The moonbeams have 
 kissed the garland of everlasting upon his 
 grave ; her beams this night kissed the old 
 grandmother's forehead as she dreamed of 
 this picture — The poor lad upon the throne 
 of France ! 
 
 3 4
 
 50 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 SIXTH EVENING. 
 
 I have been in Upsala, — said the Moon. 
 She looked down upon the great castle, with 
 the miserable grass of its trampled fields. She 
 mirrored herself in the river Fyris, whilst the 
 steam-boat drove the terrified fish among the 
 reeds. Clouds careered along the moonlit 
 sky, and cast long shadows over the graves, 
 as they are called, of Odin, Thor, and Freya. 
 Names are carved in the scanty turf upon 
 the heights. Here there is no building-stone 
 in w^hich the visitors can hew their names ; 
 no walled fences on which they can paint 
 them ; they cut away, therefore, the turf, and 
 the naked earth stares forth in the large 
 letters of their names, which look like a huge 
 jet spread over the hill. An immortality 
 «'hich a fresh growth of turf destroys.
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 51 
 
 A man stood on the hill-top; he was a 
 poet. He emptied a silver-rimmed mead- 
 horn, and whispered a name, which he bade 
 the wind not to reveal ; a count's coronet 
 shone above it, and therefore he breathed it 
 low — the moonbeams smiled upon him, for a 
 poet's crown shone above his ! The noble 
 name of Eleonora d'Este is united to Tasso's. 
 I know where the rose of beauty grows. A 
 cloud passed before the moon. May no 
 cloud pass between the poet and his rose !
 
 52 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 SEVENTH EVENING. 
 
 Down by the seaside there extends a 
 wood of oaks and beecliep, fresh and fragrant 
 and every branch is visited by hundreds of 
 nightingales. Close beside is the sea, the 
 eternally-moving sea, and between the sea 
 and the wood runs the broad high-road. One 
 carriage after another rolled past. I follow- 
 ed them not ; my eye rested mostly on one 
 spot where was a barrow, or old warrior's 
 grave. Brambles and white thorns grew up 
 from among the stones. There is the poetry 
 of nature. Dost thou believe that this is felt 
 by every one ? Listen to what occurred there 
 only last night. 
 
 First of all, two rich countrymen drove 
 past. " There are some splendid trees there,''
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 53 
 
 said one. " There are ten loads of fire- wood 
 in eachj" replied the other. " If the winter be 
 severe, one should get forty rix dollars in 
 spring for the measure !" and they were gone. 
 
 " The road is abominable here," said an- 
 other traveller. " It is those cursed trees," re- 
 plied his neighbor ; " there is no circulation 
 of air here, excepting from the sea :" and they 
 advanced onward. 
 
 At that moment the diligence came by. 
 A-11 were asleep at the most beautiful point : 
 the driver blew his horn, but he only thought, 
 " I blow it capitally, and here it sounds well ; 
 what will they think of it ?" And with that 
 the diligence was gone. 
 
 Next came by two young country-fellows 
 on horseback. The champagne of youth cir- 
 culated through their blood ; a smile was on 
 their lips as they looked towards the moss- 
 grown height, and the dark bushes. " I went 
 there with Christine Miller," said one to the 
 other ; and they were gone. 
 
 The flowers sent forth their fragrance ; 
 every breeze slept ; the sea looked like a por- 
 tion of heaven spread out over a deep valley ; 
 a carriage drove along ; there were six per-
 
 54 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 sons in it, four of wliom were asleep ; the 
 fifth was thinking of his new summer-coal 
 which was so becoming to him ; the sixth 
 leaned forward to the driver, and asked 
 whether there was anything remarkable 
 about that heap of stones : " No," said the fel- 
 low, " it's only a heap of stones, but the trees 
 are remarkable ! " " Tell me about them," 
 said the other. " Yes, they are very remark- 
 able ; you see, in winter, when the snow co- 
 vers the ground, and everything, as it were, 
 goes out in a twinkling, then those trees serve 
 me as a landmark by which I can guide my- 
 self, and not drive into the sea; they are, 
 therefore, you see, very remarkable," — and by 
 this time the carriage had passed the trees. 
 
 A painter now came up ; his eyes flashed ; 
 he said not a word, he whistled, and the 
 nightingales sang, one louder than another ; 
 " hold your tongues !" exclaimed he, and noted 
 down with accuracy the colors and tints of the 
 trees; "blue, black, dark-brown." It would 
 be a beautiful painting ! He made a sketch, 
 as hints for his intended picture, and all the 
 time he whistled a march of Rossini's. 
 
 The last who came by was a poor girl ;
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 55 
 
 she sate down to rest herself upon the old 
 warrior's grave, and put her bundle beside 
 her. Her lovely, pale face mclined itself to- 
 wards the wood as she sate listening ; her 
 eyes flashed as she looked heaven-ward across 
 the sea ; her hands folded themselves, and 
 she murmured the Lord's Prayer. She did 
 not understand the emotions which penetrated 
 her soul ; but, nevertheless, in future years, 
 this moment, in which she was surrounded 
 by nature, will return to her much more 
 beautifully, nay, will be fixed more faithfully 
 in her memory, than on the tablets of the 
 painter, though he noted down every shade 
 of color. She went forward, and the moon- 
 beams lighted her path, until daylight kissed 
 her forehead I
 
 56 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 EIGHTH EVENING. 
 
 There were thick clouds over the sky; 
 the Moon was not visible ; I stood in twofold 
 solitude in my little room, and looked out 
 into the night, which should have been illu- 
 minated by her beams. My thoughts fled 
 far away, up to the great friend who told me 
 stories so beautifully every evening, and show- 
 ed me pictures. Yes, what has not she seen ! 
 She looked down upon the waters of the 
 deluge, and smiled on the ark as she now 
 smiles upon me, and brought consolation to 
 a new world which should again bloom 
 forth. When tht: children of Israel stood 
 weeping by the rivers of Babylon, she look- 
 ed mournfully down upon the willows where 
 their harps hung. When Romeo ascended
 
 "WITHOUT PICTURES. 57 
 
 to the balcony, and the kiss of love went like 
 a cherub's thought from earth, the round 
 Moon stood in the transparent atmosphere, 
 half concealed amid the dark cypresses. She 
 saw the hero on St. Helena, when from his 
 solitary rock he looked out over the ocean of 
 the world, whilst deep thoughts were at work 
 in his breast. Yes, what could not the Moon 
 relate ! The life of the world is a history for 
 her. This evening I see thee not, old friend ! 
 I can paint no picture in remembrance of thy 
 visit ! — and as I dreamingly looked up into 
 the clouds, light shone forth ; it was a moon- 
 beam, but it is gone again ; dark clouds float 
 past ; but that ray was a salutation, a friend- 
 ly evening salutation from the Moon.
 
 f>8 A PICTURB.-BOOK 
 
 NINTH EVENING. 
 
 Ag-ain the air is clear ; I had again mate- 
 rial for a sketch ; listen to that which I 
 learned from the Moon. 
 
 The birds of the polar region flew on- 
 ward, and the whale swam towards the 
 eastern coast of Greenland. Rocks covered 
 with ice and clouds shut in a valley in which 
 the bramble and whortleberry were in full 
 bloom. The fragrant lichen diffused its odor ; 
 the Moon shone faintly ; its crescent was pale 
 as the leaf of the water-lily, which, torn from 
 its stalk, has floated for weeks upon the water. 
 The northern-lights burned brightly ; theii 
 circle was broad, and rays went upwards 
 from them like whirling pillars of fire, as- 
 cending through the whole sphere of the
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 59 
 
 hedvens, in colors of green and crimson. 
 The inhabitants of the valley assembled for 
 dance and mirth, but they looked not witli 
 admiring eyes at the magnificent spectacle 
 which was familiar to them. " Let the dead 
 play at ball with the heads of the walrus !'' 
 thought they, according to their belief, and 
 occupied themselves only with the dance and 
 the song. In the middle of the circle, wrap- 
 ped in fur, stood a Greenlander with his 
 hand-drum, and accompanied himself as he 
 sung of seal-hunting, and the people answer- 
 ed in chorus with an " Eia ! eia ! a !" and 
 skipped round and round in their white furs 
 like so many bears dancing. With this, trial 
 and judgment began. They who were ad- 
 versaries came forwaid ; the plaintiff impro- 
 vised in a bold and sarcastic manner the 
 crime of his opponent, and all the while 
 the dance went on to the sound of the drum ; 
 the defendant replied in the same manner ; 
 but the assembly laughed and passed sen- 
 tence upon him in the m'eantime. A loud 
 noise was now heard from the mountains : 
 the icy cliffs were cleft asunder, and the huge 
 tumbling masses were dashed to atoms in
 
 60 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 their fall. That was a beautiful Greenland 
 summer-night. 
 
 At the distance of a hundred paces, there 
 lay a sick man within an open tent of 
 skins ; there was life still in his veins, but for 
 all that he must die, because he himself be- 
 lieved it, and the people all around him believed 
 It too. His wife, therefore, had sewn his cloak 
 of skin tightly around him, that she might 
 not be obliged to touch the dead ; and she 
 asked him — " Wilt thou be buried upon the 
 mountains in . the eternal snow ? I will 
 decorate the place with thy boat and thy 
 arrows. The spirits of the mist shall dance 
 away over it ! Or wouldst thou rather be 
 sunk in the sea ?" " In the sea !" whisper- 
 ed he, and nodded with a melancholy smile. 
 " There thou wilt have a beautiful summer- 
 tent," said the wife ; " there will gambol about 
 thee thousands of seals ; there will the walrus 
 sleep at thy feet, and the hunting will be 
 certain and merry !" The children, amid 
 loud bowlings, toie down the outstretched 
 skin from the window, that the dying man 
 might be borne out to the sea — the swelling 
 sea, which gave him food during his lifetime^ 
 and now rest in death.
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. bl 
 
 His funeral monument is the floating 
 mountain of ice, which increases night and 
 day. The seals slumber upon the icy blocks, 
 and the birds of the tempest whirl about it.
 
 62 A PICTURE-ROOK 
 
 TENTH EVENING. 
 
 I knew an old maid, — said the Moon, 
 she wore every winter yellow satin trim- 
 med with fur ; it was always new ; it was 
 always her unvarying fashion ; she wore 
 every summer the same straw bonnet, and, I 
 fancy, the very same blue-grey gown. She 
 never went anywhere but to one old female 
 friend of hers who lived on the other side the 
 street ; — during the last year, however, she 
 did not even go there — because her old friend 
 was dead. All solitarily sate my old maid 
 working at her window, in which, through 
 the whole summer, there stood 'beautiful 
 flowers, and in the winter lovely cresses, 
 grown on a little hillock of felt. During the 
 last month, however, she no longer sate
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 63 
 
 at her window; but I knew that she was 
 still alive, because I had not seen her set 
 out on that long journey of which she and 
 her friend had so often talked. "Yes," she 
 had said, " w hen I shall die, I shall have to 
 take a longer journey than I ever took 
 through my whole life; the family burial- 
 place lies above twenty miles from here ; 
 thither must I be borne, and there shall I 
 sleep w^ith the rest of my kin." 
 
 Last night a carriage drew up at her 
 door ; they carried out a coffin, and by that I 
 knew that she was dead ; they laid straw 
 around the coffin and drove away. There 
 slept the quiet old maid, who for the last 
 year had never been out of her house ; and 
 the carriage rattled along the streets and out 
 of the city, as if it had been on a journey of 
 pleasure. Upon the high road it went on yet 
 faster ; the fellow who drove looked over his 
 shoulder several times ; I fancy that he was 
 afr'aid of seeing her sitting in her yellow satin 
 upon the coffin behind him ; he therefore 
 urged on the horses thoughtlessly, holding 
 them in so tightly that they foamed at the 
 mouth : they were young and full of mettle :
 
 64 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 a hare ran across the road, and off they set 
 at full speed. The quiet old maid, who 
 from one year's end to another had moved 
 only slowly in a narrow circle, now that she 
 was dead, drove over stock and stone along 
 the open high-road. The coffin, which was 
 wrapped in matting, was shook off, and now 
 lay upon the road, whilst horses, driver, and 
 carriage, sped onward in a wild career. 
 
 The lark which flew upward singing 
 from the meadow, warbled its morning song 
 above the coffin ; it then descended and 
 alighted upon it, pecked at the matting with 
 its beak, as if it w^ere rending to pieces some 
 strange insect. 
 
 The lark rose upward again, singing in 
 the clear ether, and I withdrew behind the 
 rosy clouds of morning.
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 65 
 
 ELEVENTH EVENING. 
 
 I will give thee a picture of Pompeii, — 
 said the Moon. I have been in the 
 suburbs, the Street of Tombs, as it is called, 
 where once the rejoicing youths, with roses 
 around their brows, danced with the lovely 
 sisters of Lais. Now the silence of death 
 reigns here ; German soldiers in the pay of 
 Naples keep guard here, and play at cards 
 and dice. A crowd of foreigners, from the 
 other side of the mountains, wandered into 
 the city, accompanied by the guard. They 
 wished to see this city, arisen from the grave, 
 by the full clear hght of the Moon ; and I 
 showed to them the tracks of the chariot- 
 wheels in the streets paved with broad slabs 
 of lava ; I showed to them the names upon 
 
 f 5
 
 G6 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 the doors and the signs which still remain 
 suspended from the shop-fronts ; they looked 
 into the basin of the fountains ornamented 
 with shells and conches ; but no stream of 
 water leaped upwards : no song resounded 
 from the richly painted chambers, where 
 dogs of bronze guarded the doors. It was 
 the city of the dead ; Vesuvius alone still 
 thundered his eternal hymn. 
 
 We went to the temple of Venus, which 
 is built of dazzling white marble, with broad 
 steps ascending to its high altar, and a ver- 
 dant weeping-willow growing between its 
 columns. The air was exquisitely transpa- 
 rent and blue ; and in the back-ground 
 towered Vesuvius, black as night : fires 
 ascended from the crater of the mountain 
 like the stem of a pine-tree ; the illumined 
 cloud of smoke hung suspended in the still- 
 ness of night, like the pine-tree's crown, but 
 red as blood. Among the strangers there, 
 W3is a singer, a true and noble being, to whom 
 1 had seen homage paid in the greatest cities 
 of Europe. When the party arrived at the 
 amphitheatre, they all seated themselves upon 
 the marble steps, and again, as in former
 
 "WITHOUT PICTURES. 67 
 
 centuries, human beings occupied a portion 
 of that space. The scene was now the same 
 as in those former times ; the walls of the 
 theatre, and the two arches in the back- 
 ground, through which might be seen the 
 same decoration as then — Nature itself — 
 the mountains between Sorento and Amalfi. 
 The singer, for fun, threw herself back into 
 those ancient times, and sung; the scene 
 inspired her ; she reminded the hstener of the 
 wild horse of Arabia, when it snorts and 
 careers away, with its mane lifted by the 
 wind; there was the same ease, the same 
 security ; she brought to mind the agonized 
 mother at the cross of Golgotha ; there was 
 the same heartfelt, deep sorrow. Once more 
 resounded around her, as had resounded 
 thousands of years before, the plaudits and 
 acclamations of delight. "Happy! heavenly 
 gifted one !" exclaimed they all. Three 
 minutes after and the scene was changed; 
 every one had departed ; no tone was heard 
 any longer ; the whole party was gone ; but 
 the ruins still stood unchanged, as they will 
 Btand for centuries, and no one knows of the
 
 by A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 applause of the moment — of the beautiful 
 singer — of her tones and her smile. All is 
 past and forgotten ; even to me is this 
 hour a perished memory.
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 69 
 
 TWELFTH EVENING. 
 
 I peeped in at a critic's window, — said the 
 Moon, — in a city of Germany. The room 
 was filled with excellent furniture, books, and 
 a chaos of papers ; several young men were 
 sitting there; the critic himself stood at his 
 desk ; two small books, both by young 
 authors, were about to be reviewed. " One 
 of these," said he, " has been sent to me ; I 
 have not read it though — but it is beautifully 
 got up ; what say you of its contents ?" 
 
 " O," said one of the young men, who was 
 himself a poet, " there is a deal that is good 
 in it ; very little to expunge ; but, he is a 
 young man, and the verses might be better ! 
 There is a healthy tone in the thoughts — 
 but they are, after all, such thoughts as every-
 
 70 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 bodv has ! — but as to that, where does one 
 find anything new? You may very well 
 prais'.e him, but I never believe that he will 
 turn out anything of a poet. He has read a 
 deal, however ; is an extiaordinary orientalist, 
 and has sound judgment. He it was who 
 wrote that beautiful critique of my Fan- 
 cies of Domestic Life. One ought to be 
 gentle towards a young man." 
 
 '• But he is a thorough ass !' said another 
 gentleman in the room ; " nothing worse in 
 poetry than mediocrity, and he does not get 
 above that !" 
 
 " Poor fellow," said a third, " and his aunt 
 makes herself so happy about him. She it 
 was, Mr. Critic, who obtained so many sub- 
 scribers' names to your last translation." 
 
 "The good woman! yes, I have given a 
 short notice of the book. Unmistakeable ta- 
 lent ! a welcome gift ! a flower out of the 
 garden of poesy ; beautifully got out, and so 
 on. But the other book — he shall catch it ! I 
 had to buy it. — I hear it is praised ; he has 
 genius, don't you think?" 
 
 " That is the general opinion," said the 
 poet, " but there is something wild about it."
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 71 
 
 " It will do him good to find fault and cut 
 him up a little, else he will be getting too good 
 an opinion of himself !" 
 
 " But that is unreasonable," interrupted a 
 fourth ; " don't let us dwell too much on tri- 
 fling faults, but rejoice in the good — and ther 
 is much here — though he thrusts in good and 
 bad altogether." 
 
 " Unmistakeable talent!" wrote down the 
 critic ; " the usual examples of caielessness. 
 That he also can write unlucky verse, may 
 be seen at page five-and-twenty, where two 
 hiatuses occur : the study of the ancients to 
 be recommended, and so on." 
 
 I went away, said the Moon, — and peep- 
 ed through the window into the aunt's house 
 where sate our honored poet, the tame one, the 
 worshipped of all the guests, and was happy. 
 
 " I sought out the other poet, the wild one, 
 who also was in a great party of one of his 
 patrons, where they talked about the other 
 poet's book. " I shall also read yours !" said 
 Mecienas, " but, hcjnestly speaking, you know 
 I never say to you what I do not mean ; I do 
 not expect great things from it. You are too 
 wild for me ! too fantastic — but I acknow-
 
 72 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 ledge thai as a man you are highly respecta- 
 ble!" 
 
 A young girl who sat in a corner read in 
 a book : — 
 
 To the dust goes the poet's glory, 
 And common-place to fame !— 
 
 That is the trite old story, 
 And 'twill ever be the same !
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 73 
 
 THIRTEENTH EVENINQ. 
 
 The Moon told me as follows : — ^Therc 
 lie two peasants' cottages by the road through 
 the w^ood. The doors are low, and the win- 
 dows are irregular, but all around them grow 
 buckthorn and barberries ; the roof is mossy 
 and grown over with yellow-flowered stone- 
 crop and houseleek ; nothing but cabbages 
 and potatoes grow in the little garden, but 
 there grows in the hedge an elder-tree, and 
 under this sate a little girl ; and there she 
 sate with her brown eyes riveted upon an old 
 oak tree between the houses. This tree has 
 a tall and decayed hole, the top of it is sawn 
 off, and there the stork has built his nest ; 
 there he stood and clattered with his beak. 
 
 g
 
 /4 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 A little boy came out of the cottage and 
 placed himself by the little girl's side ; they 
 were brother and sister. 
 
 " What are you looking at ? " cried he. 
 
 " I am looking at the stork," she replied ; 
 " the neighbor told me that this evening the 
 stork will bring us either a little brother or 
 sister ; and so now I will stand and watch 
 when they come." 
 
 " The storks do not bring anything," said 
 the boy. " The neighbor's wife told me the 
 same thing ; but she laughed while she said 
 it, and so I asked her if she durst say as sure 
 as heaven, to it, but she dared not, and there- 
 fore I know that the story about the stork is 
 only what they tell us children." 
 
 " Oh, really ! " said the Httle girl. 
 
 " And I'll tell thee what," said the boy ; 
 " It is our Lord himself that brings little ba- 
 bies ; he has them under his coat ; but no- 
 body can see our Lord now, and therefore we 
 do not see him when he comes." 
 
 At that same moment the twigs of the 
 elder-tree were moved; the children folded 
 their hands and looked one at the other, for 
 they thought that it was our Lord passing
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 76 
 
 along with the little ones. They stood side 
 by side, and took hold of each other's hand. 
 
 The house-door opened, and out came the 
 neighbor. 
 
 " Come in now," said she, " and see what 
 the stork has brought ; he has brought a lit- 
 tle brother !" 
 
 The children nodded their heads ; they 
 knew very well that the little brother was 
 come.
 
 76 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 FOURTEENTH EVENING. 
 
 I passed over Luneburg Heath, — said the 
 Moon, — a solitary house stood by tlie road- 
 side ; some leafless trees grew beside it, and 
 among these sung a nightingale which had 
 lost its way. In the severity of the night it 
 must perish ; that was its song of death 
 which I heard. With the early twilight 
 there came along the road a company of em- 
 igrant peasants, who were on their way to 
 Bremen or Hamburgh, to take ship for Amer- 
 ica, where happiness — the so much dreamed- 
 of happiness — they expected should spring 
 up for them. The women carried their 
 youngest children upon their backs, the older 
 ones sprang along by their side ; a poor mis- 
 erable horse dragged a car, on which were a
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 77 
 
 few articles of household furniture. The cold 
 wind blew ; the little girl clung closer to her 
 mother, who looked up to my round waning 
 face and thought upon her bitter want. 
 
 Her thoughts were those of the whole 
 company, and therefore the red glimmering 
 of daylight was like the evangile of the sun 
 of prosperity which sho'^ild again rise. They 
 heard the song of the dying nightingale ; it 
 was to them no false prophet, but a foreteller 
 of happiness. The wind whistled, but they 
 understood not the song ; " Sail securely 
 across the sea ! thou hast paid for the long 
 voyage with all that thou art possessed of; 
 poor an.^ helpless shalt thou set foot on 
 thy land of Canaan. Thou mayst sell thy- 
 self, thy wife, and thy child, yet you shall 
 none of you suffer long. Behind the broad 
 fragrant leaf sits the goddess of death ; her 
 kiss of welcome breathes consuming fever in- 
 to thy blood, far away, far away, over the 
 swelling waters !'' 
 
 The emigrant company listened joyfully 
 to the song of the nightingale, which they 
 thought announced to them happiness. Day 
 beamed from behind light clouds, and the
 
 78 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 peasant people went over the heath to the 
 church; the darkly-apparelled women, with 
 their milk-white linen around their heads, 
 looked like figures which had stepped forth 
 from the old church paintings ; all around 
 them was nothing but the vast and death 
 like landscape, the withered brown heath — 
 dark, leafless plains, in the midst of white 
 sand-banks. The women carried their hymn- 
 books in their hands, and advanced towards 
 the church. Oh, pray ! pray for them who 
 wander onward to their graves on the other 
 Bide of the heaving water !
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 79 
 
 FIFTEENTH EVENING. 
 
 I know a theatrical Clown, — said the 
 Moon, — the public applauds when it sees 
 him ; every one of his movements is comic, 
 and throws the house into convulsions of 
 laughter, and yet he is not moved thereby : 
 that is his peculiarity. When he was yet a 
 child, and played with other boys, he was 
 already a punchinello. Nature had made 
 him one ; had given him one lump upon his 
 back, and another upon his breast. The 
 inner man, however — the spiritual — that was 
 really well-formed. No human being had 
 deeper feeling, or greater elasticity of mind 
 than he. The theatre was his ideal-world. 
 Had he been slender and well proportioned, 
 then he might have become a first-rate tragic
 
 80 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 actor, for the great, the heroic, filled his soul ; 
 but he was obliged to be the Clown. His 
 sufferings, even, and his melancholy increased 
 the comic expression of his strongly-marked 
 countenance, and excited the laughter of .the 
 crowded public who applauded their favorite. 
 The pretty little Columbine was friendly and 
 kind to him, and yet she preferred marrying 
 Harlequin. It would have been too comic in 
 reality to have married the Clown ; like the 
 union of " Beauty and the Beast." When the 
 Clown Avas most out of humor, she was the only 
 one who could make him smile — nay, even 
 burst into peals of laughter. First of all she 
 would be melancholy with him, then rather 
 cheerful, and at last full of fun. 
 
 "I know what it is thou art in want of P 
 said she — " yes, it is this love !" and so he was 
 obliged to laugh. 
 
 " Me and love !"' exclaimed he. " That 
 would be a merry thing ! How the public 
 would applaud." 
 
 " It is love !" continued she ; and added, 
 with comic pathos — " It is me that you love !" 
 
 " Yes ! and yet there are people who say 
 there is no such thing as love !" The poor
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 81 
 
 Clown sprung up into the air, he was so 
 diverted : his melancholy was now gone. 
 And yet she had spoken the truth : he did 
 love her — loved her like the sublime and great 
 in art. 
 
 On her wedding-day he was more amusing 
 than ever. At night he wept : had the public 
 seen his distressed countenance then, they 
 would have applauded him ! 
 
 A few days ago Columbine died. On the 
 day of her funeral Harlequin's appearance 
 was excused on the stage, for he really was a 
 mourning husband. The manager, however, 
 was obliged to give something more merry 
 than common, in order that the public should 
 not miss too much the lovely Columbine and 
 the light-bodied Harlequin, and for this reason 
 it behoved the Clown to be doubly entertain- 
 ing. He danced and sprung aloft with de- 
 spair at his heart, and the public clapped their 
 hands and shouted — " Bravo, bravissimn '" 
 The clown was called for when the perlorm- 
 ance was over. Oh, he was invaluable ! 
 
 This evening, after the play, the poor 
 little man walked out from the city tc the 
 solitary churchyard. The garland of flowers 
 6
 
 82 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 was withered on Columbine's grave ; he sate 
 down. It was something worth painting. 
 His hands under his chin, his eyes fixed upon 
 the moon ; it was hke a monumental figure. 
 A clown upon a grave ! very peculiar and 
 very comic ! Had the public seen their favorite 
 then, how they would have shouted — " Bravo, 
 Clown ! bravo, bravissimo !"
 
 WiTHOUT PICTURES. 83 
 
 SIXTEENTH EVENING 
 
 Listen to what the Moon said. — I have 
 seen the cadet, become an officer, dress him- 
 self for the first time in his splendid uniform j 
 I have seen the young girl in her beautiful 
 ball-dress ; the young princely bride happy in 
 her festival attire ; but the felicity of none of 
 these could equal that which this evening I 
 saw in a child, a little girl of four years. 
 They had just put her on a new blue frock 
 and a new pink bonnet. The beautiful things 
 were scarcely on when they called for candles, 
 because the moon-light through the window 
 was too faint ; they must have other light. 
 There stood the little girl as stiff as a doll, 
 her arms stretched out from her frock, her 
 fingers spread out wide from each other — and
 
 84 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 oh ! how her eyes, her whole being, beamed 
 with deUght ! 
 
 "To-morrow you shall go out into the 
 street," said the mother ; and the little one 
 looked up towards her bonnet and down to- 
 wards her frock, and smiled joyfully. 
 
 " Mother," said she, " what will the dogs 
 think, when they see me so beautifully dress- 
 ed !"
 
 UUTHOUr PICTURES. 8 J 
 
 SEVENTEENTH EVENING. 
 
 I have, — said the Moon, — told thee about 
 Pompeii, that corpse of a city amongst hving 
 cities. 1 know another, one still more 
 strange ; not the corpse, but the ghost of a 
 city. On all sides where the fountain splashes 
 into a marble basin, I seem to hear stories of 
 the floating city. Yes, the fountain-streams 
 can tell them ! The billows on the shore 
 sing of them. Over the surface of the sea 
 there often floats a mist, that is the widow's 
 weeds. The sea's bridegroom is dead ; his 
 palace and city are now a mausoleum. Do3t 
 thou know this city? The rolling of the 
 chariot-wheels, or the sound of the horse's 
 hoof, were never heard in its streets. The 
 fish swims, and like a spectre glides the black 
 gondola over the green w^ater.
 
 86 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 I will, — continued the Moon, — show thee 
 the forum of the city, the city's great square, 
 and then thou wilt think it to be a city for 
 adventures. Grass grows between the broad 
 flag-stones, and thousands of tame pigeons 
 fly circling in the twilight around the lofty 
 tower. On three sides thou art surrounded 
 by colonnades. The Turk, with his long 
 pipe, sits silently beneath them ; the hand- 
 some Greek-lad leans against a pillar, and 
 looks up to the elevated trophies, the tall 
 masts, the memorial of the ancient power. 
 The flag hangs drooping like mourning 
 crape ; a girl stands there to rest herself, she 
 has set down the heavy buckets of water, 
 whilst the yoke on wliich she sustained them 
 rests upon her shoulders, and she supports 
 herself on the column of victory. That is 
 not a fairy palace but a church which thou 
 seest before thee ! the gilded doirie, the gilded 
 balls around it, shine in my beams ; the 
 magnificent bronze horses upon it have 
 traveled about like bronze horses in a fairy 
 tale ; they have traveled thither, away from 
 their place, and then again back! Seest 
 thou the beautiful painting on walls and win-
 
 "WITHOUT PICTURES. 87 
 
 dow panes ? It is as if some genius had done 
 the will of a child and thus decorated this ex- 
 traordinary temple. Dost thou see the winged 
 lion upon the pillar ? Gold yet shines upon 
 it, but the wings are bound, the lion is dead 
 because the king of the sea is dead ; the vast 
 halls are empty, and where once hung costly 
 pictures the naked walls are now seen. 
 Lazzaroni sleep under the arches, where at 
 one time only the high noble dared to tread. 
 Either from the deep well or from the chamber 
 of the leaden roof, near to the Bridge of 
 Sighs, sounds forth a groan, whilst tamborines 
 are heard from the painted gondola as the 
 bridal-ring is cast from the glittering Bucen- 
 taur to Adria, the queen of the sea. Adiia, 
 wrap thyself in mist ! let the widow's veil 
 cover the breast, and cast it over thy bride- 
 groom's mausoleum ; — the marble-builder, tlie 
 spectre-like, Yenice."
 
 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 EIGHTEENTH EVENING. 
 
 I looked down upon a great theatre, — said 
 the Moon, — the whole house was full of spec- 
 tators, because a new actor made his debut; 
 my beams fell upon a little window in the 
 wall ; a painted face pressed its forehead 
 against the glass ; it was the hero of the 
 nigiit. The chivalric beard curled upon his 
 chin ; l)ut there were tears in the man's eyes, 
 because he had been hissed — hissed with 
 reason. Poor fellow ! but the realm of art 
 will not endure the feeble. He deeply felt 
 and passionately loved art, but she did not 
 love him. 
 
 The prompter's bell rung ; — according to 
 the piece, the hero stepped forth with a bold 
 and determined air — thus had he to appeal
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 89 
 
 Defore a public which burst into peals of 
 laughter. — The piece was ended ; I saw a 
 man wrapped in a cloak steal away down the 
 steps; it was he, the spirit-crushed cavalier; 
 the sex van ts of the theatre whispered to each 
 other as he passed. I followed the poor 
 wretch home to his chamber. Hanging is 
 such an ignominious death, and people have 
 not always poison at hand. I knoAV that he 
 thought of both. He looked at his pale face 
 in the glass ; half closed his eyes to see 
 whether he would look handsome as a corpse. 
 It is possible for people to be unfortunate in 
 the highest degree, and yet in the highest 
 degree vain at the same time. He thought 
 upon death, upon self-murder ; I believe he 
 wept in pity of himself — he wept bitterly, 
 and when people have had a good fit of cry- 
 ing they do not kill themselves. 
 
 A year has passed since then. A comedy 
 was acted, but this time in a little theatre, by 
 a poor vagrant company. I saw again the 
 well-known face, the painted cheeks, the 
 curled beard. He again looked up to me 
 and smiled — and yet for all that he had been 
 hissed — hissed scarcely a minute before in 
 h
 
 90 A PICTUilE-BOOK 
 
 that miserable theatre, hissed by that miser 
 able audience ! 
 
 This very evening a poor hearse has 
 driven out of the gate of the town ; not a 
 single being accompanied it. There lay upon 
 it a suicide, our painted and derided hero. 
 The driver was the only attendant ; no one 
 followed, no one except the Moon. In an 
 angle of the churchyard wall is the self- 
 murdered laid ; nettles will soon spring up 
 thereon ; there will grave-diggers cast thorns 
 and weeds from other graves.
 
 WTT-ROTTT PICTURES. ^1 
 
 NINETEENTH EVENING. 
 
 I come from Rome, — said the Moon, — 
 there, in the middle of the city, upon one of 
 the seven hills, lie the ruins of the palace of 
 the Caesars ; a wild fig-tree grows in a chink 
 of the wall, and cov^ers its nakedness with its 
 broad, gray-green leaves ; the ass wanders 
 over the heaps of rubbish among tlie laurel 
 hedges, and feasts on the golden thistle. 
 From this spot, whence the Roman eagle 
 once flew forth, went, and saw, and conquer- 
 ed, the entrance is now through a small, mis- 
 erable house, smeared with clay, between 
 two broken pillars ; tendrils of the vine hang 
 down, like a mourning garland, over the nar- 
 row window. An old woman, with her little 
 grand-daughter lived there ; they ruled now
 
 92 A PICTURK-BUUA 
 
 in the palace of the Caesars, and showed to 
 strangers the buried treasures. There remains 
 of the rich throne-room nothing but a naked 
 wall ; the shadow of the black cypress points 
 to the place where the throne stood. The 
 earth lies to the depth of some feet above the 
 broken floor ; the little girl, now the daugh- 
 ter of the palace of the Caesars, often sits 
 there upon her little stool, when the evening 
 bell rings. The keyhole in the door, close 
 beside her, she calls her balcony, and through 
 it she sees over half of Rome, as far as the 
 mighty dome of St. Peter's. 
 
 It was silent as ever, this evening, and 
 the little girl came homeward in my full, 
 bright light. She carried upon her head an 
 antiquely-formed earthen jug filled with wa- 
 ter ; her feet were bare ; the black petticoat 
 and the little chemise sleeves were in tatters ; 
 I kissed the child's beautiful round shoulder, 
 her black eyes, and her dark shining hair. 
 She mounted up the steps of the house, which 
 were steep, and were formed of broken pieces 
 of wall and a shattered capital. The bright- 
 colored lizard glided ti)nidly past her feet, 
 but she was not frightened ; s]\e raised her
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 9S 
 
 hand to ring at the door ; there hung- a hare's 
 foot in the packthread, which is now the bell- 
 pull at the palace of the Caesars. She stood 
 stock-still for a moment ; what was she think- 
 ing about ? Perhaps of the beautiful Jesus- 
 child clothed in gold and silvej, in the chapel 
 Delow, where the silver lamp was burning, 
 and where her little-girl friends were singing 
 in chorus as she knew ; I cannot tell if it was 
 of this she thought ! but again she made a 
 movement, and stumbled ; the earthen jug 
 fell from her head and was shivered in pieces 
 upon the broken marble pavement. She 
 burst into tears ; the beautiful daughter of 
 the palace of the Caesars wept over the poor, 
 broken, earthen jug ; she stood with her bare 
 feet and wept, and dared not to pull at the 
 pack-thread string, the bell-pull at the palace 
 of the Caesars.
 
 94 A PTCTURK-BOOK 
 
 TWEIS-TIETH EVENING. 
 
 For upwards of fourteen days the Moon 
 had not shone ; now I saw it again, round 
 and bright, standing above the slowly ascend- 
 ing clouds ; listen to what the Moon related 
 to me. I followed a caravan from one of the 
 cities of Fez; it made a halt upon one of the 
 salt plains, which glittered like an ice-field, 
 and where one little stretch only was cover- 
 ed with moveable sand. The eldest of the 
 caravan, with his water-flask hanging at his 
 belt, and a bag of unleavened bread around 
 his neck, marked out a square in the sand 
 with his staff, and wrote therein some words 
 of the koran ; within this consecrated spot 
 the whole caravan drew up. A young mer- 
 chant, a child of the sun, as 1 could see by
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 95 
 
 his eye and by his beautiful form, rode 
 thoughtfully upon his white and spirited 
 charger. Perhaps he was thinking of his 
 young and lovely wife. It was only two 
 days since the camel, adorned with skins and 
 costly shawls, bore her, a beautiful bride, 
 around the walls of the city ; drums and bag- 
 pipes resounded, women sang, and shouts of 
 joy were sent forth from those who surround- 
 ed the camel, the bridegroom shouted the 
 gayest and the loudest of them all, and now 
 — now he rode with the caravan across the 
 desert. I accompanied them for many nights ; 
 saw them rest beside the wells, among the 
 crested palm trees ; they stabbed with a knife 
 the fallen camel and cooked the flesh with 
 fire. My beams cooled the burning sand ; 
 my beams showed them the black masses of 
 rock, islands of death in the immense ocean 
 of sand. No hostile power had they met 
 with upon their trackless path ; no storm 
 was abroad ; no pillars of sand carried death 
 over the caravan. 
 
 The lovely wife j^rayed to heaven for her 
 husband and father. " Are they dead?" in- 
 quired she from my gilded horn. "Are they
 
 96 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 dead ? " inquired slie from my beaming ere* 
 cent. The desert now lies behind them ; on 
 this very evening they rest under the tall 
 palm trees, around which circle the storks 
 with their long wings ; the pelican rushes 
 down upon them from the branches of the 
 mimosa. The luxuriant vegetation is tramp- 
 led down by the many feet of the elephants; 
 a troop of negro people come onward from a 
 distant fair ; women with copper buttons in 
 their black hair, and in indigo-colored petti- 
 coats drive on the laden oxen on which the 
 naked black children lie asleep. One negro 
 leads in a thong a lion's cub, which he had 
 purchased ; they approach the caravan ; the 
 young mercJiant sits immoveable, silent ; he 
 thinks upon his lovely wife, dreams in this 
 negro land of his white fragrant flower on 
 the other side the desert ; he lilts his head — 
 A cloud passed over the Moon, and again a 
 cloud. I heard no more that nijrlit.
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 97 
 
 TWENTY-FIRST EVENING. 
 
 I saw a little girl weeping, — said the Moon, 
 — she wept because of the wickedness of the 
 world. She had had a present made her of 
 the most beautiful doll — Oh, it was a doll, so 
 lovely and delicate, not at all fitted to strug- 
 gle with misfortune ! But the little girl's 
 brother, a tall lad, had taken the doll and set 
 it up in a high tree in the garden, and then 
 had run away. The little girl could not 
 reach the doll, could not help it down, and 
 therefore she cried. The doll cried too, and 
 stretched out her arms from among the green 
 branches, and looked so distressed. Yes, this 
 was one of the misfortunes of life of which her 
 mamma had so often spoken. Oh, the poor 
 doll ! It already began to get dusk, and then 
 
 i 7
 
 98 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 dismal night would come ! And was she to 
 sit up there in the tree, and by herself all 
 night? No, the little girl would not endure 
 the thought of that. 
 
 " I will stay with you !" said she, although 
 she was not at all courageous. She began 
 already to see quite plainly the little elves, in 
 their tall pointed hats, peeping from between 
 the bushes, and down the dusky alleys danc- 
 ed tall spectres, which came nearer and near- 
 er. She stretched her hands up towards the 
 tree in which the doll sate, and they laughed 
 and pointed their fingers at her. Ah, how 
 terrified was the little girl ! " But if one has 
 not done anything wrong," thought she, " no- 
 tliing can do one any harm ! Have I done 
 anything wrong ?" 
 
 She thought. "Ah, yes!" said she, "I 
 laughed at the poor duck with the red rag 
 tied round its leg ; it hobbled so comically, 
 and that made me laugh ; but it is wrong to 
 laugh at poor animals." 
 
 "Have you laughed at poor animals?" 
 inquired she, looking up to the doll, and it 
 seemed to her as if the doll shook her head.
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 
 
 TWENTY-SECOND EVENING. 
 
 I looked into the Tyrol, — said the Moon,— 
 I caused the dark fir-trees to cast strong sha 
 dows upon the rocks. I saw the holy Chris 
 topher, with the child Jesus upon his shoul- 
 der, as he stood there against the wall of the 
 houses, colossal in size from the foundation 
 to the gable. The holy Florian carries water 
 to the bin-ning house, and Christ hangs bleed- 
 ing upon the great cross by the wayside. 
 These are old pictures for the new generation : 
 I have, nevertheless, seen them depart one 
 after another. 
 
 Aloft, in the projection of the mountains, a 
 solitary nunnery hangs like a swallow's nest 
 Two sisters stood up in the tower, and rung 
 the bell. They were both young, and there-
 
 100 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 fore they looked out beyond the mountains 
 into the world. A traveling carriage drove 
 below along the high road, the postillion's 
 horn resounded, and the poor nuns riveted 
 with kindred thoughts their eyes upon it : 
 there were tears in the eyes of the younger of 
 the two. The horn sounded fainter and 
 fainter : the bell of the nunnerv overpowered 
 its dying tones.
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 101 
 
 TWENTY-THIRD EVENING. 
 
 Listen to what the Moon said. — Many 
 years ago, in Copenhagen, I peeped in at the 
 window of a poor chamber. The father and 
 mother slept, but the httle son slept not. I 
 saw the flowered cotton bed-hangings move, 
 and the child peeped out. 1 fancied at first 
 that he was looking at the Bornholm time- 
 piece, it was so beautifully painted with red 
 and green, and a cuckoo sate on the top of 
 it ; there were heavy leaden weights, and the 
 pendulum with its shining brass surface, 
 went to and fro, " dik, dik !" but it was not 
 that which he was looking at — no, it was his 
 mother's spinning-wheel, which stood under 
 the clock. That was the most precious piece 
 of furniture in the whole house to the boy, 
 but he did not dare to touch it, for if he did.
 
 102 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 he got a rap on the fingers. All the time hia 
 mother was spinning he would sit beside her, 
 and watch the humming spole and the turn- 
 ing wheel, and he had the while his own pe- 
 culiar thoughts about them. Ah ! if he could 
 only dare thus to spin on the wheel ! Father 
 and mother were asleep ; he looked at them, 
 he looked at the wheel, and presently after- 
 wards one little naked foot was pushed out 
 of bed, and then another naked foot, then two 
 little legs — thump ! stood he upon the floor. 
 He turned himself once round, however, to 
 see whether father and mother slept. Yes, 
 that they did ! and so he went softly, very 
 softly — in nothing but his short little shirt — 
 to the wheel, and began to spin. The cord 
 flew ofl*, and the wheel ran round faster than 
 ever. T kissed his yellow hair and his light 
 blue eyes ; it was a lovely picture. At that 
 moment the mother awoke — the curtains 
 moved — she looked out and thought about 
 elves, or some other kind of little sprite. 
 
 " In the name of Jesus !" said she ; and full 
 of alarm, awoke her husband. He opened 
 his eyes, rubbed them with his hands, and 
 looked at the busy little creature.
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 103 
 
 " It is actuall}^ Bertel !" said he. 
 
 I withdrew my gaze horn that poor cham- 
 l/er — I can see so far around me ! I looked at 
 that very moment into the hall of the Vatican 
 where the marble gods stand. I illumined 
 the group of the Laocoon ; the stone seemed 
 to sigh. I pressed my quiet kiss upon the 
 muses' breast; I fancy it heaved. But my 
 beams tarried longest upon the group of the 
 Nile, upon the colossal god. He lay full of 
 thought, supporting himself upon sphinxes : 
 dreaming there as if he were thinking of the 
 fleeting year ; little loves played around him 
 with crocodiles. In the horn of plenty sate, 
 with folded arms, and gazing upon the great 
 river-god, a very little love, a true picture of 
 the little boy with the wheel ; it was the same 
 expression. Living and charming, here stood 
 the little marble child ; and yet more than a 
 thousand times had the wheel of the year 
 gone round since it stood forth in stone. Just 
 so many times as the boy in the poor cham- 
 ber turned the wheel has the great wheel of 
 time hummed round, and still shall hum, be- 
 fore the age creates another marble-god like 
 this.
 
 104 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 See, it is now many years since then. Last 
 evening, — continued the Moon, — I looked 
 down upon a creek in the east coast of Zea 
 land. Beautiful woods were there, lofty 
 mounds, an old mansion-house with red walls, 
 Fwans in the moat, and a little trading" town, 
 with its church among the apple-orchards. A 
 fleet of boats, each bearing a torch, glided 
 over the unruffled water ; it was not to catch 
 fish that the torches were burning — no ! every- 
 thing was festal ! Music sounded, a song 
 was sung ; and in the middle of one of the 
 boats stood he whom they honored, a tall, 
 strong man in a large cloak ; he had blue 
 eyes, and long white hair. I knew him, and 
 thought upon tlie Vatican, and the Nile-group, 
 and all the marble gods ; I thought upon the 
 poor little chamber where little Bertel sate in 
 his short shirt and spun. 
 
 The w^heel of time has gone round ; new 
 gods have ascended from the marble. " Hur- 
 rah !" resounded from the boats — " Hurrah for 
 Bertel Thorwaldsen !"
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES, 105 
 
 TWENTY-FOURTH EVENING. 
 
 I will give thee a picture from Frankfort, 
 — said the Moon : — I took notice of one build- 
 ing in particular. It was not the birth-place 
 of Goethe, nor was it the old town- house, 
 where, through the grated windows, are still 
 exhibited the horned fronts of the oxen which 
 were roasted and given to the people at the 
 emperor's coronation, but it was the house of 
 a citizen painted green and unpretending, at 
 the corner of the narrow Jews' street. It 
 was the house of the Rothschilds. I looked 
 in at the open door; the flight of steps was 
 strongly lighted ; servants stood there with 
 burning lights in massive silver candlesticks, 
 and bowed themselves lowly before the old 
 woman who was carried forth down the steps 
 in a sedan chair. The master of the house
 
 106 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 stood ^ith bare head, and impressed reveren- 
 tially a kiss upon the old woman's hand. It 
 was his mother. She nodded kindly to him, 
 and to the servants ; and they carried her out 
 into the narrow, dark street, into a little 
 house, where she lived, and where her child 
 was born, from whom all her good fortune 
 had proceeded. If she were now to leave the 
 despised street and the little house, then, per- 
 haps, good fortune would leave him ! — that 
 was her belief. 
 
 The Moon told nothing more. Her visit 
 to me was too short this evening ; but I 
 thought of the old woman in the narrow, de- 
 spised street. Only one word about her — 
 and she had her splendid house near the 
 Thames ; only one word about her — and her 
 villa was situated on the Gulf of Naples. 
 
 " Were I to leave the mean little house 
 where my son's good fortune began, then, 
 perhaps, good fortune would leave him ! " 
 
 This is a superstition, but of that kind 
 which only requires, when the history is 
 known and the picture seen, two words as 
 a superscription to make it intelligible — A 
 Mother,
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 107 
 
 TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. 
 
 It was yesterday, in the morning twilight, 
 — these were tlie Moon's own words, — not a 
 chimney was yet smoking in the whole city, 
 and it was precisely the chimneys that I was 
 looking at. From one of these chimneys at 
 that very moment came forth a little head, 
 and then a half body, the arms of which 
 rested on the coping stone of the chimney. 
 '^ Hurrah !" It was a little chimney-sweeper 
 lad, who, for the first time in his life, had 
 mounted a chimney, and had thus put forth 
 his head. " Hurrah !" Yes, there was some 
 difference between this and creeping upwards 
 in the narrow chimney ! The air blew so 
 fresh ; he could look out over the whole city 
 lo the green wood. The sun had just risen
 
 108 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 round and laige, it looked brightly into his 
 face, which beamed with happiness, although 
 it was famously smeared with soot. 
 
 ••' Now the whole city can see me, and the 
 moon can see me, and the sun also !" and 
 with that he flourished about his brush.
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 109 
 
 TWENTY-SIXTH EVENING. 
 
 Last night I looked down upon a city in 
 China, — said the Moon. My beams illumin- 
 ed the long naked walls which form the 
 streets ; here and there, to be sure, is a door, 
 but it is closed, because the Chinese troubled 
 not themselves about the world outside. 
 Impenetrable Venetian shutters covered the 
 windows of the houses behind the walls ; • 
 from the temple alone light shone faintly 
 through the window-glass. I looked in — 
 looked in upon the brilliant splendor ; from 
 floor to ceiling was covered with pictures in 
 strong colors and rich gilding, which rep- 
 resented the w^orks of the gods on earth. 
 Their statues themselves stood in every 
 niche, but mostly concealed by brilliant dra-
 
 ilO A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 peries and suspended fans ; and before every 
 divinity — they were all of tin — stood a little 
 altar with holy water, flowers, and burning 
 wax-lights. Supreme in the temple, however, 
 stood Fu, the supreme divinity, dressed in a 
 garment of silken stuff of the holy yellow 
 color. At the foot of the altar sate a living 
 figure, a young priest. He appeared to be 
 praying, but in the midst of his prayer he 
 sunk into deep thought ; and it certainly was 
 sinful, because his cheeks burned, and his 
 head bowed very low. Poor Souihoung ! 
 Perhaps he was dreaming about working in 
 one of the little flower-gardens which lie be- 
 fore every house behind the long wall of the 
 street, and which was a far pleasanter occu- 
 pation to him than trimming the wax-lights 
 in the temple ; or was he longing to be seated 
 at the well- covered board, and between every 
 course to be wiping his lips with silver paper? 
 or was i. a sin so great that if he had dared 
 to utter it, the heavenly powers must have 
 punished him with death ? Were his thoughts 
 bold enough to take flight with the ship of 
 the barbarians to their home, the remote 
 England ? No, his thoughts did not fly so
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. Ill 
 
 far ; and yet they were as sinful as the warm 
 blood of youth could make them — sinful here, 
 in the temple before the statues of Fu and 
 the holy deities. I knew where his thoughts 
 were. In the most distant corner of the city, 
 upon the flat, flagged roof, the parapet of 
 which seemed to be made of porcelain, and 
 where stood the beautiful vases in which 
 grew large white campanulas, sate the youth- 
 ful Pe, with her small roguish eyes, her pout- 
 ing lips, and her least of all little feet. Her 
 shoes pinched, but there was a more severe 
 pinching at her heart; she raised her delicate, 
 blooming arms, and the satin rustled. Be- 
 fore her stood a glass bowl, in which were four 
 gold fish : she stirred the water very softly 
 with a beautifully painted and japaned stick. 
 Oh, so slowly slie stirred it because she was 
 deep in thought ! Perhaps she was thinking 
 how rich and golden was the apparel of the 
 fish, how safely they lived in the glass bowl, 
 and how luxuriously they were fed ; and yet, 
 for all that, how much more happy they 
 might be in freedom : yes, the idea distressed 
 the beautiful Pe. Her thoughts passed away 
 from her home ; her thoughts went into the
 
 112 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 church, but it was not for the sake of the gods 
 that they went there. Poor Pe ! poor Soui- 
 houng ! Their earthly thoughts met, but 
 my cold beam lay like a cherub's sword be- 
 tween them.
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 113 
 
 TWENTY-SEVENTH EVENING. 
 
 There was a calm, — said the Moon — the 
 water was as transparent as the pure air 
 through which I floated. I could see, far 
 below the surface of the sea, the strange 
 plants which, like giant trees in groves, 
 heaved themselves up towards me with stems 
 a fathom long, whilst the fish swam over 
 their tops. High up in the air flew a flock 
 of wild swans, one of which sank with 
 wearied wings lower and lower: its eyes 
 followed the airy caravan, which every mo- 
 ment became more distant ; its pinions were 
 expanded widely, and it sank, like a soap- 
 bubble in the still air ; it touched the surface 
 of the water, bowed back its head between 
 its wings, and lay still, like a white lotus 
 
 k
 
 114 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 upon the calm Indian Sea. The breeze blew 
 and Ufted up the bright surface of the water, 
 which was brilUant as the air ; there rolled 
 on a large, broad billow— the swan hfted its 
 head, and the shining water was poured, like 
 blue fire, over its breast and back. 
 
 The dawn of day illumined the red clouds, 
 and the swan rose up refreshed, and flew 
 towards the ascending sun, towards the blue 
 coast, whither had betaken themselves ihe airy 
 caravan ; but it flew alone— with longing in 
 its breast, flew alone over the blue, the foam- 
 ing water !
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 115 
 
 TWENTY-EIGHTH E7ENING. 
 
 I will now give thee a picture from Swe- 
 den, said the Moon. — In the midst of black 
 pine woods, not far from the melancholy- 
 shore of Roxe, lies the old convent-church of 
 Wreta. My beams passed through the grat- 
 ing in the walls into the spacious vault where 
 kings sleep in great stone coffins. On the 
 wall above them, is placed, as an image of 
 earthly magnificence, a king's crown, made 
 of wood, painted and gilded, and held firm 
 by a wooden pin, which is driven into the 
 wall. The worm has eaten through the 
 gilded wood, the spider has spun its web from 
 the crown to the coffin ; it is a mourning 
 banner, perishable, as mourning for the dead ! 
 
 How still they sleep ! I remember them so
 
 116 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 well ! 1 see now the bold smile on the lips 
 which expressed joy or sorrow so strongly, 
 so decisively. When the steam-vessel, like 
 an enchanted ship, sails hither from the 
 mountains, many a stranger comes to the 
 church, visits this vault, and inquires the 
 names of the kings, and these names sound 
 forgotten and dead ; he looks upon the worm- 
 eaten crown, smiles, and if he be of a pious 
 turn of mind, there is melancholy in his 
 smile. 
 
 Slumber ye dead ! the Moon remembers 
 you. The Moon sends in the night her cold 
 beams to your quiet kingdom, over which 
 hangs the wooden crown !
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 117 
 
 TWENTY-NINTH EVENING. 
 
 Close beside the high road. — said the Moon, 
 — hes a Uttle public house, and just opposite to 
 it is a great coach house. As the roof was 
 under repair, I looked down between the 
 beams and saw through the open trap-door into 
 the great desolate space ; the turkey slept up- 
 on the beam, and the saddle was laid to rest 
 in the empty manger. In the middle of the 
 place stood a travelling-carriage, within which 
 the gentlefolks were sound asleep, whilst the 
 horses were feeding, and the driver stretched 
 his limbs, although I know very well that he 
 slept soundly more than half the way. The 
 door of the fellow's chamber stood open, and 
 the bed looked as if he had tumbled neck and 
 heels into it ; the candle stood on the floor,
 
 118 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 and burned low in the socket. The wind 
 blew cold through the barn ; and the time 
 was nearer to daybreak than midnight. Upon 
 the floor within the stall, slept a family of 
 wandering musicians ; father and mother 
 were dreaming about the burning drop in the 
 bottle ; the pale little girl, she dreamed about 
 the burning tears in her eyes. The harp lay 
 at their head, and the dog at their feet
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 119 
 
 THIRTIETH EVENING. 
 
 It was in a little trading town — said the 
 Moon — I saw it last year ; but that is no- 
 thing, for I saw it so plainly. This evening 
 I read about it in the newspaper, but it was 
 not nearly as plain there. 
 
 Down in the parlor of the public-house sate 
 the master of the bear, and ate his supper, 
 liams, the bear, stood outside, tied to the fag- 
 got-stake. The poor bear ! he would not 
 have done the least harm to any soul, for all 
 his grim looks. Up in the garret there lay, 
 in the bright light of the Moon, three little 
 children : the eldest was six years old, tti 
 youngest not more than two. " Clap, clap P 
 came something up the stairs ! What could it 
 be ? The door sprang open — it was Bams,
 
 \20 A PICTURE-BOOK 
 
 the great rough bear ! He had grown tired 
 of standing out there in the yard, and he now- 
 found his way up tlie steps. I saw the whole 
 thing, — said the Moon. The children were 
 very much frightened at the great grim-look- 
 ing beast, and crept each one of them into his 
 corner ; but he found them all out, rubbed 
 them with his snout, but did them no harm 
 at all ! " It is certainly a big dog !" thought 
 they ; and with that they patted him. He 
 laid himself down on the floor, and the least 
 boy tumbled upon him, and played at hiding 
 his yellow curly head among his thick black 
 hair. The eldest boy now took his drum and 
 made a tremendous noise, and the bear rose 
 up on his hind legs and began to dance. It 
 was charming ! Each boy took his weapons ; 
 the bear must have a gun, too, and he held 
 It like a regular soldier. What a glorious 
 comrade they had found ! and so they march- 
 ed — " One, two ! one, two !" 
 
 Presently the door opened ; it was the chil- 
 dren's mother. You should have seen her — 
 seen her speechless horror ; her face as 
 white as a wall, her half-opened mouth, her
 
 WITHOUT PICTURES. 121 
 
 Staring eyes ,- the least of the children, how- 
 ever, nodded so joyfully, and shouted with all 
 his might — " We are playing at soldiers ! " 
 And with that, up came the bear's master ! 
 1
 
 8T ORIE 8 
 
 123
 
 MY BOOTS. 
 
 There is a street in Rome which is called 
 Via della Purifizazione ; y^i nobody can 
 say of it that it is purified. It goes up-hill 
 and down-hill ; cabbage stalks and old bro- 
 ken pots lie scattered about it ; the smoke 
 comes culling out of the door of the public- 
 house/ and the lady who lives opposite to me 
 — yes, I cannot help it, but it is true — the la- 
 dy on the opposite side, she shakes her sheets 
 every morning out of the window. In this 
 street there generally live many foreigners ; 
 this year, however, fear of the fever and ma- 
 lignant sickness keeps most of them in Na- 
 ples and Florence. I lived quite alone in a 
 great big house ; neither the host nor hostess 
 ever slept there at night. 
 120
 
 126 MY BOOTS. 
 
 It was a great, big, cold house, with a little 
 wet garden, in which there grew only one 
 row of peas, and a half-extinguished gilly- 
 flower; and yet, in the very next garden, 
 which lay higher, there were hedges of 
 monthly roses, and trees full of yellow lem- 
 ons. These last, spite of the incessant rain, 
 looked vigorous ; the roses, on the contrary, 
 looked as if they had lain for eight days in 
 the sea. 
 
 The evenings were so lonesome in the cold 
 large rooms ; the black chimney yawning be- 
 tween the windows, and without were rain 
 and mist. All the doors were fastened with 
 locks and iron bolts ; but what good could 
 that do ? The wind whistled in a tone sharp 
 enough to cut one in two through the cracks 
 in the doors ; the thin faggots kindled in the 
 chimney, but did not send out their warmth 
 very far ; the cold stone floor, the damp walls 
 and the lofty ceiling seemed only suited to 
 the summer t-eason. 
 
 If I would make myself right comfortable, 
 I v/as obliged t(> put on my traveling fur- 
 boots, my great coat, my cloak, and my fur- 
 cap, — yes, and then I could do tolerably well.
 
 MY BOOTS. 127 
 
 To be sure, the side next the fire was half 
 roasted ; but then, in this world, people must 
 learn to turn and twist themselves about, and 
 I turned myself like a sunflower. 
 
 The evenings were somewhat long ; but 
 then the teeth took it into their heads to get 
 up a nervous concert, and it was extraordi- 
 nary with what alacrity the proposal was ac- 
 cepted. A downright Danish toothache can- 
 not compare itself to an Italian one. Here 
 the pain played upon the very fangs of the 
 teeth, as if there sate a Liszt or a Thall)erg 
 at them ; now it thundered in the fore- 
 ground, now in the background. There 
 was an accordance and strength in the whole 
 thing which at last drove me beside myself. 
 
 Besides the evening concerts, there were 
 also nocturnal concerts ; and during such a 
 one, while the windows rattled in the storm, 
 and rain poured down in torrents, I threw a 
 half-melancholy glance upon my night-lamp. 
 My writing implements stood just by, and I 
 saw, quite plainly, that the pen was dancing 
 along over the paper as if it were guided by 
 an invisible hand ; but it was not so ; it was 
 guided by its own hand ; it wrote from dicta-
 
 128 MY BOOTS. 
 
 tion ; and who dictated ? Yes, it may sound 
 incredible, but is the truth for all that. And 
 when I say so, people will believe me. It 
 was my boots, — my old Copenhagen boots — 
 which, being soaked through and through 
 with rain-water, now had their place in the 
 chimney, near to the red glowing fire. Whilst 
 I was suffering from toothache, they were 
 suffering from dropsy ; they dictated their 
 own autobiography, which, as it seems to me, 
 may throw some light upon the Italian win- 
 ter of 1840-41. 
 
 The Boots said, — 
 
 " We are two brothers. Right and Left Boot. 
 Our earliest recollection is of being strongly 
 rubbed over with wax, and after that highly 
 polished. I could see myself reflected in my 
 brother ; my brother could see himself reflect- 
 ed in me ; and we saw that we were only 
 one body, — a sort of Castor and Pollux ; a 
 pair of together-grown Siamese, which fate 
 has ordained to live and die, to exist, and 
 not to exist, together. We were, both of us, 
 native Copenhageners. 
 
 The shoemaker's apprentice carried us out 
 into the world in his ov/n hands, and this
 
 MY BOOTS. 129 
 
 gave rise to sweet, but alas ! false hopes of 
 our destination. The person to whom we 
 were thus brought, pulled us on by the eais, 
 until we fitted to his legs, and then he went 
 down stairs in us. We creaked for joy ! 
 When we got out of doors it rained — we kept 
 creaking on, however j but only for the first 
 day. 
 
 "Ah ! there is a great deal of bad weather 
 to go through in this world ! We were not 
 made for water boots, and therefore did not 
 feel happy. No brushing ever gave us again 
 the polish of our youth ; the polish which 
 we possessed when the shoemaker's appren- 
 tice carried us through the streets in his hand. 
 Who can describe our joy, therefore, when 
 we heard it said one morning, that we were 
 going into foreign parts ! yes, were even go- 
 ing to Italy, to that mild, warm country, 
 where we shoi.ld only tread upon marble and 
 classic ground ; drink in the sunshine, and, 
 of a certainty, recover the brightness of our 
 youth. 
 
 " We set out. Through the longest part 
 of our journey we slept in the trunk, and 
 dreamed about the warm countries. In the
 
 130 MY BOOTS. 
 
 cities or the country, we made good use of 
 our eyes ; it was, however, bad weather, and 
 wet there also as in Denmark. Our soles 
 were taken ill of palsy, and in Munich were 
 obliged tc be taken off, and we had a new 
 pair ; but these were so well done, that they 
 looked like native soles. 
 
 " ' Oh, that we were but across the Alps ! ' 
 sighed we; there the weather is mild and 
 good.' 
 
 " We came to the other side of the Alps, 
 but we found neither mild nor good weather. 
 It rained and blew ; and when we trod upon 
 marble, it was so icy-cold, that it forced the 
 cold perspiration out of our soles ; wherever 
 we trod we left behind a wet impression. 
 In the evenings, however, it was very amus- 
 ing when the shoe-boys at the hotels collected 
 and numbered the boots and shoes ; and we 
 were set among all these foreign companions 
 and heard them tell about all the cities where 
 they had been. There was once a pair of 
 beautiful red morocco boots, with black feet, 
 I think it was in Bologna, that told us all 
 about their ascending Vesuvius, where their 
 feet were burned off with the subterranean
 
 MY BOOTS. 131 
 
 heat. All ! we could not help longing to die 
 8uch a death. 
 
 " ' If we were but across the Appenines ! 
 If we were but in Rome !' sighed we. And 
 we came thither ; but for one week after an- 
 other have been tramping about in nothing 
 but wet and mud. People must see every- 
 thing ; and wonderful sights and rainy 
 weather, never come to an end. Not a sin- 
 gle warm sunbeam has refreshed us ; the 
 cold wind is always whistling round us. Oh 
 Rome ! Rome ! For the first time this night 
 do we inhale warmth in this blessed chimney 
 corner, and we will inhale it till we burst ! 
 The upper leathers are gone already, — no- 
 thing remains but the hind quarters, and they 
 will soon give way. Before, however, we die 
 this blessed death, we wish to leave our his- 
 tory behind us ; and we wish also that our 
 corpses should be taken to Berlin, to repose 
 near to that man who had the heart and the 
 courage to describe ' Italy as it is,' — even by 
 the truth-loving Nicolai." 
 
 And with these words the boots crumbled 
 to pieces. 
 
 All was still: my night-lamp had gone
 
 132 MY BOOTS. 
 
 out. I myself slumbeied a little ; and when 
 towards morning I awoke, I found it was all 
 a dream ; but w4ien I glanced towards the 
 chimney-corner, I saw the boots all shrivelled 
 up, standing like mummies beside the cold 
 ashes ! I looked at the paper which lay near 
 to my lamp — it was grey paper, full of ink 
 spots —the pen unquestionably had been over 
 it, but the words had all run one into another ; 
 however the pen had written the Memoirs of 
 the Boots on grey paper. That, however, 
 which was legible I copied out ; and the peo 
 pie will be so good as to recollect that it is 
 not I, but my boots, which make this com- 
 plaint of La bella Italia.
 
 SCENES ON THE DANUBE. 
 
 To-day is Sunday. 
 It is Sunday in the calendar ; it is Sunday 
 in God's beautiful nature ! Let us go out into 
 the hills toward Mehadia, the most dehght- 
 fuUy situated of all the watering-places in 
 Hungary. What a mass of flowers are in 
 bloom in the tall green grass ! What gushes 
 of sunshine upon the wood-covered sides of 
 the hills ! The air is blue and transparent. 
 To-day it is Sunday, and therefore all the 
 people whom we meet are in holiday attire. 
 The smooth, black, plaited hair of the girls is 
 adorned with real flowers ; with a spray of 
 laburnum, or a dark red carnation ; the white 
 chemise sleeves are embroidered with green 
 and red ; the petticoat resembles a deep 
 fringe of red, blue, and yellow : even the old 
 133
 
 134 TO-DAY IS SUNDAY. 
 
 grandmother is dressed in fringe, and wears 
 a flower in her white Unen head-band. 
 Young men and boys have roses in theit 
 hats ; the very least is arrayed in his best, 
 and looks splendid ; his short shirt hangs 
 outside his dark-colored breeches ; a spray of 
 laburnum is wreathed round his large hat, 
 which soon half buries his eyes. Yes, it is 
 Sunday to-day ! 
 
 What a solitude there is in these hills ! 
 Life and health gush in water out of these 
 springs ; music resounds from the stately, 
 large pump-room ; the nightingale sings in 
 the clear sunshine, among the fragrant trees, 
 Avhere the wild vines climb from branch to 
 branch. 
 
 Thou wonderful nature ! to me the best, 
 the holiest of churches ! In the midst of thee 
 my heart tells me that " this day is Sunday !" 
 
 We are again in Orsova. The brass ball 
 upon the church-tower shines in the sun : 
 the door is open. How solitary it is within. 
 The priest stands in his robes and lifts up his 
 voice ; it is Father Adam ; little Antonius 
 kneels before him, and swings to and fro the 
 censer ; the elder boy, Hieronymus, has his
 
 TO-DAY IS SUNDAY. 135 
 
 place in the middle of the church, and repre- 
 sents the whole Armenian congregation. 
 
 In front of the church, in the market-place, 
 where the lime-trees are in blossom, there is 
 a great dance of young and old. In the 
 middle of the circle stand the musicians ; one 
 blows the bag-pipe, the other scrapes the 
 fiddle. The circle twists itself first to the 
 right, then to the left. Everybody is in their 
 utmost grandeur, with fringe, flowers, and 
 bare feet. To-day it is Sunday ! 
 
 Several little lads run about in nothing but 
 a shirt ; upon their heads, however, they wear 
 a large man's hat, and in the hat a flower. 
 Ofiicial people, gentlemen and ladies all 
 dressed in the fashion of Vienna, walk about 
 to look at the people, the dancing people. 
 The red evening sun illumines the white 
 church tower, the amber-colored Danube, and 
 the wood-crowned mountains of Servia : may 
 it shine also in my song when I sing of it ! 
 How beautiful and animated ! How fresh 
 and peculiar ! Everything indicates a holiday. 
 Everything shows that to-day is Sunday !
 
 136 at drencova 
 
 At Drencova. 
 
 About sunset I walked alone in the wood 
 near the Httie town, where I fell in with some 
 gipseys who had encamped round a fire for 
 the night. When I returned back through 
 the Avood, I saw a handsome peasant-lad 
 standing among the bushes, who bade me 
 good evening in German. I asked him if this 
 were his native tongue ; he replied in the 
 negative, and told me that he commonly 
 spoke in the Wallacian language, but that 
 he had learned German in the school. To 
 judge by his dress he appeared very poor • 
 but everything that he wore was so clean 
 his hair so smoothly combed ; his eyes beam* 
 ed with such an expression of happmess ; 
 there was something so thoughtful and so 
 good in his countenance, as I rarely have 
 seen in a child before. I asked him if he 
 were intended for a soldier, and he replied, 
 " Yes, we are all of us soldiers here , but I 
 wish to be an officer, and therefore I learn 
 everything that I can." There was a some- 
 thing in his whole manner so innocent, so 
 noble, that actually, if I had been rich, I
 
 AT DRENCOVA. 137 
 
 would have adopted that boy. I told him 
 that he certainly must be an officer ; and that 
 no doubt he would be one if he only zealously 
 strove after it, and put his trust in God. 
 
 In reply to my question, whether he knew 
 where Denmark was, he thought with him- 
 self for some time, and then said, " I fancy it 
 is a long way from here — near Hamburgh." 
 
 I could not give an alms to this boy ; he 
 seemed too noble to receive charity ; I asked 
 him, therefore, to gather me a few flowers ; 
 he ran aAvay readily, and soon gathered me 
 a beautiful nosegay. I took and said I shall 
 buy these flowers. In that way he received 
 payment ; he blushed deeply, and thanked 
 me sweetly. He told me that his name was 
 Adam Marco. I took one of my cards out of 
 my pocket, and gave it to him, saying, 
 " Some day when you are an officer, and per- 
 haps may come to Denmark, then inquire 
 for me, and your happiness will give me great 
 pleasure. Be industrious, and put your trust 
 in God ! There is no knowing what may 
 happen." 
 
 Nevej* did any unknown child make sucn 
 a strong impression on me at the first meet 
 
 m
 
 138 AT DRENCOVA. 
 
 ing, as did this. His noble deportment, his 
 thoughtful innocent countenance, were his 
 best patent of nobility. He must become an 
 officer ; and I will do my little towards it ; 
 committing it, it is true, to the hand of 
 chance. And here I make my bow to every 
 noble, rich, Hungarian lady, who, by any 
 chance, may read this book, and who, per- 
 haps, for the " Improvisatore " and " The 
 Fiddler," may have a kindly thought; the 
 poet beseeches of her — or if he have, unknown 
 to himself, a wealthy friend in Hungary, or 
 in Wallacia, he beseeches also of him, to 
 think of Adam Marco in Drencova, and to 
 help your little countryman forward, if he 
 deserve it ! 
 
 The Swineherds. 
 
 Before a cottage, plastered of mud and 
 straw, sat an old swineherd, a real Hungarian, 
 and consequently a nobleman.* Very often 
 
 * The number of indigent nobles in Hungary is very 
 great and tney live like peasants, in the most miserable 
 huts.
 
 THE SWINEHERDS. 139 
 
 had he laid his hand upon his heart, and 
 Baid this to himself. The sun burnt hotly, 
 and therefore he had turned the woolly side 
 of his sheepskin outwards ; his silver white 
 hair hung around his characteristic brown 
 countenance. He had got a new piece of 
 linen, a shirt, and he was now preparing it for 
 wear, according to his own fashion, which 
 was this : he rubbed the fat of a piece of 
 bacon into it ; by this means it would keep 
 clean so much the longer, and he could turn 
 it first on one side and then on the other. 
 
 His grandson, a healthy-looking lad, whose 
 long black hair was smoothed with the same 
 kind of pomatum which the old man used to 
 his shirt, stood just by, leaning on a staff. A 
 long leathern bag hung on his shoulder. He 
 also was a swineherd, and this very evening 
 was going on board a vessel, which, towed 
 by the steamboat Eros, was taking a freight 
 of pigs to the imperial city of Vienna. 
 
 " You will be there in five days," said the 
 old man. " When I was a young fellow, hke 
 you, it used to take six weeks for the journey. 
 Step by step we went on through marshy 
 roads, through forests, and over rooks. The
 
 140 THE SWINEHERDS. 
 
 pigs, which at the beginning of the journey, 
 were so fat that many of them died by the 
 way, became thin and wretched before we* 
 came to our destination. Now, the world 
 strides onward : everything gets easier !" 
 
 " We can smoke our pipes," said the youth ; 
 "he in the sun in our warm skin-cloaks. 
 Meadows and cities glide swiftly past us ; the 
 pigs fly along with us, and get fat on the 
 journey. That is the life !'' 
 
 " Everybody has his own notions," replied 
 the old man ; " I had mine. There is a 
 pleasure even in difficulty. When in the 
 forest I saw the gypsies roasting and boiling, 
 I had to look sharply about me, to mind that 
 my best pigs did not get into their clutches. 
 Many a bit of fun have I had. I had to use 
 my wits. I was put to my shifts ; and some- 
 times had to use my fists as well. On the 
 plain between the rocks, where, you know, 
 the winds are shut in, I drove my herd : I 
 drove it across the field where the invisible 
 castle of the winds is built. There was 
 neither house nor roof to be seen : "he castle 
 of the winds can only be felt. 1 drove the 
 herd through the invisible chambers cind halls.
 
 THE SWINEHERDS. 141 
 
 I could see it very well ; the wall was storai 
 the door whirlwind ! Such a thing as that 
 is worth all the trouble ; it gives a man 
 something to talk about. What do you come 
 to know, you who lie idling in the sunshine, 
 in the great floating pig-sty ?" 
 
 And all the time the old man was talking, 
 he kept rubbing the bacon-fat into his new 
 shirt. 
 
 "Go with me to the Danube," returned 
 the youth ; " there you will see a dance of 
 pigs, all so fat, till they are ready to burst. 
 They do not like to go into the vessel ; we 
 drive them with sticks ; they push one 
 against another ; set themselves across ; 
 stretch themselves out on the earth, run 
 hither and thither, however fat and heavy 
 they may be. That is a dance ! You would 
 shake your sides with laughing ! What a 
 squealing there is ! All the musicians in 
 Hungary could not make such a squealing 
 as that out of all their bagpipes, let them 
 blow as hard as they would ! How beauti- 
 fully bright you have made your shirt look • 
 you can't improve it. Go with me — now do 
 —to the Danube ! I'll give you something"
 
 142 THE SWINEHERDS. 
 
 to drink, grandfather ! In four days I snail 
 be in the capital: what pomp and splendor 
 I shall see there I I will buy you a pair of 
 red trowsers and plaited spurs 1" 
 
 The old swineherd proudly lifted his head , 
 regarded the youthful Magyar with flashing 
 eyes ; hung his shirt on the hook in the wall 
 of the low mud cottage, in which there was 
 nothing but a table, a bench, and a wooden 
 chest ; he nodded with his head, and mutter- 
 ed to himself. " Nemes-ember van, nemes- 
 ember en es vagyok.*' (He is a nobleman : 
 I am also a nobleman !>
 
 THE REAL PRINCESS. 
 
 There was once a Prince who wished to 
 many a Princess ; but then she must be a 
 real Princess. He travelled all over the world 
 in hopes of finding such a lady ; but there 
 was always something wrong. Princesses 
 he found in plenty; but whether they were 
 real Princesses it was impossible for him to 
 decide, for now one thing, now another, seem- 
 ed to him not quite right about the ladies. 
 At last he returned to his palace quite cast 
 down, because he wished so much to have a 
 real Princess for his wife. 
 
 One evening a fearful tempest arose, it 
 thundered and lightened, and the rain poured 
 down from the sky in torrents : besides, it 
 was as dark as pitch. All at once there was 
 heard a violent knocking at the door, and the 
 143
 
 144 THE REAL PRINCESS. 
 
 old King, the Prince's father, went out him- 
 self to open it. 
 
 It was a Princess who was standing outside 
 the door. AVhat with the rain and the wind, 
 she was in a sad condition ; the water trickled 
 down from her hair, and her clothes clung to 
 her body. She said she was a real Princess. 
 
 " Ah ! we shall soon see that !" thought 
 the old Q,ueen-mother ; however, she said not 
 a word of what she was going to do; but 
 went quietly into the bed-room, took all the 
 bed-clothes off the bed, and put three little 
 peas on the bedstead. She then laid twenty 
 mattrasses one upon another over the three 
 peas, and put twenty feather beds over the 
 mattrasses. 
 
 Upon this bed the Princess was to pass the 
 night. 
 
 The next morning she was asked how she 
 had slept. " Oh, very badly indeed !" she re- 
 plied. " I have scarcely closed my eyes the 
 whole night through. I do not know what 
 was in my bed, but I had something hard 
 under me, and am all over black and blue. 
 It has hurt me so much !" 
 
 Now it was plain that the lady must be a
 
 THE REAL PRINCESS. 145 
 
 real Princess, since she had been able to feel 
 the three little peas through the twenty mat- 
 trasses and twenty feather beds. None but a 
 real Princess could have had such a delicate 
 sense of feeling. 
 
 The Prince accordingly made her his wife ; 
 being now convinced that he had found a real 
 Princess. The three peas were however put 
 into the cabinet of curiosities, where they are 
 still to be seen, provided they are not lost. 
 
 Wa-s aot this lady a. real delicacy.
 
 THE SWINEHERD. 
 
 There was once a poor Prince, who had 
 a kingdom ; his kingdom was very small, but 
 still quite large enough to marry upon ; and 
 he wished to marry. 
 
 It was certainly rather cool of him to say 
 to the Emperor's daughter, Will you have 
 me ? But so he did ; for his name was re- 
 nowned far and wide ; and there were a hun- 
 dred princesses who would have answered, 
 "Yes !" and " Thank you kindly." We shall 
 see what this princess said. 
 
 Listen ! 
 
 It happened that where the Prince's fainer 
 lay buried, there grew a rose tlee — a most 
 beautiful rose tree, which blossomed only once 
 in every five years, and even then bore only 
 one flower, but that was a rose ! It smelt sc 
 146
 
 THE SWINEHERD. 147 
 
 sweet to at all cares and sorrows were forgotten 
 by him who inhaled its fragrance. '.'/7 '' y^ 
 
 And furthermore, the Prince had a night- 
 ingale, who could sing in such a manner that 
 it seemed as though all sweet melodies dwelt 
 in her Uttle throat. So the Princess was to 
 have the rose, and the nightingale ; and they 
 were accordingly put into lar^ silver cask- 
 ets, and sent to her. 
 
 The Emperor had them brought into a 
 large hall, where the Princess was playing at 
 " Visiting," with the ladies of the court ; and 
 when she saw the caskets with the presents, 
 she clapped her hands for joy. 
 
 " Ah, if it were but a little pussy-cat !" said 
 she ; but the rose tree, with its beautiful rose 
 came to view. 
 
 " Oh, how prettily it is made ! " said all the 
 court ladies. 
 
 " It is more than pretty," said the Emperor, 
 " it is charming !" 
 
 But the Princess touched it, and was al- 
 most ready to cry. 
 
 " Fie, papa !" said she, " it is not made at 
 all, it is natural !" 
 
 " Let us see what is in the other casket,
 
 148 THE SWINEHERD. 
 
 before we get into a bad humor," said the 
 Emperor. So the nightingale came forth 
 and sang so dehghtfully that at first no one 
 could say anything ill-humored of her. 
 
 '■^ Superb e ! charmant P exclaimed the 
 ladies ; for they all used to chatter French, 
 each one worse than her neighbor. 
 
 "How much the bird reminds me of the 
 musical box that belonged to our blessed 
 Empress," said an old knight. " Oh yes ! 
 these are the same tones, the same execu- 
 tion." 
 
 "Yes! yes!" said the Emperor, and he 
 wept like a child at the remembrance. 
 
 " I will still hope that it is not a real bird," 
 said the Princess. 
 
 " Yes, it is a real bird," said those who had 
 brought it. " Well then let the bird fly," said 
 the Princess ; and she positively refused to 
 see the Prince. 
 
 However, he was not to be discouraged ; 
 he daubed his face over brown and black ; 
 pulled his cap over his ears, and knocked at 
 the door. 
 
 " Good day to my lord, the Emperor P' said 
 he. " Can I have employment at the palace Y 
 
 'tJyJ'^i^J^,. J^hfiMJiM 
 
 T- 

 
 THE SWINEHERD. 149 
 
 " Why, yes," said the Emperor, " I want 
 Bome one to take care of the pigs, for we have 
 a great many of them." 
 
 So the Prince was appointed " Imperial 
 Swineherd." He had a dirty Uttle room close 
 by the pig-sty ; and there he sat the whole 
 day, and worked. By the evening he had 
 made a pretty little kitchen-pot. Little bells 
 were hung all round it ; and when the pot 
 was boiling, these bells tinkled in the most 
 charming manner, and played the old melody, 
 
 " Acb ! du lieber Augustin, 
 Allest iat weg, weg, weg I"* 
 
 But what was still more curious, whoever 
 held his finger in the smoke of the kitchen- 
 pot, immediately smelt all the dishes that 
 were cooking on every hearth in the city— 
 this, you see, was something quite different 
 from the rose. 
 
 Now the Princess happened to walk that 
 way ; and when she heard the tune, she 
 stood quite still, and seemed pleased ; for 
 she could play " Lieber Augustine ;" it was 
 
 * " Ah ! dear Augustine ! 
 All is gone, gone, gone ]"
 
 150 THE SWINEHERD. 
 
 the only piece she knew ; and she played it 
 with one finger. 
 
 " Why there is my piece," said the Prin- 
 cess : " that swineherd must certainly have 
 been well educated ! go in and ask him the 
 price of the instrument." 
 
 So one of the couit ladies must run in ; 
 however, she drew on wooden slippers first. 
 
 " What will you take for the kitchen-pot V^ 
 said the lady. 
 
 " I will have ten kisses from the Pnncess," 
 said the swineherd. 
 
 " Yes, indeed !" said the lady. 
 
 "I cannot sell it for less," rejoined the 
 swineherd. 
 
 " He is an impudent fellow !" said the Prin- 
 cess, and she walked on ; but when she had 
 gone a little way, the bells tinkled so prettily 
 
 "Ach! du lieber Augustin, 
 1 Alles ist weg, weg, weg !" 
 
 " Stay," said the Princess. " Ask him if 
 he Avill have ten kisses from the ladies of my 
 court." 
 
 " No, thank you !" said the swineherd, 
 " ten kisses from the Princess, or I keep the 
 the kitchen-pot myself."
 
 THE SWINEHERD. 151 
 
 " That must not be, either !" said the Prin- 
 cess, " but do you all stand before me that no 
 one may see us." 
 
 And the court-ladies placed themselves in 
 front of her, and spread out their dresses — 
 the swineherd got ten kisses, and the Princess 
 — the kitchen-pot. 
 
 That was delightful ! the pot was boiling 
 the whole evening, and the whole of the fol- 
 lowing day. They knew perfectly well what 
 was cooking at every fire throughout the city, 
 from the chamberlain's to the cobbler's ; the 
 court-ladies danced and clapped their hands. 
 
 " We know who has soup, and who has 
 pancakes for dinner to-day, who has cutlets, 
 and who has esfors. How interestinsr !" 
 
 " Yes, but keep my secret, for I am an Em- 
 peror's daughter." 
 
 The swineherd — that is to say — the Prince, 
 for no one knew that he was other than an 
 ill-favored swineherd, let not a day pass with- 
 out working at something ; he at last con- 
 structed a rattle, which, when it was swung 
 round, played all the waltzes and jig tunea 
 which have ever ])een heard since the crea- 
 tion of the world.
 
 152 
 
 THE SWINEHERD. 
 
 " Ah, that is superhe /" said the Princess 
 when she passed by, " I have never heard 
 prettier compositions ! Go in and ask him 
 the price of the ijastrument ; but mind, he 
 shall have no more kisses !" 
 
 •' He will have a hundred kisses from the 
 Princess !" said the lady who had been to ask. 
 
 " I think he is not in his right senses !" 
 said the Princess, and walked on, but when 
 she had gone a little way, she stopped again. 
 '• One must encourage art," said she, " I am 
 the Emperor's daughter. Tell him he shall, 
 as on yesterday, have ten kisses from me, and 
 may take the rest from the ladies of the 
 court." 
 
 '• Oh !— but we should not hke that at all !" 
 said they. " What are you muttering ?" asked 
 the Princess; "if I can kiss him, surely you 
 can. Remember that you owe everything 
 to me." So the ladies were obliged to go to 
 him again. 
 
 " A hundred kisses from the Princess !" said 
 he, " or else let every one keep his own." 
 
 " Stand round !" said she ; and all the la- 
 dies stood round her whilst the kissing was 
 going on.
 
 THE SWINEHERD.' 153 
 
 " What can be the reason for such a crowd 
 close by the pig-sty ?" said the Emperor, who 
 happened just then to step out on the balco- 
 ny ; he rubbed his eyes, and put on his spec 
 tacles. " They are the ladies of the court ; 1 
 must go down and see what they are about !" 
 So he pulled up his slippers at the heel, for 
 he had trodden them down. 
 
 As soon as he had got into the court-yard, 
 he moved very softly, and the ladies were so 
 much engrossed with counting the kisses, 
 that all might go on fairly, that they did not 
 perceive the Emperor. He rose on his tip- 
 toes. 
 
 " What is all this ?" said he, when he saw 
 what was going on, and he boxed the Prin- 
 cess's ears with his slipper, just as the swine- 
 herd was taking the eighty-sixth kiss. 
 
 " March out !" said the Emperor, for he 
 
 was very angry ; and both Princess and 
 
 swineherd were thrust out of the city. 
 
 / The Princess now stood and wept, the 
 
 I swineherd scolded, and the rain poured down. 
 
 " Alas ! unhappy creature that I am !" said 
 the Princess " If I had but married the
 
 154 THE SWINEHERD. 
 
 handsome young Prince ! ah ! how unfortu- 
 nate I am !" 
 
 And the sAvineherd went behmd a tree, 
 washed the black and brown color from his 
 face, threw off his dirty clothes, and stepped 
 forth in his princely robes ; he looked so no- 
 ble that the Princess could not help bowing 
 before him. 
 
 "I am come to despise thee," said he. 
 "Thou would'st not have an honorable 
 Prince ! thou could'st not prize the rose and 
 the nightingale, but thou wast ready to kiss 
 the swineherd for the sake of a trumpery 
 plaything. Thou art rightly served." 
 
 He then went back to his own little king- 
 dom, and shut the door of his palace in hef 
 face. Now she might well sing 
 
 " Ach ! du lieber Augustine, 
 Alles ist weg, weg, weg!**
 
 Dart X&, 
 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE 
 
 THE SNOW-QUEEN, 
 
 ETC
 
 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 [li A BEGINNING. 
 
 VERY authoi 
 has some peculiarity in his descriptions or in 
 his style of writing. Those who do not 
 like him, magnify it, shrug up their shoul- 
 ders, and exclaim — There he is again ! — I, 
 for my part, know very well how I can 
 bring about this movement and this excla- 
 mation. It would happen immediately if 1 
 7
 
 8 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 were to begin here, as I intended to do, 
 with : " Rome has its Corso, Naples itg 
 Toledo " — " Ah ! that Andersen ; there he is 
 again !" they would cry ; yet I must, to 
 please my fancy, continue quite quietly, and 
 add : '' But Copenhagen has its East Street." 
 
 Here, then, we will stay for the present. 
 In one of the houses not far from the new 
 market a party was invited — a very large 
 party, in order, as is often the case, to get a 
 return invitation from the others. One 
 half of the company was already seated at 
 the card-table, the other half awaited the 
 result of the stereotype preliminary obser- 
 vation of the lady of the house : 
 
 " Now let us see what we can do to 
 amuse ourselves." 
 
 They had got just so far, and the conver 
 sation began to crystallise, as it could but do 
 with the scanty stream which the common- 
 place world supplied. Amongst other things 
 they spoke of the middle ages : some praised 
 that period as far more interesting, far more 
 poetical than our own too sober present ; 
 indeed Councillor Knap defended this opinion 
 so warmly, that the hostess declared imme-
 
 A BEGINNING. 9 
 
 diately on his side, and both exerted them- 
 Belves with unwearied eloquence. The 
 Councillor boldly declared the time of King 
 Hans to be the noblest and the most happy 
 period.* 
 
 While the conversation turned on this 
 subject, and was only for a moment inter- 
 rupted by the arrival of a journal that con- 
 tained nothing worth reading, we will just 
 step out into the antechamber, where cloaks, 
 mackintoshes, sticks^ umbrellas, and shoes, 
 were deposited. Here sat two female figures, 
 a young and an old one. One might have 
 thought at first they were servants come to 
 accompany their mistresses home ; but on 
 looking nearer, one soon saw they could 
 scarcely be mere servants ; their forms were 
 too noble for that, their skin too fine, the 
 cut of their dress too striking. Two fair ies 
 were they ; the younger, it is true, was not 
 Dame Fortune herself, but one of the 
 waiting-maids of her handmaidens who 
 carry about the lesser good things that she 
 distributes ; the other looked extremely 
 gloomy — it was Care. She always attends 
 
 * A.D. 1482—1513.
 
 10 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 to her own serious business herself, as then 
 she is sure of having it done properly. 
 
 They were telling each otherj^ witha 
 confidential interchange of ideasyjadaere ihey 
 had been during the day. The messenger 
 of Fortune had only executed a few unim- 
 portant commissions, such as saving a new 
 bonnet from a shower of rain, &c. (fee. ; but 
 what she had yet to perform Avas something 
 quite unusual. 
 
 " I must tell you," said she, " that to-day 
 is my birth-day ; and in honor of it, a pair 
 of walking-shoes or galoshes has been en- 
 trusted to me, which I am to carry to man- 
 kind. Thes e shoes possess^the property of 
 i instantly transporting him who has them on_ 
 to the place or the period in_ :i3LtujclLhe_iTiost 
 wishes to be ; every wish, as regards time or 
 }^\ place, or state of being, will be iumaexiiately 
 fulfilled, and so at last man will be ham)y, 
 here below." 
 
 "Do you seriously beheve it?" replied 
 Care, in a severe tone of reproach. " No ; 
 he will be very unhappy, and will assuredly 
 bless the moment when he feels that he hasf 
 freed himself from the fatal shoes."
 
 WHAT BEFEL THE COUNCILLOR. 11 
 
 " Stupid nonsense !" said the other angri' 
 ly. " I will put them here J) J the door. 
 Some one will make a mistake for certain 
 and take_the wrong- ones — he will be a 
 happy man." 
 
 Such was their conversation. 
 
 7n.0in^-ru^ yi^^T^'^f^' ^f-f^^-^ 
 
 WHAT BEFF^ THE COUNCILLOR. 
 
 IT was late ; Covmcillor Knap, deeply 
 occupied with the times of King Hans, 
 intended to go home, and malicious Fate 
 managed matters so that his feet, instead of 
 finding their way to his own galoshes, 
 slipped into those of Fortune. Thus ca- 
 parisoned the good man -walked out of the 
 w^ell-lighted rooms into East Street. By the 
 J^^L^ic J)Q3yer of_jJie shoes he was carried 
 back to the times of King Hans ; on which 
 account his foot very naturally sank in the 
 tnud and puddles of the street, there having
 
 12 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 been in those days no pavement in Copen 
 hagen. 
 
 " Well ! this is too bad ! How dirty it is 
 here !" sighed the Councillor. " As to a 
 pavement, I can find no traces of one, and 
 all the lamps, it seems, have gone to sleep." 
 
 The moon was not yet very high ; it was 
 besides rather foggy, so that in the darkness 
 all objects seemed mingled in chaotic con- 
 fusion. At the next corner hung a votive 
 lamp before a Madonna, but the light it gave 
 was little better than none at all ; indeed, 
 he did not observe it before he was exactly 
 under it, and his eyes fell upon the bright 
 colors of the pictures which represented the 
 well-known group of the Virgin and the in- 
 fant Jesus. 
 
 "That is probably a wax-work show," 
 thought he ; " and the people delay taking 
 down their sign in hopes of a late visitor or 
 two." 
 
 A few persons in the costume of the time 
 of King Hans passed quickly by him. 
 
 " How strange they look ! The good 
 folks come probably from a masquerade !" 
 
 Suddenly was heard the sound of drums
 
 WHAT BEFEL THE COUNCILLOR. 13 
 
 and fifes ; the bright blaze of a fire shot up 
 from time to time, and its ruddy gleams 
 seemed to contend with the bluish light ol 
 the torches. The Councillor stood still, and 
 watched a most strange procession pass by. 
 First came a dozen drummers, who under- 
 stood pretty well how to handle their instru- 
 ments ; then came halberdiers, and some 
 armed with cross-bows. The principal per- 
 son in the procession was a priest. Aston- 
 ished at what he saw, the Councillor asked 
 what was the meaning of all this mummery, 
 and who that man was. 
 
 " That's the Bishop of Zealand," was the 
 answer. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! what has taken posses- 
 sion of the Bishop ?" sighed the Councillor, 
 shaking his head. It certainly could not be 
 the Bishop; even though he was considered 
 the most absent man in the whole kingdom, 
 and people told the drollest anecdotes about 
 him. Reflecting on the matter, and without 
 .looking right or left, the Councillor went 
 through East Street and across the Hiibio 
 Platz. The bridge leading to Palace Square 
 was not to be found ; scarcely trusting his
 
 14 TliE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 senses, the nocturnal wanderer discovered a 
 shallow piece of water, and here fell in with 
 two men who very comfortably were rocking* 
 to and fro in a boat. 
 
 " Does your honor want to cross the ferry 
 to the Holme?" asked they. 
 
 " Across to the Holme !" said the Coun- 
 cillor, who knew nothing of the age in 
 which he at that moment was; "no,Iam 
 going to Christianshafen, to little Market 
 Street/' 
 
 Both men stared at him in astonishment. 
 
 " Only just tell me whera the bridge is," 
 said he. "It is really unpardonable that 
 there are no lamps here ; and it is as dirty 
 as if one had to wade through a morass." 
 
 The longer he spoke with the boatmen, 
 the more unintelligible did their language 
 become to him. 
 
 " I don't understand your Bornholmish 
 dialect," said he at last, angrily, and turning 
 his back upon them. He was unable to find 
 tlie bridge : there was no railway either. " It 
 is really disgraceful what a state this place 
 is in," muttered he to himself. Never had 
 his age, with which, however, he was
 
 WHAT BEFEL THE I^OUNCILLOR. 15 
 
 always grumbling, seemed so miserable as 
 on this evening. " I'll take a hackney- 
 coach !" thought he. But where were the 
 hackney-coaches ? Not one was to be seen. 
 
 " I must go back to the New Market ; 
 there, it is to be hoped, I shall find some 
 coaches ; for if I don't, I shall never get 
 safe to Christianshafen." 
 
 So off he went in the direction of East 
 Street, and had nearly got to the end of it 
 when the moon shone forth. 
 
 <' God bless me ! What wooden scaffold- 
 ing is that which they have set up there?" 
 cried he involuntarily, as he looked at East 
 Gate, which, in those days, was at the end 
 of East Street. 
 
 He found, however, a little side-door open, 
 and through this he went, and stepped into 
 our New Market of the present time. It 
 was a huge desolate plain ; some wild 
 bushes stood up here and there, while across 
 the field flowed a broad canal or river. Some 
 wretched hovels for the Dutch sailors, re- 
 sembling great boxes, and after which the 
 place was named, lay about in confused dis- 
 order on the opposite bank.
 
 16 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 "I either behold 3. fata morgana^ or T am 
 regularly tipsy," whimpered out the Coun- 
 cillor. But what's this V 
 
 He turned round anew, firmly convinced 
 that he was seriously ill. He gazed at the 
 street formerly so well known to him, and 
 now so strange in appearance, and looked at 
 the houses more attentively : most of them 
 were of wood, slightly put together ; and 
 many Imd a thatched roof. 
 
 "No — I am far from well," sighed he; 
 " and yet I drank only one glass of punch ; 
 
 but I cannot suppose it: it Avas, too, 
 
 really very wrong to give us punch and hot 
 salmon for supper, I shall speak about it at 
 the first opportunity. I have half a mind to 
 go back again, and say what I suffer. But 
 no, that would be too silly ; and Heaven only 
 knows if they are up still." 
 
 He looked for the house, but it had van- 
 ished. 
 
 "It is really dreadful," groaned he with 
 increasing anxiety ; I cannot recognise East 
 Street again ; there is not a single decent 
 shop from one end to the other ! Nothing 
 but wretched huts can I see any where •
 
 WHAT BEFEL THE COUNCILLOR. 17 
 
 just as if I were at Ringstead. Oh ! I am 
 ill ! I can scarcely bear myself any longer. 
 Where the deuce can the house be ? It must 
 be here on this very spot ; yet there, is not 
 the slightest idea of resemblance, to such 
 a degree has every thing changed this 
 night ! — At all events here are some people 
 up and stirring. Oh ! oh ! I am certainly 
 very ill." 
 
 He now hit upon a half-open door, through 
 a chink of which a faint liglit shone. It 
 was a sort of hostehy of those times : a kind 
 of public-house. The room had some re- 
 semblance to the ciay-lloored halls in Hol- 
 stein ; a pretty numerous company, consist- 
 ing of seamen, Copenhagen burghers, and a 
 few scholars, sat here in deep converse over 
 their pewter cans, and gave little heed to 
 the peison who entered. 
 
 " By your leave !" said the Councillor to 
 the Hostess, who came bustling towards 
 him ; " I've felt so queer all of a sudden ; 
 would you have the goodness to send for a 
 hackney-coach to take me to Christian- 
 shafen ?" 
 
 The woman examined him with eyes cf 
 2
 
 18 THE SHOES OP FORTUNE. 
 
 astonishment, and shook her head ; she then 
 addressed him in German. The Councillor 
 thought she did not understand Danish, and 
 therefore repeated his wish in German. 
 This, in connection with his costume, 
 strengthened the good woman in the belief 
 that he was a foreigner. That he was ill, 
 she comprehended directly ; so she brought 
 him a pitcher of water, which tasted certain- 
 ly pretty strong of the sea, although it had 
 been fetched from the well. 
 
 The Councillor supported his head on his 
 hand, drew a long breath, and thought over 
 all the wondrous things he saw around him. 
 
 " Is this the Daily News of this evening ?" 
 he asked mechanically, as he saw the Hos- 
 tess push aside a large sheet of paper. 
 
 The meaning of this councillorship query 
 remained, of course, a riddle to her, yet she 
 handed him the paper without replying. It 
 was a coarse wood-cut, representing a splen- 
 did meteor " as seen in the town of Cologne," 
 which was to be read below in bright letters. 
 
 " That is very old !" said the Councillor, 
 whom this piece of antiquity began to make 
 considerably more cheerful. " Pray how did
 
 WHAT BEFEL THE COUNCILLOR. 19 
 
 you come into possession of this rare print? 
 It is extremely interesting, although the 
 whole is a mere fable. Such meteorous 
 appearances are to be explained in this way • 
 — that they are the reflections of the Aurora 
 Borealis, and it is highly probable they are 
 caused principally by electricity." 
 
 Those persons who were sitting nearest 
 him and heard his speech, stared at him in 
 wonderment ; and one of them rose, took off 
 his hat respectfully, and said with a serious 
 countenance, " You are no doubt a very 
 learned man, Monsieur." 
 
 " Oh no," answered the Councillor, "1 can 
 only join in conversation on this topic and 
 on that, as indeed one must do according to 
 the demands of the world at present." 
 
 " Modestia is a fine virtue," continued the 
 gentleman ; " however, as to your speech, I 
 must say mihi secus videtiir : yet I am will- 
 ing to suspend my JHdiciu7n" 
 
 " May I ask with whom I have the pleasure 
 of speaking?" asked the Councillor. 
 
 " I am a Bachelor in Theologia" answer^ 
 ed the gentleman with a stiff reverence. 
 
 This reply fully satisfied the Councillor ;
 
 20 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 the title suited the dress. " He is certainly," 
 thought he, "some village schoolmaster, — ^ 
 some queer old fellow, such as one still often 
 meets with in Jutland." 
 
 " This is no locus doceiidi, it is true," be- 
 gan the clerical gentleman ; " yet I beg you 
 earnestly to let us profit by your learning. 
 Your reading in the ancients is, sitie dubiOj 
 of vast extent ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, I've read a something, to be sure," 
 rephed the Councillor. '•' I like reading all 
 useful works ; but I do not on that account 
 despise the modern ones ; 'tis only the un- 
 fortunate ' Tales of Ever-day Life ' that I 
 cannot bear — we have enough and more 
 than enough such in reality." 
 
 "Tales of Every-day Life?" said our 
 Bachelor inquiringly. 
 
 " I mean those new fangled novels, twist- 
 ing and writhing themselves in the dust of 
 commonplace, which also expect to find a 
 reading public." 
 
 " Oh," exclaimed the clerical gentleman 
 smiling, " there is much wit in them ; besides 
 they are read at court. The King likes the 
 liistory of Sir Iffven and Sir Gaudian particu
 
 WHAT BEFEL THE COUNCILLOR. 21 
 
 laily, wh'ch treats of King Arthur, and liis 
 Knights of ih". Round Table ; he has more 
 than once joked about it with his high vas- 
 sals." 
 
 " I have not read that novel," said the 
 Councillor ; " it must be quite a new one, 
 that Heiberg has publislied lately." 
 
 " No," answered the theologian of the time 
 of King Hans : " that book is not written by 
 a Heiberg, but was imprinted by Godfrey von 
 Gehmen." 
 
 " Oh, is that the author's name ?" said the 
 Councillor. "It is a very old name: and, 
 as well as I recollect, he was the first printer 
 that appeared in Denmark." 
 
 "Yes, he is our first printer," rephed the 
 clerical gentleman hastily. 
 
 So far all went on well. Some one of the 
 worthy burghers now spoke of the dreadful 
 pestilence that had raged in the country a 
 few years back, meaning that of 1484. The 
 Councillor imagined it was the cholera that 
 was meant, which people made so much fuss 
 about ; and the discourse passed off satisfac- 
 torily enough. The war of the buccanneera 
 of 1490 was so recent that it could not fail 
 
 r
 
 22 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 being alluded to ; the English pirates had, 
 they said, most shamefully taken their shipa 
 while in the roadstead ; and the Councillor, 
 before whose eyes the Herostratic* event of 
 1801 still floated vividly, agreed entirely with 
 the others in abusing the rascally English. 
 With other topics he was not so fortunate ; 
 every moment brought about some new con- 
 fusion, and threatened to become a perfect 
 Babel ; for the worthy bachelor was really 
 too ignorant, and the simplest observations 
 of the Councillor sounded to him too daring 
 and phantastical. They looked at one an- 
 other from the crown of the head to the soles 
 of the feet ; and when matters grew to too 
 high a pitch, then the Bachelor talked Latin, 
 in the hope of being better understood — but 
 it was of no use after all. 
 
 " What's the matter ?" asked the Hostess, 
 plucking the Councillor by the sleeve ; and 
 now his recollection returned, for in the course 
 of the conversation he had entirely forgotten 
 all that had preceded it. 
 
 * Herostratus, or Eratostratus, — an Ephesian. who 
 wantonly set fire to the famous temple of Diana, in order 
 «o commemorate his name by so uncommon an action.
 
 WHAT BEFEL THE COUNCILLOR. 23 
 
 " Merciful God, where am I !" exclaimed 
 he in agony ; and while he so thought, all 
 his ideas and feelings of overpowering dizzi- 
 ness, against which he struggled with the 
 utmost power of desperation, encompassed 
 him with renewed force. "Let us drink 
 claret and mead, and Bremen beer," shouted 
 one of the guests — "and you shall drink 
 with us !" 
 
 Two maidens approached. One wore a 
 cap of two staring colors, denoting the class 
 of persons to which she belonged. They 
 poured out the liquor, and made the most 
 friendly gesticulations ; while a cold perspi- 
 ration trickled down the back of the pool 
 Councillor. 
 
 " What's to be the end of this ! What's 
 to become of me !" groaned he ; but he was 
 forced, in spite of his opposition, to drink 
 with the rest. They took hold of the worthy 
 man ; who, hearing on every side that he 
 was intoxicated, did not in the least doubt 
 the truth of this certainly not very polite 
 assertion ; but on the contrary, implored the 
 ladies and gentlemen present to procure him
 
 24 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 a hackney-coach : they, however, imagined 
 he was talking Russian. 
 
 Never before, he thought, had he been in 
 such a coarse and ignorant company ; one 
 might ahnost fancy the people had turned 
 heathens again. "It is the most dreadful 
 moment of my hfe : the whole world is 
 leagued against me !" But suddenly it oc- 
 curred to him that he might stoop down 
 under the table, and then creep unobserved 
 out of the door. He did so ; but just as he 
 was going, the others remarked what he was 
 about ; they laid hold of him by the legs ; 
 and now, happily for him, off fell his fatal 
 shoes — and with them the charm was at an 
 end. 
 
 The Councillor saw quite distinctly before 
 ^im a lantern burning, and behind this a 
 large handsome house. All seemed to him 
 in proper order as usual ; it was East Street, 
 splendid and elegant as we now see it. He 
 lay with his feet towards a doorway, and 
 exactly opposite sat the watchman asleep. 
 
 " Gracious Heaven !" said he, " have I lain 
 here in the street and dreamed 1 Yes ; 'tia 
 East Street ! how splendid and light it is !
 
 THE WATCHMAN S ADVENTURE. 25 
 
 But really it is terrible what an effect that 
 one glass of punch must have had on me !" 
 Two minutes later, he was sitting in a 
 hackney-coach and driving to Frederick- 
 shafen. He thought of the distress and 
 agony he had endured, and praised from the 
 very bottom of his heart the happy reality — 
 our own time — which, with all its deficien- 
 cies, is yet much better than that in which, 
 so much against his inclination, he had 
 lately been. 
 
 III. 
 
 THE watchman's ADVENTURE. 
 
 "Why, there is a pair of galoshes, as 
 sure as I'm alive!" said the watchman, 
 awaking from a gentle slumber. " They 
 belong no doubt to the lieutenant who lives 
 over the way. They lie close to the door." 
 
 The worthy man was inclined to ring and 
 deliver them at the house, for there was still
 
 26 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 a light in the window ; but he did not like 
 disturbing the other people in their beds, 
 and so very considerately he left the matter 
 alone. 
 
 " Such a pair of shoes must be very warm 
 and comfortable," said he ; " the leather is so 
 soft and supple." They fitted his feet as 
 though they had been made for him. " 'Tis 
 a curious world we live in," continued he, 
 soliloquising. " There is the lieutenant, 
 now, who might go quietly to bed if he 
 chose, where no doubt he could stretch him- 
 self at his ease ; but does he do it? No ; he 
 saunters up and down his room, because, 
 probably, he has enjoyed too many of the 
 good things of this world at his dinner. 
 That's a happy fellow ! he has neither an 
 infirm mother, nor a whole troop of everlast- 
 ingly hungry children to torment him. Every 
 evening he goes to a party, where his nice 
 supper costs him nothing : would to Heaven 
 J_cquld but change wi th him ! how ^happy 
 shouid I be?^"" ^ 
 
 While expressing his wish, the charm of 
 the shoes, which he had put on. Began to 
 work ; the watchman entered into the being
 
 THE watchman's ADVENTURE. 27 
 
 and nature of the lieutenant. He stood in 
 the handsomely fuirnshecl apartment, and 
 held between his fingers a small sheet of 
 rose-colored paper, on which some verses 
 were written, — written indeed by the officer 
 himself; for who has not, at least once in his 
 life, had a lyrical moment? and if one then 
 marks down one's thoughts, poetry is pro- 
 duced. But here was written : 
 
 OH, WERE I RICH ! 
 
 *• Oh, were I rich !" Such was my wish, yea such 
 When hardly three feet high, I longed for much. 
 Oh. were I rich ! an officer were I, 
 With sword, and uniform, and plume so high. 
 And the time came, and officer was I .' 
 But yet I grew not rich. Alas, poor mc ! 
 Have pity, Thou, who all man's wants dost see. 
 
 I sat one evening sunk in dreams of bliss, 
 A maid of seven years old gave me a kiss, 
 
 I at that time was rich in poesy 
 
 And tales of old, though poor as poor could be ; 
 
 But all she asked for was this poesy. 
 I'hen was I rich, but not in gold, poor me I 
 As Thou dost know, who all men's hearts caust see. 
 
 Oh, were I rich ! Oft asked I for this boon. 
 The child grew up to womauhood full soon.
 
 28 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE, 
 
 She is so pretty, clever, and so kind , 
 
 Oh, did she know what's hidden in my mind :— 
 
 A tale of old. Would she to me were kind! 
 
 But I'm condemned to silence I oh, poor me ! 
 
 As Thou dost know, who all men's hearts canst see 
 
 Oh, were I rich in calm and peace of mind. 
 
 My grief you then would not here written find! 
 O thou, to whom I do my heart devote, 
 Oh read this page of glad days now remote, 
 A dark, dark tale, which I to niglit devote! 
 
 Dark is the future now. Alas, poor me ! 
 
 Have pity Thou, who all men's pains dost see. 
 
 Such verses as these people write when 
 they are in love ! but no man in his senses 
 ever thinks of printing them. Here one of 
 the son'ows of hfe, in which there is real po- 
 etry, gave itself vent ; not that barren grief 
 which the poet may only hint at, but never 
 depict in its detail — misery and want: that 
 animal necessity, in short, to snatch at least 
 at a fallen leaf of the bread-fruit tree, if not 
 at the fruit itself The higher the position 
 in which one finds oneself transplanted, the 
 greater is the suffering. Every-day necessity 
 is the stagnant pool of hie — no lovely picture 
 reflects itself therein. Lieutenant, love, and 
 lack of money — that is a symbolic triangle.
 
 THE watchman's ADVENTURE. 29 
 
 or jnuch the same as the half of the shattered 
 die of Fortune. This the Ueutenant felt 
 most poignantly, and this was the reason he 
 leant -his head against the window, and sigh- - 
 ed so deeply, 
 
 " The poor watchman out there in the 
 street is far happier than I. He knows not. 
 what I term privation. He has a home, a 
 wife, and children, who weep with him over 
 his sorrows, who rejoice with him when he is 
 glad. Oh, far happier were I, could I ex- 
 change with him my being — with his desires 
 and with his hopes perform the weary pilgri- 
 mage of life ! oh, he is a hundred times hap- 
 pier than 1 !" 
 
 In the same moment the watchman was 
 again watchman. It was the shoes that 
 caused the metamorphosis by means of 
 whicli, unknown to himself, he took upon 
 him the thoughts and feelings of the officer; 
 but, as we have just seen, he felt himself 
 in his new situation much less contented, 
 and now preferred the very thing which but 
 some minutes before he had rejected. _So 
 then the watchman was. again watchman. 
 
 "That was an unpleasant dream," said
 
 30 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 ne . " but 'twas droll enough altogether. I 
 fancied that I was the lieutenant over there : 
 and yet the thing was not very much to my 
 taste after all. I missed my good old mother 
 and the dear little ones ; who almost tear 
 me to pieces for sheer love." 
 
 He seated himself once more and nodded : 
 the dream continued to haunt him, for he 
 still had the shoes on his feet. A falling star 
 shone in the dark firmament. 
 
 " There falls another star," said he : " but 
 what does it matter ; there are always 
 enough left. I should not much mind ex- 
 amining the little glimmering things some- 
 what nearer, especially the moon ; for that 
 would not slip so easily through a man's 
 fingers. When we die — so at feast says the 
 student, for whom my wife does the washing 
 — we shall fly about as light as a feather from 
 one such a star to the other. That's, of 
 } ^course, not true : but 'twould be pretty 
 lenough if it were so. If I .could Jjut oncfl. 
 t ■ take a leap up there, my body might stay 
 here on the steps for what I care." 
 
 Behold ! — there are certain things in the 
 world to which one ought never to give utter-
 
 THE watchman's ADVENTURE. 31 
 
 ance except with the greatest caution ; but 
 doubly caiefu/ must one be when we have 
 the Shoes of Fortune on our feet. Now just 
 hsten to what happened to the watchman. 
 
 As to ourselves, we all know the speed 
 produced by the employment of steam ; we 
 have experienced it either on railroads, or in 
 boats when crossing the sea ; but such a 
 flight is like the travelling of a sloth in com- 
 parison with the velocity with which light 
 moves. It flies nineteen million times faster 
 than the best race-horse ; and yet electricity 
 is quicker still. Death is an electric shock 
 which our heart receives ; the freed soul 
 soars upwards on the wings of electricity. 
 The sun's light wants eight minutes and some 
 seconds to perform a journey of more than 
 twenty million of our Danish* miles ; borne 
 by electricity, the soul wants even some min- 
 utes less to accomplish the same flight. To 
 it the space between the heavenly bodies is 
 not greater than the distance between the 
 homes of our friends in town is for us, even 
 if they live a short way from each other ; 
 such an electric shock in the heart, however, 
 
 • A Danish mile it> nearly 4| English.
 
 32 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 costs US the use of the body here below ; un- 
 less, hke the watchman of East Street, we 
 happen to have on the Shoes of Fortune. 
 
 In a few seconds the watchman had done 
 the fifty-two thousand of our miles up to the 
 moon, which, as every one knows, was form- 
 ed out of matter much lighter than our 
 earth ; and is. so we should say, as soft as 
 newly-fallen snow. He found himself on 
 one of the many circumjacent mountain- 
 ridges with which we are acquainted by 
 means of Dr. Madler's " Map of the Moon." 
 Within, down it sunk perpendicularly into a 
 caldron, about a Danish mile in depth ; 
 while below lay a town, whose appearance 
 we can, in some measure, realize to ourselves 
 ;by beating the white of an egg in a glass of 
 water. The matter of which it was built was 
 just as soft, and formed similar towers, and 
 domes, and pillars, transparent and rocking 
 in the thin air ; while above his head our 
 earth was rolling like a large fiery ball. 
 
 He perceived immediately a quantity of 
 beings who were certainly what we call 
 " men ;" yet they looked different to us. A 
 far more correct imagination than that of
 
 THE watchman's ADVENTURE. 33 
 
 the pseudo-Herschel* had created them ; and 
 if they had been placed in rank and file, and 
 copied by some skilful painter's hand, one 
 would, without doubt, have exclaimed invol- 
 untarily, " What a beautiful arabesque !" 
 They had a language too ; but surely nobo- 
 dy can expect that the soul of the watchman 
 should understand it. Be that as it may, it 
 did comprehend it ; for in our souls there 
 germinate far greater powers than we poor 
 mortals, despite all our cleverness, have any 
 notion of. Does she not show us — she the 
 queen in the land of enchantment — her as- 
 tounding dramatic talent in all our dreams ? 
 There every acquaintance appears and speaks 
 upon the stage, so entirely in character, and 
 with the same tone of voice, that none of us, 
 when awake, w^ere able to imitate it. How 
 well can she recall persons to our mind, of 
 
 * This relates to a book published some years ago in 
 Germany, and said to be by Herschel, which contained 
 a description of the moon and its inhabitants, written 
 with such a semblance of truth that many were deceived 
 by the imposture. — C. B. 
 
 Probably a translation of the celebrated Moon hoax, 
 written by Richard A. Locke, and originally published 
 in New York.
 
 34 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 whom we have not thoug'ht for years ; when 
 suddenly they step forth " every inch a man," 
 resembling the real personages, even to the 
 finest features, and become the heroes or he- 
 roines of our world of dreams. In reality, 
 such remembrances are rather unpleasant : 
 every sin, every evil thought, may, like a 
 clock with alarm or chimes, l>e repeated at 
 pleasure ; then the question is if we can 
 trust ourselves to give an account of every 
 unbecoming word in our heart and on our lips. 
 The watchman's spirit understood the lan- 
 guage of the inhabitants of the moon pretty 
 well. The Selenites* disputed variously 
 about our earth, and expressed their doubts 
 if it could be inhabited : the air, they said, 
 must certainly be too dense to allow any ra- 
 tional dweller in the moon the necessary free 
 respiration. They considered the moon alone 
 to be inhabited : they imagined it was the 
 real heart of the universe or planetary system, 
 on which the genuine Cosmopolites, or citi- 
 zens of the world, dwelt. What strange 
 things men — no, what strange things Selen 
 ites sometimes take into their heads I 
 
 * Dwellers in the moon.
 
 THE watchman's ADVENTURE. 35 
 
 About politics they had a good deal to say. 
 But little Denmark must take care wliat it is 
 about, and not run counter to the moon ; 
 that g-reat realm, that might in an ill-humor 
 bestir itself, and dash down a hail-storm in 
 our faces, or force the Baltic to overflow the 
 sides of its gigantic basin. 
 
 We will, therefore, not listen to what was 
 spoken, and on no condition run the possibil- 
 ity of telling tales out of school ; but we will 
 rather proceed, hke good quiet citizens, to 
 East Street, and observe what happened 
 meanwhile to the body of the watchman. 
 
 He sat lifeless on the steps : the morning- 
 star,* that is to say, the heavy wooden staff, 
 headed with iron spikes, and which had no- 
 thing else in common with its sparkling bro- 
 ther in the sky, had glided from his hand ; 
 while his eyes were fixed with glassy stare 
 on the moon, looking for the good old fellow 
 of a spirit which still haunted it. 
 
 " What's the hour, watchman ?" asked a 
 passer-by. But when the watchman gave 
 
 * The watchmen in Germany, had formerly, and in 
 some places they still carry with them, on their rounds 
 «it night, a sort of mace or club, known in ancient times 
 by the above denomination. — C. B.
 
 36 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 no reply, the merry roysterer, who was now 
 retuining home from a noisy drinking bout 
 took it into his head to try what a tweak of 
 the nose would do, on which the supposed 
 sleeper lost his balance, the body lay motion- 
 less, stretched out on the pavement : the man 
 was dead. When the patrol came up, all his 
 comrades, \vho comprehended nothing of the 
 whole affair, were seized wdth a dreadful 
 fright, for dead he was, and he remained so. 
 The proper authorities were informed of 
 the circumstance, people talked a good deal 
 about it, and in the morning the body was 
 carried to the hospital. 
 
 Now that would be a very pretty joke, if 
 the spirit when it came back and looked for 
 the body in East Street, were not to find one. 
 No doubt it would, in its anxiety, run off to 
 the police, and then to the " Hiie and Cry " 
 office, to announce that " the finder will be 
 handsomely rewarded," and at last away tc 
 the hospital; yet we may boldly assert that 
 the soul is shrewdest when it shakes off every 
 fetter, and every sort of leading-string, — the 
 body only makes it stupid. 
 
 The seemingly dead body of the watchman
 
 wandered, as we have said, to the hospital, 
 where it was brought into the general view- 
 ing-room : and the first thing that was done 
 here was naturally to pull off the galoshes — 
 when the spirit, that was merely gone out on 
 adventures, must have returned with the 
 quickness of lightning to its earthly tene- 
 ment. It took its direction towards the body 
 in a straight line ; and a few seconds after, 
 life began to show itself in the man. He 
 asserted that the ■ preceding night had been 
 the worst that ever the malice of fate had al- 
 lotted him ; he would not for two silver 
 marks again go through what he had en- 
 dured while moon-stricken ; but now, how- 
 ever, it was over. 
 
 The same day he was discharged from the 
 hospital as perfectly cured ; but the Shoes 
 meanwhile remained behind.
 
 38 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A. MOMENT OF HEAD IMPORTANCE AN 
 
 evening's " DRAMATIC READINGS" A 
 
 MOST STRANGE JOURNEY. 
 
 Every inhabitant of Copenhagen knows, 
 from personal inspection, how the entrance 
 to Frederick's Hospital looks ; but as it is 
 possible that others, who are not Copenhagen 
 people, may also read this little work, we 
 will beforehand give a short description of it. 
 
 The extensive building is separated from 
 the street by a pretty high railing, the thick 
 iron bars of which are so far apart, that in 
 all seriousness, it is said, some very thin 
 fellow had of a night occasionally squeezed 
 himself through to go and pay his little visits 
 in the town. The part of the body most 
 difficult to manage on such occasions was, 
 no doubt, the head ; here, as is so often the 
 case in the world, long-headed people get 
 through best. So much, then, for the intro- 
 duction. 
 
 One of the young men, whose head, in a
 
 A MOMENT OF HEAD IMPORTANCE. 39 
 
 physical sense only, might be said to be of 
 the thickest, had the watch that evening. 
 The rain poured down in torrents ; yet de- 
 spite these two obstacles, the young man was 
 obliged to go out, if it were but for a quarter 
 of an hour ; and as to telling the door-keeper 
 about it, that, he thought, was quite unne- 
 cessary, if. with a whole skin, he were able 
 to slip through the railings. There, on the 
 floor lay the galoshes, which the watchman 
 had forgotten ; he never dreamed for a mo- 
 ment that they were those of Fortune ; and 
 they promised to do him good service in the 
 wet ; so he put them on. The question now 
 was, if he could squeeze himself through the 
 grating, for he had never tried before. Well, 
 there he stood. 
 
 " Would to Heaven I had got my head 
 through !" said he, involuntarily ; and in- 
 stantly through it slipped, easily and without 
 pain, notwithstanding it was pretty large 
 and thick. But now the rest of the body 
 was to be got through ! 
 
 " Ah ! I am much too stout," groaned 
 he aloud, w hile fixed as in a vice ; " I had 
 thought the head was the most difficult part
 
 40 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 of the matter — oh ! oh ! I really cannot 
 squeeze myself through !" 
 
 He now wanted to pull his over-hasty head 
 back again, but he could not. For his neck 
 there was room enough, but for nothing 
 more. His first feeling was of anger ; his 
 next that his temper fell to zero. The Shoes 
 of Fortune had placed him in the most dread- 
 ful situation ; and, unfortunately, it never 
 occurred to him to wish himself free. The 
 pitch-black clouds poured down their contents 
 in still heavier torrents ; not a creature was 
 to be seen in the streets. To reach up to 
 the bell was w^hat he did not like ; to cry 
 aloud for help would have availed him little ; 
 besides, how ashamed would he have been to 
 be found caught in a trap, like an outwitted 
 fox ! How was he to twist himself through ! 
 He saw clearly that it was his irrevocable 
 destiny to remain a prisoner till dawn, or, 
 perhaps, even late in the morning ; then the 
 smith must be fetched to file away the bars ; 
 but all that would not be done so quickly as 
 he could think about it. The whole Charity 
 School, just opposite, would be in motion ; 
 all the new booths, with their not very
 
 AN evening's dramatic READINGS. 41 
 
 courtier-like swarm of seamen, would join 
 them out of curiosity, and would greet hin» 
 with a wild " hurrah !" while he was stand- 
 ing in his pillory : there would be a mob, a 
 hissing, and rejoicing, and jeering, ten times 
 worse than in the rows about the Jews some 
 years ago — " Oh, my blood is mounting to 
 my brain ; 'tis enough to drive one mad ! I 
 shall go wild ! I know not what to do. Oh ! 
 were I but loose ; my dizziness would then 
 cease ; oh, were my head but loose !" 
 
 You see he ought to have said that sooner ; 
 for the moment he expressed the wish his 
 head was free ; and cured of all his parox- 
 ysms of love, he hastened off to his room, 
 where the pains consequent on the fright the 
 Shoes had prepared for him, did not so soon 
 take their leave. 
 
 But you must not think that the affair is 
 over now ; it grows much worse. 
 
 The night passed, the next day also ; but 
 nobody came to fetch the Shoes. 
 
 In the evening " Dramatic Readings " 
 were to be given at the little theatre in Kmg 
 Street. The house was filled to suffocation , 
 and among other pieces to be recited was a
 
 42 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 new poem by H. C. Andersen, called, Mi/ 
 Aunfs Spectacles ; the contents of which 
 were pretty nearly as follows : " A certain 
 person had an aunt, who boasted of particu- 
 lar skill in fortune-telling with cards, and who 
 was constantly being stormed by persons that 
 ^* Wanted to have a peep into futurity. But 
 ^^vshe was full of mystery about her art, in 
 J^\^ .which a certain pair of magic spectacles did 
 her essential service. Her nephew, a merry 
 boy, who was his aunt's darling, begged so 
 long for these spectacles, that, at last, she 
 lent him the treasure, after having informed 
 him, with many exhortations, that in order 
 to execute the interesting trick, he need only 
 repair to some place where a great many per- 
 sons were assembled ; and then, from a 
 higher position, whence he could overlook 
 the crowd, pass the company in review before 
 him through his spectacles. Immediately 
 Hhe inner man' of each individual would be 
 displayed before him, like a game of cards, 
 in which he unerringly might read what the 
 future of every person presented was to be. 
 Well pleased the little magician hastened 
 away to prove the powers of the spect&,cles
 
 in the theatre ; no place seeming to him 
 more fitted for sach a trial. He begged per- 
 mission of the worthy audience, and set his 
 spectacles on his nose. A motley phantas- 
 magori presents itself before him, which he 
 describes in a few satirical touches, yet with- 
 out expressing his opinion openly : he tells 
 the people enough to set them all thinking 
 and guessing ; but in order to hurt nobody, 
 he wraps his witty oracular judgments in a 
 transparent veil, or rather in a lurid thunder- 
 cloud, shooting forth bright sparks of wit, 
 that they may fall in the powder-magazine 
 of the expectant audience." 
 
 The humorous poem was admirably recit- 
 ed, and the speaker nuich applauded. Among 
 the audience was the young man of the 
 hospital, who seemed to have forgotten his 
 adventure of the preceding night. He had 
 on the Shoes ; for as yet no lawful owner 
 had appeared to claim them ; and besides it 
 was so very dirty out of doors, they were just 
 the thino^ for hiin, he thou«:ht. 
 
 The beginning of the poem he praised 
 with great geneiosity : he even found the 
 idea wiginal and effective. But that the end
 
 44 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 of it, like the Rhine, was very insignificant, 
 proved, in his opinion, the author's want of 
 invention ; he was without genius, (fee. &c. 
 (fee. This was an excellent opportunity to 
 have said something clever. 
 
 Meanwhile he was haunted by the idea, — 
 he should like to possess such a pair of 
 spectacles himself; then, perhaps, by using 
 them circumspectly, one W(3uld be able to 
 look into people's hearts, which, he thought, 
 would be far more interesting than merely 
 to see what was to happen next year ; for 
 that we should all know in proper time, but 
 the other never. 
 
 " I can now," said he to himself, " fancy 
 the whole row of ladies and gentlemen sit- 
 ting there in the front row ; if one could but 
 see into their hearts ; — yes, that would be a 
 revelation — a sort of bazar. In that lady 
 yonder, so strangely dressed. 1 should find for 
 certain a large milliner's shop ; in that one 
 the shop is empty, but it wants cleaning 
 plain enough. But there would also be some 
 good stately shops among them. Alas !" 
 sighed he, " I know one in which all is 
 stately ; but there sits already s. spruce young
 
 AN EVEN/N«*S DRAMATIC READINGS. 45 
 
 shopman, which is the only thing that's 
 amiss in the whole shop. All would be 
 splendidly decked out, and we should hear, 
 ' Walk in, gentlemen, pray walk in ; here 
 you will find all you please to want.' Ah ! 
 I wish^to Heaven I could walk in and take 
 a trip right through the hearts of those pre- 
 sent !" 
 
 And behold ! to the Shoes of Fortune this 
 was the cue ; the whole man shrunk together 
 and a most uncommon journey through the 
 hearts of the front row of spectators, now be- 
 gan. The first heart through which he 
 came, w^as that of a middle-aged lady, but 
 he instantly fancied himself in the room of 
 the " Institution for the cure of the crooked 
 and deformed," where casts of mis-shapen 
 limbs are displayed in naked reality on the 
 wall. Yet there was this difference, in the 
 institution the casts were taken at the entry 
 of the patient ; but here they were retained 
 and guarded in the heart while the sound 
 persons went away. They were, namely, 
 casts of female friends, whose bodily or men- 
 tal deformities were here most faithfully pre- 
 served. 
 
 t
 
 J6 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 With the snake-Hke writhings of an idea 
 he glided into anothei- female heart ; but this 
 seemed to him like a large holy fane. The 
 white dove of innocence fluttered over the 
 altar. How gladly would he have sunk upon 
 his knees ; but he must away to the next 
 heart ; yet he still heard the pealing tones 
 of the organ, and he himself seemed to have 
 become a newer and a better man ; he felt 
 unworthy to tread the neighboring sanctuary 
 which a poor garret, with a sick bed-rid 
 mother, revealed. But God's warm sun 
 streamed through the open Avindow ; lovely 
 roses nodded from the wooden flower-boxes 
 on the roof, and two sky-blue birds sang re- 
 joicingly, while the sick mother implored 
 God's richest blessings on her pious daughter. 
 
 He now crept on hands and feet through 
 a butcher's shop ; at least on every side, and 
 above and below, there was nought but flesh. 
 It was the heart of a most respectable rich 
 man, whose name is certain to be found in 
 the Directory. 
 
 He was now in the heart of the \vife of 
 this worthy gentleman. It was an old, di- 
 lapidated, mouldering dovecot. The hus-
 
 A MOST STRANGE JOURNEY. 47 
 
 oand's portrait was used as a weather-cock, 
 which was connected in some \\^ay or other 
 with the doors, and so they opened and shut 
 of their own accord, whenever the stern old 
 husband turned round. 
 
 Hereupon he Avandered into a boudoir 
 formed entirely of mirrors, hke the one in 
 Castle Rosenburg ; but here the glasses mag- 
 nified to an astonishing degree. On the floor. 
 in the middle of the room, sat, like a Dalai- 
 Lama, the insignificant " Self" of the person, 
 quite confounded at his own greatness. He 
 then hnagined he had got into a oieedle-case 
 full of pointed needles of every size. 
 
 " This is certainly the heart of an old 
 maid," thought lie. But he was mistaken. 
 It was the heart of a young military man ; 
 a man, as people said, of talent and feeling. 
 
 In the greatest perplexity, he now came 
 out of the last heart in the row ; he was un- 
 able to put his thoughts in order, and fancied 
 that his too livel}^ imagination had run away 
 with him. 
 
 " Good Heavens !" sighed he ; " I have sure- 
 ly a disposition to madness — 'tis dreadfully 
 hot here ; my blood boils in my veins and my
 
 4.S THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 head is burning like a coal." And he now 
 remembered the important event of the even 
 ing before, how his head had got jammed in 
 between the iron railings of the hospital. 
 " That's what it is, no doubt," said he. " I 
 must do something in time : under such cir- 
 cumstances a Russian bath might do me 
 good. I only wish I were already on the up- 
 per bank."* 
 
 And so there he lay on the uppermost 
 bank in the vapor-bath ; but with all his 
 clothes on, in his boots and galoshes, while 
 the hot drops fell scalding from the ceiling 
 on his face. 
 
 •' Holloa !" cried he, leaping down. The 
 bathing attendant, on his side, uttered a loud 
 cry of astonishment when he beheld in the 
 bath, a man completely dressed. 
 
 The other, however, retained sufficient 
 presence of mind to whisper to him, " 'T is a 
 bet, and I have won it !" But the first thing 
 
 * In these Russian (vapor) baths the person exteuds 
 himself on a bank or foi-m, and as he gets accustomed to 
 the heat, moves to another higher up tow^ards the ceil 
 ing, where, of course, the vapor is warmest. In this 
 manner he ascends gradually to the highest.
 
 THE COPYING-CLERK. 49 
 
 he did as soon as he got home, was to have 
 a large bhster put on his chest and back to 
 draw out his madness. 
 
 The next morning he had a sore chest 
 and a bleeding back ; and, excepting the 
 fright, that was all that he had gained by 
 the Shoes of Fortune. 
 
 V. 
 
 METAMORPHOSIS OF THE COPYING-CLERK. 
 
 The watchman, whom we have certainly 
 not forgotten, thought meanwhile of the ga- 
 loshes he had found and taken with him to 
 the hospital ; he now went to fetch them ; 
 and as neither the lieutenant, nor any body 
 else in the street, claimed them as his pro- 
 perty, they were dehvered over to the police- 
 office.* 
 
 * As on the continent, in all law and poVce practices 
 nothing is verbal, but any circumstance, however tri- 
 fling, is reduced to writing, the labor, as well as the
 
 50 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 " Why, I declare the Shoes look just like 
 my own," said one of the clerks, eyeing the 
 newly-found treasure, whose hidden powers, 
 even he, sharp as he was, was not able to 
 discover. " One must have more than the 
 eye of a shoemaker to know one pair from 
 the other," said he, soliloquizing ; and put- 
 ting, at the same tune, the galoshes in search 
 of an owner, beside his own in the corner. 
 
 " Here, sir !" said one of the men, who 
 panting brought him a tremendous pile of 
 papers. 
 
 The copying-clerk turned round and spoke 
 awhile Avith the man about the reports ard 
 legal documents in question ; but when he 
 had finished, and his eye fell again on the 
 Shoes, he was unable to say whether those 
 to the left or those to the right belonged to 
 him. " At all events it must be those which 
 are wet," thought he ; but this time, in spite 
 of his cleverness, he guessed quite wrong, for 
 it was just those of Fortune which played as 
 
 number of papers that thus accumulate, is enormous. In 
 a police-office, consequently, we find copying-clerks 
 liraong many other scribes of various denominations, o 
 V 'M<rh. it seemp -^ur hero was one.
 
 THE COPYING-CLERK 51 
 
 it were into his hands, or rather on his feet 
 And why, I should hke to know, are the po 
 lice never to be wrong ? So he put them on 
 quickly, stuck his papers in his pocket, and 
 took besides a few under his arm, intending 
 to look them through at home to make the 
 necessary notes. It was noon ; and the 
 weather, that had threatened rain, began to 
 clear up, while gaily dressed holiday folks 
 filled the streets. " A little trip to Fredericks- 
 burg would do me no great harm," thought 
 he ; " for I, poor beast of burden that I am, 
 have so much to annoy me, that I don't 
 know what a good appetite is. 'T is a bitter 
 crust, alas ! at which I am condemned to 
 gnaw !" 
 
 Nobody could be more steady or quiet than 
 this young man; we therefor 3 wish him joy 
 of the excursion with all our heart ; and it 
 will certainly be beneficial for a person who 
 leads so sedentary a life. In the park he 
 met a friend, one of our young poets, who 
 told him that the following day he should sel 
 out on his long-intended tour. 
 
 " So you are going away again !" said the 
 clerk. " You are a very firee and happy be-
 
 52 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 mg ; we others are chained by the leg and 
 held fast to our desk." 
 
 " Yes ; but it is a chain, friend, which en- 
 sures you the blessed bread of existence," 
 answered the poet. " You need feel no care 
 for the coming morrow : when you are old, 
 you receive a pension." 
 
 "True," said the clerk, shrugging his 
 shoulders ; " and yet you are the better off. 
 To sit at one's ease and poetise — that is a 
 pleasure ; every body has something agreea- 
 ble to say to you, and you are always your 
 own master. No. friend, you should but try 
 what it is to sit from one year's end to the 
 other occupied with and judging the most 
 trivial matters." 
 
 The poet shook his head, the copying- 
 clerk did the same. Each one kept to his 
 own opinion, and so they separated. 
 
 " It's a strange race, those poets !" said the 
 clerk, who was very fond of soliloquizing. 
 'I should like some day, just for a trial, to 
 take such nature upon me, and be a poet 
 myself; I am very sure I should make no 
 such miserable verses as the others. To-day, 
 methinks, is a most delicious day for a poet :
 
 THE COPYING-CLERK. 53 
 
 Nature seems anew to celebrate her awaken- 
 ing into life. The air is so unusually clear, 
 the clouds sail on so buoyantly, and from 
 the green herbage a fragrance is exhaled that 
 fills me with delight. For many a year 
 have I not felt as at this moment." 
 
 We see already, by the foregoing effusion, 
 that he is become a poet ; to give further 
 proof of it, however, would in most cases be 
 insipid, for it is a most foolish notion to fancy 
 a poet difVerent from other men. Among 
 the latter there may be far more poetical na- 
 tures than many an acknowledged poet, 
 when examined more closely, could boast of; 
 the dilference only is, that the poet possesses 
 a better mental memory, on which account 
 he is able to retain tlie feeling and the 
 thought till they can be embodied by means 
 of words ; a faculty which the otheis do not 
 possess. But the transition from a common- 
 place nature to one that is richly endowed, 
 demands always a more or less breakneck 
 leap over a certain abyss which yawns threat- 
 eningly below ; and thus nmst the sudden 
 change with the clerk strike the reader. 
 
 " The sweet air !" continued he of the po
 
 54 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 lice office, in his dreamy imaginings ; " how 
 it reminds me of the violets in the garden of 
 my aunt Magdalena ! Yes, then I was a 
 little wild boy, who did not go to school very 
 regularly. O heavens ! 'tis a longtime since 
 I have thought on those times. The good 
 old soul ! She lived behind the Exchange. 
 She ahvays had a few twigs or green shoots 
 in water — let the winter rage without as it 
 might. The violets exhaled their sweet 
 breath, whilst 1 pressed against the window- 
 panes covered with fantastic frost-work the 
 copper coin I had heated on the stove, and 
 so made peep-holes. What splendid vistas 
 were then opened to my view ! What 
 change — w^hat magnificence ! Yonder in 
 the canal lay the ships frozen up, and desert- 
 ed by their whole crews, with a screaming 
 crow^ for the sole occupant. But when the 
 spring, with a gentle stirring motion, an- 
 nounced her arrival, a new and busy life 
 arose; with songs and hurrahs the ice was 
 sawn asunder, the ships w^ere fresh tarred 
 and rigged, that they might sail away to dis- 
 tant lands. But I have remained here — 
 must always remain here, sitting at my desk
 
 THE COPYING-CLERK. 55 
 
 in the ofiice, and patiently see other people 
 fetch their passports to go abroad. Such is 
 my fate ! Alas !'' — sighed he, and was again 
 silent. " Great Heaven ! what is come to 
 me ! never have I thought or felt like this 
 before ! It must be the summer air that 
 affects me with feelings almost as disquieting 
 as they are refreshing." He felt in his pocket 
 for the papers. " These police-reports will 
 soon stem the torrent of my ideas, and effec- 
 tually hinder any rebeUious overflowing of the 
 time-worn banks of official duties ;" he said to 
 himself consolingl}^, while his eye ran over the 
 first page. "Dame Tigbrith, tragedy in 
 five acts." " What is that ? And yet it is un- 
 deniably my own handwriting. Have I writ- 
 ten the tragedy ? Wonderful, very wonderful ! 
 — And this — what have I here? 'Intrigue 
 ON the ramparts ; or the day of repent- 
 ance : vaudeville with new songs to the 
 most favorite airs.' The deuce ! where did I 
 get all this rubbish ? Some one must have 
 slipped it slyly into my pocket for a joke. 
 There is too a letter to me ; a crumpled 
 letter and the seal broken." 
 Yes, it was not a very polite epistle from
 
 56 THE SHOES OP FORTUNE. 
 
 the manager of a theatre, in which both 
 pieces were flatly refused. 
 
 " Hem ! hem !" said the clerk breathlessly, 
 and quite exhausted he seated himself on a 
 bank. His thoughts were so elastic, his 
 heart so tender ; and involuntarily he picked 
 one of the nearest flowers. It is a simple 
 daisy, just bursting out of the bud. What 
 the botanist tells us after a number of imper- 
 fect lectures, the flower proclaimed in a mi- 
 nute. It related the mythus of its birth, told 
 of the power of the sun-light that spread out 
 its delicate leaves, and forced them to im- 
 pregnate the air with their incense : — and 
 then he thought of the manifold struggles of 
 life, which in like manner awaken the bud- 
 ding flowers of feeling in our bosom. Light 
 and air contend with chivalric emulation for 
 the love of the fair flower that bestowed her 
 chief favors on the latter ; full of longing she 
 turned towards the light, and as soon as it 
 vanished, rolled her tender leaves together 
 and slept in the embraces of the air. " It is 
 the light which adorns me," said the flower. 
 " But 'tis the air which enables thee tc 
 breathe," said the poet's voice.
 
 THE COPYING-CLERK. 57 
 
 Close by stood a boy who dashed his stick 
 into a wet ditch. The drops of water splash- 
 ed up to the green leafy roof, and the clerk 
 tliought of the million of ephemera which in 
 a single drop were thrown up to a lieight, 
 that was as great doubtless for their size, as 
 for us if we were to be hurled above the 
 clouds. While he thought of this and of the 
 whole metamorphosis he had undergone, he 
 smiled and said, " I sleep and dream ; but it 
 is wonderful how one can dream so naturally, 
 and know besides so exactly that it is but a 
 dream. If only to-morrow on awaking, I 
 could again call all to mind so vividly ! 1 
 seem in unusually good spirits ; my percep- 
 tion of things is clear, I feel as light and 
 cheerful as though I were in heaven ; but I 
 know for a certainty, that if to-morrow a dim 
 remembrance of it should swim before my 
 mind, it will then seem nothing but stupid non- 
 sense, as I have often experienced already — 
 especially before I enlisted under the banner 
 of the police, for that dispels like a whirlwind 
 all the visions of an unfettered imagination. 
 All we hear or say in a dream that is fail 
 and beautiful is like the gold of the subterra
 
 58 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 nean spirits ; it is rich and splendid when it 
 is given us, but viewed by dayhght we find 
 only withered leaves. " Alas !" he sighed quite 
 sorrowful, and gazed at the chirping birds that 
 hopped contentedly from branch to branch, 
 " they are much better off than I ! To fly 
 must be a heavenly art; and happy- 4o- 1 
 ^, /prize that creature in which it is innate. 
 Yes ! could I exchange my nature with any 
 other creature, I fain would be such a happy 
 little lark !" 
 
 He had hardly uttered these hasty words 
 when the skirts and sleeves of his coat folded 
 themselves together into wings ; the clothes 
 became feathers, and the galoshes claws. 
 'He observed it perfectly, and laughed in his 
 heart. " Now then, there is no doubt that I 
 am dreaming ; but I never before was aware 
 of such mad freaks as these." And up he 
 flew into the green roof and sang ; but in the 
 song there was no poetry, for the spirit of the 
 poet was gone. The Shoes, as is the case 
 with anybody who does what he has to do 
 properly, could only attend to one thing at a 
 time. He wanted to be a poet, and he was 
 one ; he now wished to be a merry chirping
 
 THE COPYING-CLERK. 59 
 
 bird : but when he was metamorphosed into 
 one, the former pecuharities ceased immedi- 
 ately. " It is really pleasant enough," said 
 he : " the whole day long I sit in the office 
 amid the driest law-papers, and at night I 
 fly in my dream as a lark in the gardens of 
 Fredericksburg; one might really write a 
 very pretty comedy upon it." He now flut- 
 tered down into the grass, turned his head 
 gracefully on every side, and with his bill 
 pecked the pliant blades of grass, which, in 
 comparison to his present size, seemed as 
 majestic as the palm-branches of northern 
 Africa. 
 
 Unfortunately the pleasure lasted but a 
 moment. Presently black night oversha- 
 dowed our enthusiast, who had so entnely 
 missed his part of copying-clerk at a police- 
 office ; some vast object seemed to be thrown 
 over him. It was a large oil-skin cap, wliich 
 a sailor-boy of the quay had thrown over the 
 struggling bird ; a coarse hand sought its 
 way carefully in under the broad rim, and 
 seized the clerk over the back and wings. In 
 the first moment of fear, he called, indeed, as 
 loud as he could — "You impudent little
 
 60 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 blackguard ! I am a copying-clerk at the po- 
 lice office ; and you know you cannot insult 
 any belonging to the constabulary force with- 
 out a chastisement. Besides, you good-for- 
 nothing rascal, it is strictly forbidden to catch 
 birds in the royal gardens of Fredericksburg ; 
 but your blue uniform betrays where you 
 come from." This fine tirade sounded, how- 
 ever, to the ungodly sailor-boy like a mere 
 " Pip-pi-pi." He gave the noisy bird a knock 
 on his beak, and walked on. 
 
 He was soon met by two schoolboys of the 
 upper class, — that is to say as individuals, 
 for with regard to learning they were in the 
 lowest class in the school ; and they bought 
 the stupid bird. So the copying-clerk cam& 
 to Copenhagen as guest, or rather as prisoner 
 in a family living in Gother Street. 
 
 " 'T is well that I'm dreaming," said the 
 clerk, "or I really should get angry. First 
 I was a poet ; now sold for a few pence as a 
 lark ; no doubt it was that accursed poetical 
 nature which has metamorphosed me into 
 sucli a poor harmless little creature. It is 
 really pitiable, particularly when one gets 
 into the hands of a little blackguard, perfect
 
 THE COPYING-CLERK. 61 
 
 in all sorts of cruelty to animals : all I should 
 dke to know is, how the story will end." 
 
 The two school-boys, the proprietors now 
 of the transformed clerk, carried him into an 
 elegant room. A stout stately dame received 
 them with a smile ; but she expressed much 
 dissatisfaction that a coonnon field bird, as 
 she called the lark, should appear in such 
 high society. For to-day, how^ever, she 
 would allow it ; and they must shut him in 
 the empty cage that was standing in the win- 
 dow. " Perhaps he will amuse my good 
 Polly," added the lady, looking with a be- 
 nignant smile at a large green parrot that 
 swung himself backwards and forwards most 
 comfortably in his ring, inside a magnificent 
 brass-wired cage. " To-day is Polly's birth- 
 day," said she with stupid simplicity : " and 
 the little brown field-bird must wish him joy." 
 
 Mr. Polly uttered not a syllable in reply, 
 but swung to and fro w^ith dignified conde- 
 scension ; while a pretty canary, as yellow 
 as gold, that had lately been brought from 
 his sunny fragrant home, began to sing 
 aloud. 
 
 " Noisy creature ! will you be quiet !^'
 
 62 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 screamed the lady of the house, covering the 
 cage with an embroidered white pocket hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 " Cliirp, chirp !" sighed he ; " that was a 
 dreadful snow-storm ;" and he sighed again, 
 and was silent. 
 
 The copying-clerk, or, as the lady said, the 
 brown field-bird, was put into a small cage, 
 close to the Canary, and not far from "my 
 good Polly." The only human sounds that 
 the Parrot could bawl out were, "Come, let 
 us be men !" Everything else that he said 
 was as unintelligible to everybody as the 
 chirping of the Canary, except to the clerk, 
 who was now a bird too : he understood his 
 companion perfectly. 
 
 " I liew about beneath the green palms 
 and the blossoming almond-trees," sang the 
 Canary ; " I flew around, with my brothers 
 and sisters, over the beautiful flowers, and 
 over the glassy lakes, where the bright water- 
 plants nodded to me from below. There, 
 loo, I saw many splendidly-dressed paro- 
 quets, that told the drollest stories, and .the 
 wildest fairy-tales without end." 
 
 " Oh ! those were uncouth birds," ansvrer-
 
 THE COPYING-CLERK. 63 
 
 ed the Parrot. " They had no education, 
 and talked of whatever came into their head. 
 If my mistress and all her friends can laugh 
 at what I say, so may you too, I should 
 think. It is a great fault to have no taste 
 for what is witty or amusing — come, let us 
 be men." 
 
 "Ah, you have no remembrance of love 
 for the charming maidens that danced be- 
 neath the outspread tents beside the bright 
 fragrant flowers ? Do you no longer remem- 
 ber the sweet fruits, and the cooling juice in 
 the wild plants of our never-to-be-forgotten 
 home ?" said the former inhabitant of the 
 Canary Isles, continuing his dithyrambic. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said the Parrot ; " but I am 
 far better off here. I am well fed, and get 
 friendly treatment. I know I am a clever 
 fellow ; and that is all I care about. Come, 
 let us be men. You are of a poetical nature, 
 as it is called, — I. on the contrary, possess 
 profound knowledge and inexhaustible wit. 
 You have genius ; but clear-sighted, calm 
 discretion does not take such lofty flights, 
 and utter such high natural tones. For this 
 they have covered you over, — they never do
 
 64 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 the like to me ; for I cost more. Besides, 
 they are afraid of my beak ; and I have al- 
 ways a witty answer at liand. Come, let us 
 be men 1" 
 
 " O warm spicy land of my birth," sang 
 the Canary bird ; " I will sing of thy dark- 
 green bowers, of the calm bays where the 
 pendent boughs kiss the surface of tiie water ; 
 I will sing of the rejoicing of all my brothei"? 
 and sisters where the cactus grows in wan- 
 ton luxuriance." 
 
 " Spare us your elegiac tones," said the 
 Parrot giggling-. "Rather speak of some- 
 thing at which one may laugh heartily. 
 Laughing is an infallible sign of the highest 
 degree of mental development. Can a dogj 
 or a horse laugh ? No, but they can cry. 
 The gift of laughing was given to man 
 alone. Ha I ha ! ha !" screamed Polly, and 
 added his stereotype witticism, " come, let us 
 be men !" 
 
 " Poor little Danish grey-bird," said the 
 Canary ; "you have been cauglit too. It is. 
 no doubt, cold enough in your woods, but 
 there at least is the breath of liberty ; there- 
 fore lly away. In the hurry they have for-
 
 THE OOPYING-CLERK. 65 
 
 g-otien to shut your cage, and the upper win- 
 dow is open. Fly, my friend ; fly away, 
 Farewell !"' 
 
 Instinctively the Clerk obeyed ; with a few 
 strokes of his wings he was out of the cage ; 
 but at the same moment the door, which was 
 only ajar, and which led to the next room, 
 began to creak, and supple and creeping 
 came the large tom-cat into the room, and 
 began to pursue him. The frightened Ca- 
 nary fluttered about in his cage ; the Parrot 
 flapped his wings, and cried, " Come, let us 
 be men !" Tlie Clerk felt a mortal fright, 
 and flew through the window, far away over 
 the houses and streets. At last he was 
 forced to rest a little. 
 
 The neighboring house had a something 
 familiar about it ; a window stood open ; he 
 flew in ; it was his own room. He perched 
 upon the table. 
 
 " Coine, let us be men !" said he, involun- 
 tarily imitating the chatter of the Parrot, 
 and at the same moment he was again a 
 copying-clerk ; but he was sitting in the 
 middle of the table. 
 
 " Heaven help me !" cried he. " How did 
 &
 
 66 THE SHOES OP FORTUNE. 
 
 I get up here — and so buried in sleep, too? 
 After all, that was a very unpleasant, disa- 
 greeable dream that haunted me ! The 
 whole story is nothing but silly, stupid non- 
 sense !" 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE BEST THAT TS^ GALOSHES GAVE. 
 
 The following day, early in the morning, 
 while til e Clerk was still in bed, some one 
 knocked at his door. It was his neighbor, a 
 young Divine, who lived on the same floor. 
 He walked in. 
 
 t " Lend me your Galoshes," said he ; " it is 
 so wet in the garden, though the sun is shin- 
 ing most invitingly. I should like to go out 
 a little." 
 
 He got the Galoshes, and he was soon be- 
 low in a little duodecimo garden, where be- 
 tween two immense walls a plum-tree and 
 an apple-tree were standing. Even such a
 
 THE BEST THE GALOSHES GAVE. 67 
 
 liltle garden as this was considered in the 
 metropohs of Copenhagen as a great luxury. 
 
 The young man wandered up and down 
 the narrow paths, as well as the prescribed 
 hmits would allow ; the clock struck six ; 
 without was heard the horn of a post-boy. 
 
 ^' To travel ! to travel !" exclaimed he, 
 overcome by most painful and passionate re- 
 membrances ; " that is the happiest thing in 
 the world ! that is the highest aim of all my 
 wishes ! Then at last would the agonizing 
 restlessness be allayed, which destroys my 
 existence ! But it must be far, far away ! I 
 would behold magnificent Switzerland ; I 
 w ould travel to Italy, and ■' 
 
 It was a good thing that the power of the 
 Galoshes worked as instantaneously as light- 
 ning in a powder-magazine would do, other- 
 wise the poor man with his overstrained 
 wishes w^ould have travelled about the world 
 too much for himself as well as for us. In 
 short, he was* travelling. He was in the 
 middle of Switzerland, but packed up with 
 eight other passengers in the inside of an 
 eternally-creaking diligence ; his head ached 
 till it ahnost split, his weary neck could
 
 6ft THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 hardly bear the heavy load, and his feet^ 
 pinched by his torturing boots, were terribly 
 swollen. He was in an intermediate state 
 between sleeping and waking ; at variance 
 with himself, with his company, with the 
 country, and with the government. In his 
 right pocket he had his letter of credit, in the 
 left, his passport, and in a small leathern 
 purse some double louis-d'or, carefully sewn 
 up in the bosom of his waistcoat. Every 
 dream proclaimed that one or the other of 
 these valuables was lost ; wherefore he start- 
 ed up as in a fever ; and the first movement 
 which his hand made, described a magic tri- 
 angle from the right pocket to the left, and 
 then up towards the bosom, to feel if he had 
 them all safe or not. From the roof inside 
 the carriage, umbrellas, walking-sticks, hat£j 
 and sundry other articles were depending, 
 and hindered the view, which was particu- 
 larly imposing. He now endeavored as well 
 as he was able to dispel his gloom, which 
 was caused by outward chance circumstan- 
 ces merely, and on the bosom of nature im- 
 bibe the milk of purest human enjoyment. 
 Grand, solemn, and dark was the whole
 
 THE BEST THE GALOSHES GAVE. 69 
 
 landscape around. The gigantic pine-forests, 
 on the pointed crags, seemed almost hke little 
 tufts of heather, colored by the surrounding 
 clouds. It began to snow, a cold wind blew 
 and roared as though it were seeking a bride. 
 
 " Augh !" sighed he, " were we only on the 
 other side the Alps, then we should have 
 summer, and I could get my letters of credit 
 cashed. The anxiety I feel about them pre- 
 vents me enjoying Switzerland. Were I but 
 on the other side !" 
 
 And so saying he was on the other side in 
 Italy, between Florence and Rome. Lake 
 Thracymene, illumined by the evening sun, 
 lay like flaming gold between the dark-blue 
 mountain-ridges ; here, where Hannibal de- 
 feated Flaminius, the rivers now held each 
 other in their green embraces ; lovely, half- 
 naked children tended a herd of black swine, 
 beneath a group of fragrant laurel-trees, hard 
 by the road-side. Could we render this ini- 
 mitable picture properly, then would every- 
 body exclaim, " Beautiful, unparalleled 
 Italy !" But neither the young Divine said 
 so, nor any one of his grumbling companions 
 m the coach of the vetturino.
 
 70 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 The poisonous flies and gnats swarmed 
 around by thousands ; in vain one waved 
 myrtle-branches about like mad ; the auda- 
 cious insect population did not cease to sting ; 
 nor was there a single person in the well- 
 crammed carriage whose face was not swol- 
 len and sore from their ravenous bites. The 
 poor horses, tortured almost to death, suffer- 
 ed most from this truly Egyptian plague ; 
 the flies alighted upon them in large disgust- 
 ing swarms ; and if the coachman got down 
 and scraped them off, hardly a minute elaps- 
 ed before they were there again. The sun 
 now set : a freezing cold, though of short 
 duration pervaded the whole creation ; it 
 was like a horrid gust coming from a burial- 
 vault on a warm summer's day, — but all 
 around the mountains retained that wonder- 
 ful green tone which we see in some old 
 pictures, and which, should we not have seer 
 a similar play of color in the South, we de- 
 clare at once to be unnatural. It was a 
 glorious prospect ; but the stomach was emp- 
 ty, the body tired ; all that the heart cared 
 and longed for was good night-quarters ; yet 
 how would thev be? For these one lo(>ked
 
 THE BEST THE GALOSHES GAVE. 71 
 
 much more anxiously than for the charms 
 of nature, which every where were so pro- 
 fusely displayed. 
 
 The road led through an olive-grove, and 
 here the solitary inn was situated. Ten or 
 twelve crippled-beggars had encamped out- 
 side: The healthiest of them resembled, to 
 use an expression of Marryat's, " Hunger's 
 eldest son when he had come of age ;" the 
 others were either blind, had withered legs 
 and crept about on their hands, or withered 
 arms and fingerless hands. It was the most 
 wretched misery, dragged from among the 
 filthiest rags. " Excellenza, miserabili !" sigh- 
 ed they, thrusting forth their deformed limbs 
 to view. Even the hostess, with bare feet, 
 uncombed hair, and dressed in a garment of 
 doubtful color, received the guests grumbling- 
 ly. The doors were fastened with a loop of 
 string ; the floor of the rooms presented a 
 stone paving half torn up ; bats fluttered 
 wildly about the ceiling ; and as to the smell 
 therein — no — that was beyond description. 
 
 '' You had better lay the cloth below in 
 Ihe stable," said one of the travellers ; " there,
 
 72 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 at all events, one knows what one is breath 
 ing." 
 
 The windows Avere quickly opened, to let 
 in a little fresh air. Quicker, however, than 
 the breeze, the withered, sallow arms of the 
 beggars were thrust in, accompanied by the 
 eternal whine of " Miserabili, miserabili, ex- 
 cellenza !" On the walls were displayed in- 
 numerable inscriptions, written in nearly 
 every language of Europe, some in verse, 
 some in prose, most of them not very lauda- 
 tory of " bella Italia." 
 
 The meal was served. It consisted of a 
 soup of salted water, seasoned with pepper 
 and rancid oil. The last ingredient played 
 a very prominent part in the salad ; stale 
 eggs and roasted cocks'-combs furnished the 
 grand dish of the repast ; the wine even was 
 not without a disgusting taste — it was like a 
 medicinal draught. 
 
 At night the boxes and other effects of 
 the passengers were placed against the rick- 
 ctty doors. One of the travelers kept watch 
 while the others slept. The sentry was oul 
 young Divine. How close it was in the
 
 THE BEST THE GALOSHES GAVE. 73 
 
 chamber! The heat oppressive to suffoca- 
 cation — the gnats hummed and stung un- 
 ceasingly — the "miserabiU" without whined 
 and moaned in their sleep. 
 
 "Travelling would be agreeable enough," 
 said he groaning, " if one only had no body, 
 or could send it to rest while the spirit went 
 on its pilgrimage unhindered, whither the 
 voice within might call it. Wherever I go, 
 1 am pursued by a longing that is insatiable. 
 — that I cannot explain to myself, and that 
 tears my very heart. I want something bet- 
 ter than what is but momentar}^ — than what 
 is fled in an instant. But what is it, and 
 where is it to be found ? Yet, I know in 
 reality what it is I wish for. Oh ! most 
 happy were I, could I but reach one aim, — 
 could but reach the happiest of all !" 
 
 And as he spoke the woid he was again 
 in his home j the long white curtains hung 
 down from the windows, and in the middle 
 of the floor stood the black coflin ; in it he 
 lay in the sleep of death. His* wish was ful- 
 filled — the body rested, while the spirit went 
 unhindered on its pilgrimage, "/jet no one 
 deem himself happy before his end," were
 
 r4 THE SHOES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 tlie words of Solon ; and here was a new 
 and brill. ant proof of the wisdom of the old 
 apothegm. 
 
 Every corpse is a sphynx of immortality ; 
 here too on the black coffin the sphynx gave 
 us no answer to what he who lay within 
 had written two days before : 
 
 " O mighty Death ! thy silence teaches nought, 
 Thou leadest only to the near grave's brink ; 
 Is broken now the ladder of my thoughts? 
 Do I instead of mounting only sink ? 
 
 Our heaviest grief the world oft seeth not, 
 Our sorest pain we hide from stranger eyes : 
 
 And for the sufferer there is nothing left 
 
 But the green mound that o'er the coffin lies." 
 
 Two figures were moving in the chamber. 
 We knew them both ; it was the fairy of 
 Care, and the emissary of Fortune. They 
 both bent over the corpse. 
 
 " Do you now see," said Care, " what hap- 
 pmess 3rour Galoshes have brought to man- 
 kind ?" 
 
 " To him, at least, who slumbers here, 
 they have brought an imperishable blessing," 
 answered the other.
 
 THE BEST THE GALObUE? GAVE. 
 
 5 
 
 •' Ah no !" replied Care, " he took his de- 
 parture himself; he was not called away. 
 His mental powers here below were not 
 sirong enough to Teach the treasures l3'ing 
 beyond this life, and which his destiny or- 
 dained he should obtain. I will now confer 
 a benefit on him." 
 
 And she took the Galoshes from his feet ; 
 nis sleep of death was ended ; and he who 
 had been thus called back again to life arose 
 from his dread couch in all the vigor of youth. 
 Care vanished, and with her the Galoshes. 
 She has no doubt taken them for herself, to 
 keep them to all eternity.
 
 THE FIR-TREE. 
 
 UT in the :voods 
 stood a nice little 
 Fir-tree. The place 
 he had was a very 
 good one : the sun 
 shone on him : as to 
 fresh air, there was 
 enough of that, and round 
 him grew many large-sized comrades, pines 
 as well as firs. But the little Fir wanted so 
 very much to be a grown up tree. 
 
 He did not think of the warm sun and of 
 the fresh air ; he did not care for the little 
 cottage children that ran about and prattled 
 when they were in the woods looking for 
 wild-strawberries. The children often came 
 76
 
 THE FIR-TREE. 77 
 
 With a whole pitcher full of berries, or a long 
 row of them threaded on a straw, and sat 
 down near the young tree and said, " Oh, 
 how pretty he is ! what a nice little fir !" 
 But this was what the tree could not bear to 
 liear. 
 
 At the end of a year he had shot up a 
 good deal, and after another year he was an- 
 other long bit taller ; for with fir-trees one can 
 always tell by the shoots how many years 
 old they are. 
 
 " Oh ! were I but such a high tree as the 
 others are," sighed he. " Then I should be 
 able to spread out my branches, and with the 
 tops to look into the wide world ! Then 
 would the birds build nests among my bran- 
 ches : and when there was a breeze, I could 
 bend with as much stateliness as the others !" 
 
 Neither the sunbeams, nor the birds, nor 
 the red clouds which morning and evening 
 sailed above him, gave the little tree any 
 pleasure. 
 
 In winter, when the snow lay glittering 
 on the ground, a hare would often come 
 leaping along, and jump right over the little 
 tree. Oh, that made him so angry ! But
 
 78 . THE FIR-TREE. 
 
 twc Winters were past, and, in the third the 
 tree was so large that the hare was obhged 
 to go round it. " To grow and grow, to get 
 older and be tall," thouglit the Tree, — "that, 
 after all, is the most delightful thing in the 
 world !" 
 
 In autumn the w^ood-cutters always came 
 and felled some of the largest trees. This 
 happened every year ; and the young Fir- 
 tree, that had now grown to a very comely 
 size, trembled at the sight ; for the magnifi- 
 cent great trees fell to the earth with noise 
 and cracking, the branches were lopped off, 
 and the trees looked long and bare ; they were 
 hardly to be recognised ; and then they were 
 laid in carts, and the horses dragged them 
 out of the w^ood. 
 
 Where did they go to ? What became of 
 tliem ? 
 
 In spring, wheiL the swallows and the 
 storks came, the Tree asked them, "Don't 
 you know where they have been taken 1 
 Have you not met them any where ?" 
 
 The swallows did not know any thing 
 about it ; but the Stork looked musing, nod- 
 ded his head, and said, " Yes ; I think I
 
 THE FIR-TREE. 79 
 
 Know ; I met many ships as I was flying 
 hither from Egypt ; on the ships were mag- 
 nificent masts, and I venture to assert that it 
 wad they that smelt so of fir. I may con- 
 gratulate you, for they lifted themselves on 
 high most majestically !"' 
 
 " Oh, were I but old enough to fly across 
 the sea ! But how does the sea look in real- 
 ity ? What is it like P' 
 
 " That would take a long time to explain," 
 said the Stork, and with these words off he 
 went. 
 
 "Rejoice in thy growth!" said the Sun- 
 beams, " rejoice in thy vigorous growth, and 
 in the fresh life that moveth within thee !" 
 
 And the Wind kissed the Tree, and the 
 Dew wept tears over him : but the Fir under- 
 stood it not. 
 
 When Christmas came, quite young trees 
 were cut down : trees which often were not 
 even as large or of the same age as this Fir- 
 tree. Avho could never rest, but always want- 
 ed to be off. These young trees, and they 
 were always the finest looking, retained their 
 branches ; they were laid on carts, and the 
 horses drew them out of the wood.
 
 80 THE FIR-TREE. 
 
 ''Where are they going to?" askeJ the Pir 
 " They are not taller than I ; there was one 
 indeed that was considerably shorter ; and 
 why do they retain all their branches ? 
 Whither are they taken ?" 
 
 " We know ! we know !" chirped the Spar- 
 rows. " We have peeped in at the windows 
 in the town below ! We know whither they 
 are taken ! The greatest splendor and the 
 greatest magnificence one can imagine await 
 them. We peeped through the windows, and 
 saw them planted in the middle of the warm 
 room aad ornamented with the most splendid 
 things, with gilded apples, with gingerbread, 
 with toys, and many hundred lights !" 
 
 " And then?" asked the Fir-tree, trembhng 
 in every bough. "And then? What hap- 
 pens then ?'' 
 
 " We did not see any thing more : it was 
 incomparably beautiful." 
 
 "I would fain know if I am destined for 
 so glorious a career," cried the Tree, rejoic 
 ing. " That is still better than to cross the 
 sea ! What a longing do I suffer ! Were 
 Christmas but come ! I am now tall, and 
 my branches spread like the uUicrs that were
 
 i ^-tivg 
 
 THE FIR-TREE. 81 
 
 carried off last year ! Oh ! were I but al- 
 ready on the cart ! Were I in the warm 
 room with all the splendor and magnificence ! 
 Yes ; then something better, something still 
 grander, will surely follow, or wherefore 
 should they thus ornament me ? Something 
 better, something still grander must follow — 
 but what ? Oh, how I long, how I suffer ! 
 I do not know myself what is the matter with 
 me!" 
 
 " Rejoice in our presence !" said the Air 
 and the Sunlight ; " rejoice in thy own fresh 
 youth !" 
 
 But the Tree did not rejoice at all; he 
 grew and grew, and was green both winter 
 and summer. People that saw him said, 
 " What a fine tree !" and towards Christmas 
 he was one of the first that was cut down. 
 The axe struck deep into the very pith ; the 
 tree fell to the earth with a sigh ; he felt a 
 pang — it was like a swoon ; he could not 
 think of happiness, for he was sorrowful at 
 being separated from his home, from the 
 place where he had sprung up. He well 
 knew that he should never see his dear old 
 comrades, the little bushes and flowers around
 
 82 THE FIR-TREE. 
 
 him, any more ; perhaps not even the birds ! 
 The departure was not at all agreeable. 
 
 The Tree only came to himself when he 
 was unloaded in a court-yard with the other 
 trees, and heard a man say, " That one is 
 splendid ! we don't want the others." Then 
 two servants came in rich livery and carried 
 the fir-tree into a large and splendid drawing- 
 room. Portraits were hanging on the walls, 
 and near the white porcelain stove stood two 
 large Chinese vases with lions on the covers. 
 There, too, were large easy-chairs, silken so- 
 fas, large tables full of picture-books and full 
 of toys, worth hundreds and hundreds of 
 crowns — at least the children said so. And 
 the Fir-tree was stuck upright in a cask that 
 was filled with sand ; but no one could see 
 that it was a cask, for green cloth was hung 
 all round it, and it stood on a large gaily- 
 colored carpet. Oh ! how the tree quivered ! 
 What was to happen ? The servants, as 
 well as the young ladies, decorated it. On one 
 branch there hung little nets cut out of coloi;- 
 ed paper, and each net was filled with sugar- 
 plums ; and among the other boughs gilded 
 apples and walnuts were suspended, looking
 
 THE FIR-TREE. 83 
 
 as though they had grown there, and Httle 
 blue and white tapers were placed among 
 the leaves. Dolls that looked for all the 
 world like men — the Tree had never beheld 
 such before — were seen among the foliage, 
 and at the very top a large star of gold tinsel 
 was fixed. It was really splendid — beyond 
 description splendid. 
 
 " This evening !" said they all, " how it 
 will shine this evening !" 
 
 " Oh r' thought the Tree, " if the evening 
 were but come ! If the tapers were but 
 lighted ! And then I wonder what will hap- 
 pen ! Perhaps the other trees from the forest 
 will come to look at me ! Perhaps the spar 
 rows will beat against the window-panes ! 1 
 wonder if I shall take root here, and winter 
 and summer stand covered with ornaments !" 
 
 He knew very much about the matter !— 
 but he was so impatient that for sheer long- 
 ing he got a pain in his back, and this with 
 trees is the same thing as a headache with us. 
 
 The candles were now lighted — What 
 brightness ! What splendor ! The Tree 
 trembled so in every bough that one of the
 
 84 THE FIR-TREE. 
 
 tapers set fire to the foliage. It blazed up 
 famously. 
 
 •' Help ! help !" cried the young ladies, and 
 /hey quickly put out the fire. 
 
 Now the tree did not even dare tremble. 
 What a state he was in ! He was so uneasy 
 lest he should lose something of his splendor, 
 that he was quite bewildered amidst the 
 glare and brightness ; when suddenly, both 
 folding-doors opened and a troop of children 
 rushed in as if they would upset the Tree. 
 The older persons followed quietly ; the little 
 ones stood quite still. But it was only for a 
 moment ; then they shouted that the Whole 
 place re-echoed with their, rejoicing; they 
 danced round the Tree, and one present after 
 the other was pulled off. 
 
 "What are they about?" thought the 
 Tree, r' What is to happen now I'y And 
 the lights burned down to the very branches, 
 and as they burned down they were put out 
 one after the other, and then the children had 
 permission to plunder the Tre e. So they fell 
 upon it with such violence that all its branches 
 cracked ; if it had not been fixed firmly in
 
 THE FIR-TREE 85 
 
 the ground, it would certainly have tumbled 
 down. 
 
 The children danced about with their '^^ 
 beautiful play-things ; no one looked at the 
 Tree except the old nurse, who peeped be- 
 tween the branches ; but it was only to see 
 if there was a fig or an apple left that had 
 been forgotten. 
 
 "A story! a story!" cried the children, 
 drawing a little fat man towards tlie Tree. 
 He seated himself under it and said, " Now 
 we are in the sliade, and the Tree can listen 
 too. But I shall tell only one story. Now 
 w^hich will you have ; that about Ivedy-Ave- 
 dy, or about Humpy-Dumpy, who tumbled 
 down stairs, and yet after all came to the 
 throne and married the princess ?•' 
 
 " Ivedy-Avedy," cried some; "Humpy- 
 Dumpy," cried the others. There was such a 
 bawliag and screaming ! — the Fir-tree alone 
 was silent, and he thought to himself, 
 " Am I not_t o bawl with the rest? — am I to 
 do nothing whatever ?" f or he was on e of the 
 company, an d had done what he had to do . 
 
 And the man told about Humpy-Dumpy 
 that tumbled down, who notwithstanding
 
 86 THE FIR-TREE. 
 
 came to the throne, and at last married the 
 princess. And the children clapped their 
 hands, and cried. " Oh, go on ! Do go on !'' 
 They wanted to hear about Ivedy-Avedy too, 
 but the little man only told them about Hum- 
 py-Dumpy. The Fir-tree stood quite still 
 and absorbed in thought ; the birds in the 
 jvood had never related the like of this. 
 /^ " Humpy-Dumpy fell down stairs, and yet 
 ^ he married the princess ! Yes, yes ! that's 
 the way of the world !" thought the Fir-tree, 
 and believed it all, because the man who told 
 the story was so good-looking. " Well, well ! 
 who knows, perJi*4is,_L2iiay fall down stai rs, 
 too , and get a princess j ;S_jvife ! And he 
 ""looked forward with joy to the morrow, when 
 he hoped to be decked out again with lights, 
 playthings, fruits, and tinsel. 
 
 " I won't tremble to-morro w !" thought the 
 Fir-tree. " 1 will enjoy to the full all my 
 splendor ! To morrow I shall hear again the 
 story of HTmTpy-TTumpy, and perhaps that of 
 Ivedy-Avedy too." And the whole night the 
 Tree stood still and in deep thought. 
 
 In the morning the servant and the house* 
 maid came in.
 
 W _>v> 'I 
 
 THE FIR-TREE. 87 
 
 " Now then the splendor will begin again," 
 thought the Fir. But they dragged him out 
 of the room, and up the stairs into the loft : 
 and here, in a dark corner, where no daylight 
 could enter, they left him. "What's the 
 meaning of this ?" thought the Tree. " What 
 am I to do here ? What shall I hear now, I 
 wonder ?" And he leaned against the wall 
 lost in reverie. Time enough had he too for 
 his reflections ; for days and nights passed 
 on, and nobody came up ; and when at last 
 somebody did come, it was only to put some 
 great trunks in a corner, out of the way. 
 There stood the Tree quite hidden ; it seem- 
 ed as if he had been entirely forgotten. 
 
 " 'T is now winter out of doors !" thought 
 the Tree. " The earth is hard and covered 
 
 o— -^ 
 
 with snow ; men cannot plant me now, and j 
 therefore I have been put up here under shelter/ 
 till the spring-time comes! How though t- 
 ful that is ! How kind man is, after all ! If 
 it only were not so dark here, and so terribly 
 lonely ! Not even a hare ! — And out in the 
 woods it was so pleasant ^^when the snow waa 
 on the ground, and the hare leapedjby ; yes 
 — even when he jumped over me ; but I did
 
 88 THE FIR-TREE. 
 
 not like it then ! It is really terribly lonely 
 here !" 
 
 " Squeak ! squeak !*' said a little Mouse, at 
 the same moment, peeping out of his hole. 
 And then another little one came. They 
 snuffed about the Fir-tree, and rustled among 
 the branches. 
 
 "It is dreadfully cold," said the Mouse. 
 '^ "But for that, it would Ibe delightful here, 
 [\ old Fir, wouldn't it ?" i' 
 \ : " I am by no means old," said the Fir-tree. 
 " There's many a one considerably older than 
 I am." 
 
 " Where do you come from," asked the 
 Mice ; " and what can you do ?" They were 
 so extremely curious. "Tell us about the 
 most beautiful spot on the earth. Have you 
 never been there ? Were you never in the 
 larder, where cheeses lie on the shelves, and 
 hams hang from above ; where one dances 
 about on tallow candles : that place where 
 one enters lean, and comes out again fat and 
 portly?" 
 
 " I know no such place," said the Tree. 
 " But I know the wood, where the sun shinea 
 and where the little birds sing." And then
 
 THE FIR-TREE. 89 
 
 he told all about his youth ; and the little 
 Mice had never heard the like before ; and 
 they listened and said, 
 
 '•' Well, to be sure ! How much you have 
 seen ! How happy you must have been !" 
 
 " I !" said the Fir-tree, thinking over what 
 he had himself related. " Yes, in reality 
 t hose were happy times." And then he told 
 about Christmas-eve, when he was decked 
 out with cakes and candles. 
 
 " Oh," said the little Mice, " how fortunate 
 you have been, old Fir-tree !" 
 
 ^'- 1 am by no means old," said he. " I came 
 from the wood this winter ; I am in my 
 prime, and am only rather short for my age." 
 
 " What delightful stories you know !" said 
 the Mice : and the next night they came with 
 four other little Mice, who were to hear what 
 the Tree recounted : and the more he related", 
 the more he remembered himself; and it ap- 
 peared as if those times had really been hap-^ 
 py times. " But the y may still come — they 
 ma j_still come ! H umpy^umpy felFHown 
 sta irs, and yet he got a "prmcessT^and he 
 thought atTEelhoment of a~nice little Birch
 
 90 THE FIR-TRRE. 
 
 tree growing out in the Avoods : to the Fir, 
 that would be a real charming princess. 
 
 " Who is Humpy-Dumpy ?" asked the 
 
 Mice. So then the Fir-tree told the whole 
 
 fairy tale, for he could remember every single 
 
 word of it; and the little Mice jumped for 
 
 joy up to the very top of the Tree. Next 
 
 / night two more Mice came, and on Sunday 
 
 ' two Rats even ; but they said the stories were 
 
 not interesting, whicli vexed the little Mice ; 
 
 and they, too, now began to think them not 
 
 I so very amusing either. 
 
 " Do you know only one story ?" asked the 
 Rats, 
 
 "Only that one," answered the Tree. "I 
 heard it on my happiegt_ evening ; but I did 
 not then knowJhj^^^iia^p^Ll-was," 
 
 " It is a very stupid story ! Don't you 
 know one about bacon and tallow candles ? 
 Can't you tell any larder stories ?" 
 
 " No," said the Tree. 
 
 " Then good-bye," said the Rats ; and they 
 tvent home. 
 
 " At last the little Mice stayed away also ; 
 and the Tree sighed: "After all, it was very
 
 THE FIR-TREE. 91 
 
 pleasant when the sleek httle Mice sat round 
 me, and Hstened to what I told them. Now 
 that too is over. But I will take good care 
 to enjoy myself when I am brought out 
 again." 
 
 But when was that to be ? Why, one 
 morning there came a quantity of people and 
 set to work in the loft. The trunks were 
 moved, the tree was pulled out and thrown, 
 — rather hard, it is true, — down on the floor, 
 but a man drew him towards the stairs, 
 where the daylight shone. 
 
 " Now a merry life will begin again," 
 thought the Tree. He felt"the fresF air, the 
 first sunbeam, — and now he was out in the 
 court-yard. All passed so quickly, there was 
 so much ffoing on around him, the Tree 
 quite forgot to look to himself. The court 
 adjoined a garden, and all was in flower ; 
 the roses hung so fresh and odorous over the 
 balustrade, the lindens were in blossom, the 
 Swallows flew by, and said, " Q.uirre-vit ! my 
 husband is come !" but it was not the Fir- 
 tree that they meant. 
 
 " Now, then, I shall really enjoy life," said 
 tie exultingly, and spread out his branches ,*
 
 92 THE FIR-TREE. 
 
 but, alas ! they were all withered and yellow. 
 It was in a corner that he lay, among weeds 
 and nettles. The golden star of tinsel was 
 still on the top of the Tree, and glittered in 
 the sunshine. 
 
 In the court-yard some of the merry chil- 
 dren were playing who had danced at Christ- 
 mas round the Fir-tree, and were so glad at 
 the sight of him. One of the youngest ran 
 V and tore off the golden star. 
 
 " Only look what is still on the ugly old 
 Christmas tree !" said he, trampling on the 
 branches, so that they all cracked beneath 
 his feet. 
 
 And the Tree beheld all the beaut}^ of the 
 flowers, and the freshness in the garden ; he 
 beheld himself, and wished he had remained 
 in his dark corner in the loft ; he thought. of 
 his first youth in the wood, of the merry 
 Christmas-eve, and of the little Mice who had 
 listened with so much pleasure to the story 
 of Humpy-Dumpy. 
 
 " 'T is over — 't is past !" said the poor Tree. 
 " Had I but rejoiced when I had reason to do 
 Bo ! But now 't is past, 't is past !" 
 
 And the gardener's boy chopped the Trea
 
 THE FIR-TREE. 93 
 
 into small pieces ; there was a whole heap 
 lying there. The wood flamed up splendidly 
 under the large brewing copper, and it sighed 
 so deeply ! Each sigh was like a shot. 
 
 The boys played about in the court, and 
 the youngest wore the gold star on his breast 
 which the Tree had had on the happiest even- 
 ing of his life. However, that was over now. 
 — the Tree gone, the story at an end. All 
 all was over ; — every tale must end at last 
 
 y
 
 THE SNOW QUEEN. 
 
 FIRST STORY, 
 
 VTHICH TREATS OF A MIRROR AND OF THE SPLINT3R& 
 
 OW then, let us begin. When 
 we are at the end of the story, 
 we shall know more than we 
 r know now : but to begin. 
 Once upon a time there was a wicked 
 sprite, indeed he was the most mischievous 
 of all sprites. One day he was in a very good 
 humor, for he had made a mirror with the 
 power of causing all that was good and 
 beautiful when it was reflected therein, to 
 look poor and mean; but that which was 
 good for nothing and looked ugly was shown 
 magnified and increased in ugliness. In this 
 94
 
 THE MIRROR AND SPLINTERS. 95 
 
 mirror the most beautiful landscapes looked 
 like boiled spinach, and the best persons 
 were turned into frights, or appeared to stand 
 on their heads ; their faces were so distorted 
 that they were not to be recognised ; and if 
 any one had a mole, you might be sure that 
 it would be magnified and spread over both 
 nose and mouth. "That's glorious fun!" 
 said the sprite. If a good thought passed 
 through a man's mind, then a grin was seen 
 in the mirror, and the sprite lauglied heartily 
 at his clever discovery. All the little sprites 
 who went to his school — for he kept a sprite 
 school — told each other that a miracle had 
 happened ; and that now only, as they 
 thought, it would be possible to see hoW' 
 the world really looked. They ran about 
 with the mirror ; and at last there was not a 
 land or a person who was not represented 
 distorted in the mirror. So then they thought 
 they would fly up to the sky, and have a joke 
 there. The higlier they flew with the mirror, 
 the more terribly it grinned : they could 
 hardly hold it fast. Higher and higher still 
 they flew, nearer and nearer to the stars, 
 when suddenly the mirror shook so terribly
 
 96 THE SNOW-Q.UEEN. 
 
 with grinning, that it flew out of their hands 
 and fell to the earth, where it was dashed in 
 a hundred million and more pieces. And 
 now it worked much more evil than before ; 
 for some of these pieces were hardly so large 
 as a grain of sand, and they flew about in 
 the wide world, and when they got into peo- 
 ple's eyes, there they stayed ; and then peo- 
 ple saw everything perverted, or only had an 
 eye for that which was evil. This happened 
 because the very smallest bit had the same 
 power which the whole mirror had possessed. 
 Some persons even got a splinter in their 
 heart, and then it made one shudder, for 
 their heart became like a lump of ice. Some 
 of the broken pieces were so large that they 
 were used for window-panes, through which 
 one could not see one's friends. Other pieces 
 were put in spectacles ; and that was a 
 sad affair when people put on their glasses to 
 see well and rightly. Then the wicked 
 sprite laughed till he almost choked, for all 
 this tickled his fancy. The fine splinters 
 still flew about in the air : and now we shall 
 hear what happened next.
 
 A. LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL. 97 
 
 SECOND STORY. 
 
 A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL. 
 
 In a large town, where there are so many- 
 houses, and so many people, that there is no 
 roof left for every body to have a little gar- 
 den ; and where, on this accoimt, most per- 
 sons are obliged to content themselves with 
 flowers in pots ; there lived two little children, 
 who had a garden somewhat larger than a 
 flower-pot. They were not brother and sis- 
 ter ; but they cared for each other as much 
 as if they were. Their parents lived exactly 
 opposite. They inhabited two garrets ; and 
 where the roof of the one house joined that 
 of the other, and the gutter ran along the 
 extreme end of it, there was to each house a 
 small window : one needed only to step over 
 the gutter to get from one window to the 
 other. 
 
 The children's parents had large wooden 
 boxes there, in which vegetables for the 
 kitchen were planted, and little rose-trees be- 
 sides : there was a rose in each box, and they 
 7
 
 98 THE SNOW-Q-IJEEN. 
 
 g^iew splendidly. They now thought of 
 placing the boxes across the gutter, so that 
 Uiey nearly reached from one window to the 
 ^.her, and looked just like two walls of tlow- 
 trs. The tendrils of the peas hung dow^n 
 over the boxes ; and the rose-trees shot up 
 long branches, twined round the windows, 
 and then bent towards each other : it was 
 almost like a triumphant arch of foliage and 
 flowers. The boxes were very high, and the 
 children knew that they must not creep over 
 til em ; so they often obtained permission to 
 get out of the windows to each other, and to 
 sit on their little stools among the roses, 
 where they could play delightfully. In win- 
 ter there was an end of this pleasure. The 
 wnndows were often frozen over ; but then 
 they heated copper farthings on the stove, 
 and laid the hot farthing on the wdndow- 
 pane, and then they had a capital peep-hole, 
 quite nicely rounded ; and out of each peep- 
 ed a gentle friendly eye — it was the little boy 
 and the little girl \vho were looking out. 
 His name was Kay, hers was Gerda. In 
 summer, with one jump, they could get to 
 each other ; but in winter they were obliged
 
 A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL. 99 
 
 first to go down the long stairs, and then up 
 the ( ong stall's again : and out of doors there 
 was quite a snow-storm. 
 
 " It is the white bees that are swarming," 
 Baid Kay's old grandmother. 
 
 " Do the white bees choose a queen ?" ask- 
 ed the little boy ; for he knew that the ho- 
 ney-bees always have one, 
 
 " Yes," said the grandmother, " she flies 
 where the swarm hangs in the thickest clus- 
 ters. She is the largest of all ; and she can 
 never remain quietly on the earth, but goes 
 up again into the black clouds. Many a 
 winter's night she flies through the streets of 
 the town; and peeps in at the windows ; and 
 they then freeze in so wondrous a manner 
 that they look like flowers." 
 
 " Yes, I have seen it," said both the chil- 
 dren ; and so they knew that it was true. 
 
 " Can the Snow Queen come in ?" said the 
 little girl. 
 
 " Only let her come in !" said the little boy, 
 " then I'd put her on the stove, and she'd 
 melt." 
 
 And then his grandmother patted his head 
 and told him other stories.
 
 100 THE SNOW-aUEEN. 
 
 In the evening, when little Kay was at 
 home, and half undressed, he climbed up on 
 the chair by the window, and peeped out of 
 the little hole. A few snow-flakes were fall- 
 ing, and one, the largest of all, remained ly- 
 ing on the edge of a flower-pot. The flake 
 of snow grew larger and larger ; and at last 
 it was like a young lady, dressed in the finest 
 white gauze, made of a million little flakes 
 like stars. She was so beautiful and delicate, 
 but she was of ice, of dazzling, sparkling ice ; 
 yet she lived ; her eyes gazed fixedty, like 
 two stars ; but there was neither quiet or re- 
 pose in them. She nodded towards the win- 
 dow, and beckoned with her hand. The 
 little boy Avas frightened, and jumped down 
 from the chair ; it seemed to him as if, at 
 the same moment, a large bird flew past the 
 window. 
 
 The next day it v/as a sharp frost : — and 
 then the spring came ; the sun shone, the 
 green leaves appeared, the swallows built 
 their nests, the windows were opened, and 
 the little children again sat in their pretty 
 garden, high up on the leads at the top of 
 the house.
 
 A hITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL. lOl 
 
 That summer the roses flowered in un- 
 wonted beauty. The Httle girl had learned 
 a hymn, in which there was something about 
 roses ; and then she thought of her own 
 flowers ; and she sang the verse to the little 
 boy, who then sang it with her : 
 
 " The rose iii the valley is blooming so sweet, 
 And angels descend there the children to greet." 
 
 And the children held each other by the 
 hand, kissed the roses, looked up at the clear 
 sunshine, and spoke as though they really 
 saw angels there. What lovely summer-days 
 those were ! How delightful to be out in the 
 air, near the fresh rose-bushes, that seem as 
 if they would never finish blossoming ! 
 
 Kay and Gerda looked at the picture-book 
 full of beasts and of birds ; and it was then — 
 the clock in the church-tower was just stri- 
 king five, — that Kay said, " Oh ! I feel such 
 a sharp pain in my heart; and now some- 
 thing has got into my eye !" 
 
 The little girl put her arms around hig 
 neck. He winked his eyes ; now there was 
 nothing to be seen. 
 
 " I think it is out now," said he ; but it
 
 102 THE SNOW-QUEEN. 
 
 was not. It was just one of those pieces of 
 glass from the magic mirror that had.gpt into 
 his eye ; and poor Kay had got another piece 
 right in his heart. It will soon become like 
 ice. It did not hurt any longer, but there it 
 was. 
 
 " What are you crying for ?" asked he. 
 " You look so ugly ! There's nothing the 
 matter with me. Ah," said he at once, 
 "that rose is cankered ! and look, this one is 
 quite crooked ! after all, these roses are very 
 ugly ! they are just like the box they are 
 planted in !" And then he gave the box a 
 good kick with his foot, and pulled both the 
 roses up. 
 
 "What are you doing?" cried the little 
 girl ; and as he perceived her fright, he pull- 
 ed up another rose, got in at the window, 
 and hastened off from dear little Gerda. 
 
 Afterwards, when she brought her picture- 
 book, he asked, " What horrid beasts she had 
 there ?" And if his grandmother told them 
 stories, he always interrupted her ; besides, 
 if he could manage it, he would get behind 
 her, put on her spectacles, and imitate her 
 way of speaking ; he copied all her ways,
 
 A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL. iU'J 
 
 and then every body laughed at him. He 
 was soon able to imitate the gait and man- 
 ner of every one in the street. Every tiling 
 that was pecuHar and displeasing in them, — 
 that Kay knew how to imitate : and at such 
 times all the people said, " The boy is cer- 
 tainly very clever !" But it was the glass he 
 had got in his eye ; the glass that was stick- 
 ing in his heart, which made him tease even 
 little Gerda, whose whole soul was devoted 
 to him. 
 
 His games now were quite different to 
 what they had formerly been, they were so 
 very knowing. One winter's day, when the 
 flakes of snow were flying about, he spread 
 the skirts of his blue coat, and caught the 
 snow as it fell. 
 
 " Look through this glass, Gei da," said he. 
 And every flake seemed larger, and appeared 
 like a magnificent flower, or a beautiful star ; 
 it was sj^endid to look at ! 
 
 '• Look, how clever !" said Kay. " That's 
 much more interesting than real flowers ! 
 They are as exact as possible ; there is not 
 a fault in them, if they did not melt !" 
 
 It was not long after this, that Kay came
 
 IU4 THE SNOW-Q.UEEN. 
 
 one day with large gloves on, and his httle 
 sledge at his back, and bawled right into 
 Geida's ears, " I have permission to go out 
 into the square, where the others are play- 
 ing ;" and off he was in a moment. 
 
 There, in the market-place, some of the 
 boldest of the boys used to tie their sledges 
 to the carts as they passed by, and so they 
 were pulled along, and got a good ride. It 
 was so capital ! Just as they were in the 
 very height of their amusement, a large 
 sledge passed by : it was painted quite white, 
 and there was some one in it wrapped up in 
 a rough white mantle of fur, with a rough 
 white fur cap on his head. The sledge drove 
 round the square twice, and Kay tied on his as 
 quickly as he could, and off he drove with it. 
 On they went quicker and quicker into the 
 next street ; and the person who drove turn- 
 ed round to Kay, and nodded to him in a 
 friendly manner, just as if they knew each 
 other. Every time he was going to untie his 
 sledge, the person nodded to him, and then 
 Kay sat quiet ; and so on they went till they 
 came outside the gates of the town. Then 
 the snow began to fall so thickly that the
 
 A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL. I(l5 
 
 lutle boy could not see an arm's length before 
 him, but still on he went: when suddenly 
 he let go the string he held in his hand in 
 order to get loose from the sledge, but it was 
 of no use ; still the little vehicle rushed on 
 with the quickness of the wind. He then 
 cried as loud as he could, but no one heard 
 him ; the snow drifted and the sledge flew 
 on, and sometimes it gave a jerk as though 
 they were driving over hedges and ditches. 
 He was quite frightened, and he tried to 
 repeat the Lord's prayer ; but all he could 
 do, he was only able to remember the multi- 
 plication table. 
 
 The snow-flakes grew larger and larger, 
 till at last they looked just like great white 
 fowls. Suddenly they flew on one side ; the 
 large sledge stopped, and the person who 
 drove rose up. It was a lady ; her cloak and 
 cap were of snow. She was tall and of slen- 
 der figure, and of a dazzling whiteness. It 
 was the Snow-Queen. 
 
 " We have travelled fast," said she ; " but it 
 is freezingly cold. Come under my bear- 
 skin." And she put him in the sledge be- 
 side her, wrapped the fur round him, and he
 
 106 THE SNOW-Q.UEEN. 
 
 felt as though he were sinking in a snow 
 wreath. 
 
 " Are you still cold ?" asked she ; and then 
 she kissed his forehead. All ! it was coldei 
 than ice ; it penetrated to his very heart, 
 which was already almost a frozen lump ; it 
 seemed to him as if he were about to die, — 
 but a moment more and it was quite conge- 
 nial to him, and he did not remark the cold 
 that was around him. 
 
 " My sledsre 1 Do not forget my sledge ! " 
 It was the first thing he thought of It was 
 there tied to one of the white chickens, who 
 flew along with ii on his back behind the 
 large sledge. The Siiow-Queen kissed Kay 
 once more, and then he forgot little Gerda, 
 grandmother, and all whom he had left at 
 his home. 
 
 " Now you will have no more kisses," said 
 she, " or else I should kiss you to death !" 
 
 Kay looked at her. She was very beauti- 
 ful ; a more clever, or a more lovely counte- 
 nance he could not fancy to himself; and 
 she no longer appeared of ice as before, when 
 she sat outside the window, and beckoned to 
 him J in his eyes sbe was perfect, he did not
 
 A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL. 107 
 
 fear her at all, and told her that he could 
 calculate m his head and with fractions, 
 even ; that he knew the number of square 
 miles there were in the different countries, 
 and how many inhabitants they contained ; 
 and she smiled while he spoke. It then 
 seemed to him as if what he knew was not 
 enough, and he looked upwards in the large 
 huge empty space above him, and on she 
 flew with him ; flew high over the black 
 clouds, while the storm moaned and whistled 
 as though it were singing some old tune. 
 On they flew over woods and lakes, over 
 seas, and many lands; and beneath them 
 the chilling storm rushed fast, the wolves 
 howled, the snow crackled ; above them flew 
 large screaming crows, but higher up appear- 
 ed the moon, quite large and bright ; and it 
 was on it that Kay gazed during the long 
 long winter's night ; while by day he slept 
 at the feet of the Snow-Uueen.
 
 108 THE SNOW-aUEEN 
 
 THIRD STORY. 
 
 OF THE FLOWER-GARDEN AT THE OLD WOMAx's 
 WHO UNDERSTOOD WITCHCRAFT. 
 
 But what became of little Gerda when 
 Kay did not return ? Where could he be? 
 Nobody knew ; nobody could give any intel- 
 lig-ence. All the boys knew was, that they 
 had sefen him tie his sledge to another large 
 and splendid one, which drove down the 
 street and out of the town. Nobody knew 
 where he was ; many sad tears were shed, 
 and little Gerda wept long and bitterly ; at 
 last she said he must be dead ; that he had 
 haen drowned in the river which flowed close 
 to the town. Oh ! those were very long and 
 dismal winter evenings ! 
 
 -\t last spring came, with its warm sun- 
 shine. 
 
 " Kay is dead and gone !" said little Gerda. 
 
 "That I don't believe," said the Sunshine. 
 
 •' Kay is dead and gone !" said she to the 
 Swallows. 
 
 "That 1 don't believe," said they: and at
 
 THE FLOWER-GARDEN. 109 
 
 last little Gerda did not think so any longer 
 cither. 
 
 " I'll put on my red shoes," said she, one 
 morning ; " Kay has never seen them, and 
 then I'll go down to the river and ask there." 
 
 It was quite early ; she kissed her old 
 grandmother, who was still asleep, put on 
 her red shoes, and went alone to the river. 
 
 " Is it true that you have taken my little 
 playfellow '/ I will make you a present of 
 my red shoes, if you will give him back to 
 me." 
 
 And, as it seemed to her, the blue waves 
 nodded in a strange manner ; tiien she took 
 off her red shoes, the most precious thing she 
 possessed, and threw them both into the 
 river. But they fell close to the bank, and 
 the little waves bore them immediately to 
 land ; it was as if the stream would not take 
 what was dearest to her ; for in reality it)?.ad 
 not got httle Kay ; but Gerda thought that 
 she had not thrown the shoes out far enough, 
 so she clambered into a boat which lay 
 among the rushes, went to the farthest end, 
 and threw out the shoes. But the boat was 
 not fastened, and the motion which she oc-
 
 110 THE SNOW-aUEEN. 
 
 casioned, made it drift from the shore. She 
 observed this, and hastened to get back ; but 
 before she could do so, the boat was more 
 than a yard from tlie land, and was gliding 
 quickly onward. 
 
 Little Gerda was very frightened, and be 
 gan to cry ; but no one heard her except the 
 sparrows, and they could not carry her to 
 land ; but they flew along the bank, and 
 sang as if to comfort her, "Here we..are ! 
 here we are !" . The boat drifted with the 
 stream, little Gerda sat quite still without 
 shoes, for they were swimming behind the 
 boat, but could not reach it, because it went 
 much faster than they did. 
 
 The banks on both sides were beautiful ; 
 lovely flowers, venerable trees, and slopes 
 with sheep and cows, but not a human being 
 was to be seen. 
 
 " Perhaps the river will carry me to little 
 Kay," said she ; and then she grew less sad. 
 She rose, and looked for many hours at the 
 beautiful green banks. Presently she sailed 
 by a large cherry-orchard, where was a little 
 cottage with curious red and blue windows ; 
 \t was thatched, and before it two wooden
 
 THE FLOWER-GARDEN. Ill 
 
 Boldiers stood sentry, and presented arms 
 when any one went past. 
 
 Gerda called to them, for she thought they 
 were alive ; but they, of course, did not an- 
 swer. She came close to them, for (he stream 
 drifted the boat quite near the land. 
 
 Gerda called still louder, and an old wo- 
 man then came out of the cottage, leaning 
 upon a crooked stick. She had a large broad- 
 brimmed hat on, painted with the most splen- 
 did flowers. 
 
 " Poor little child !" said the old woman ; 
 " how did you get upon the large rapid river, 
 to be driven about so in the wide world !" 
 And then the old woman went into the wa- 
 ter, caught hold of the boat with her crooked 
 stick, drew it to the bank, and lifted little 
 Gerda out. 
 
 And Gerda was so glad to be on dry land 
 again ; but she was rather afraid of the 
 strange old woman. 
 
 '' But come and tell me who you are, and 
 how you came here," said she. 
 
 And Gerda told her all; and the old wo- 
 man shook her head and said, " A-hem ' 
 a-hem !" and when Gerda had told her any-
 
 112 THE SNOW-Q.UEEN. 
 
 thing, and asked her if she had not seen little 
 Kay, the woman answered that he had not 
 j)as3ed there, but he no doubt would come ; 
 and she told her not to be cast down, but 
 taste her cherries, and look at her flowers, 
 which were finer than any in a picture-book, 
 each of which could tell a whole story. She 
 then took Gerda by the hand, led her into 
 the little cottage, and locked the door. 
 
 The windows were very high up; tlie 
 glass was red, blue, and green, and the sun- 
 light shone through quite wondrously in all 
 sorts of colors. On the table stood the most 
 exquisite cherries, and Gerda ate as many as 
 she chose, for she had permission to do so. 
 While she vv^as eating, the old woman comb- 
 ed her hair with a golden comb, and her hair 
 curled and shone with a lovely golden color 
 around that sweet little face, which was so 
 round and so like a rose. 
 
 " I have often longed for such a dear httle 
 girl," said the old woman. " Now you shall 
 see how well we agree together ;" and while 
 she combed little Gerda's hair, the child for- 
 got her foster-brother Kay more and more^ 
 for the old woman understood magic ; but
 
 THE FLOWER-GARDEN. 113 
 
 she was no evil being, she only practised 
 witchcraft a little for her own private amuse- 
 ment, and now she wanted very much to 
 keep little Gerda. She therefore went out in 
 the garden, stretched out her crooked stick 
 towards the rose-bushes, which, beautifully 
 as they were blowing, all sank into the earth 
 and no one could tell where they had stood. 
 The old woman feared that if Gerda should 
 see the roses, she would then think of her 
 own, would remeujber little Kay, and run 
 away from her. 
 
 She now led Gerda into the flower-garden. 
 Oh, what odour and what loveliness was 
 there ! Every flow^er that one could think of, 
 and of every season, stood there in fullest 
 bloom ; no picture-book could be gayer or 
 more beautiful. Gerda jumped for joy, and 
 played till the sun set behind the tall cherry- 
 tree ; she then had a pretty bed, with a red 
 silken coverlet filled with blue violets., She 
 fell asleep, and had as pleasant dreams as 
 ever a queen on her wedding-day. 
 
 The next morning she went to play with 
 the flowers in the warm sunshine, and thug 
 passed away a day. Gerda knew every 
 8
 
 114 THE SNOW-Q.UEEN. 
 
 flower ; and, numerous as they were, it still 
 seemed to Gerda that one was wanting, 
 though she did not know which. One day 
 while she was looking at the hat of the old 
 woman painted with flowers, the most beau- 
 tiful of them all seemed to her to be a rose. 
 The old woman had forgotten to take it from 
 her hat when she made the others vanish in 
 the earth. But so it is when one's thoughts 
 are not collected. " What !" said Gerda, 
 " are there no roses here ?" and she ran about 
 amongst the flower-beds, and looked, and 
 looked, but there was not one to be found. 
 She then sat down and wept ; but her hot 
 tears fell just where a rose-bush had sunk ; 
 and when her warm tears watered the 
 ground, the tree shot up suddenly as fresh 
 and blooming as when it had been swallowed 
 up. Gerda kissed the roses, thought of her 
 own dear roses at home, and with them of 
 little Kay. 
 
 " Oh, how long I have stayed !" said the 
 little girl. I intended to look for Kay ! 
 Don't you know where he is?" asked she 
 of the roses. " Do you think he is dead and 
 gone ?"
 
 THE FLOWER-GARDEN. 115 
 
 " Dead he certainly is not," said the Roses. 
 " We have been in the earth where all the 
 dead are, but Kay was not there." 
 
 •• Many thanks !" said the little Gerda ; and 
 she went to the other flowers, looked into 
 their cups, and asked, " Don't you know 
 where little Kay is ?" 
 
 But every flower stood in the sunshine, and 
 dreamed its own fairy-tale or its own story: 
 and they all told her very many things, but 
 not one knew anything of Kay. 
 
 Well, what did the Tiger-Lily say ? 
 
 "Hearest thou not the drum? Bum! 
 bum ! those are tlie only two tones. Always 
 bum ! bum ! Hark to the plaintive song of 
 the old woman ! to the call of the priests ! 
 The Hindoo woman in her long robe stands 
 upon the funeral pile ; the flames rise around 
 her and her dead husband, but the Hindoo 
 woman thinks on the living one in the sur- 
 rounding circle ; on him whose eyes burn hot- 
 ter than the ilames — on him, the fire of whose 
 eyes pierces her heart more than the flames 
 which soon will burn her body to ashes. 
 Can the heart's flame die in the flame of the 
 funeral pile ?"
 
 (16 THE SNOW-aUEEN. 
 
 "I don't understand that at all," said little 
 Gerda. 
 
 " That is my story," said the Lily. 
 
 What did the Convolvulus say? 
 
 " Projecting over a narrow mountain-path 
 there hangs an old feudal castle. Thick 
 evergreens grow on the dilapidated walls, 
 and around the altar, where a lovely maiden 
 is standing : she bends over the railing and 
 looks out upon the rose. No fresher rose 
 hangs on the branches than she; no apple- 
 blossom carried away by the wind is more 
 buoyant ! How her silken robe is rustling ! 
 
 " '• Is he not yet come V " 
 
 " Is it Kay that you mean ?" asked little 
 Gerda. 
 
 " I am speaking about my story — about 
 my dream," answered the Convolvulus. 
 
 What did the Snow-drops say ? 
 
 " Between the trees a long board is hang- 
 mg — it is a swing. Two httle girls are sit- 
 ting in it, and swing themselves backwards 
 and forwards ; their frocks are as white as 
 snow, and long green silk ribands flutter 
 from their bonnets. Their brother, who is 
 older than they are, stands up in the swing ;
 
 THE FLOWER-GARDEN. 117 
 
 he twines his arms round the cords to hold 
 himself fast, for in one hand he has a little 
 cup, and in the other a clay-pipe. He is 
 blowing soap bubbles. The swing moves, 
 and the bubbles float in charming changing 
 colors : the last is still hanging to the eijd of 
 the pipe, and rocks in the breeze. The 
 swing moves. The little black dog, as light as 
 a soap-bubble, jumps up on his hind legs to 
 try to get into the swing. It moves, the dog 
 falls down, barks, and is angry. They tease 
 him ; the bubble bursts ! — A swing, a burst- 
 ing bubble — such is my song P' 
 
 " What you relate may be very pretty, but 
 you tell it in so melancholy a manner, and 
 do not mention Kay." 
 
 What do the Hyacinths say ? 
 
 " There were once upon a time three sis- 
 ters, quite transparent, and very beautiful. 
 The robe of the one was red, that of the se- 
 cond blue, and that of the third white. They 
 danced hand in hand beside the calm lake in 
 the clear moonshine. They were not eliin 
 maidens, but mortal children. A sweet fra- 
 grance was smelt, and the maidens vanished 
 .in the wood ; the fragrance grew strongei 
 
 aa
 
 118 THE SNOW-aUEEN. 
 
 three coffins, and in them three lovely 
 
 maidens, glided out of the forest and across 
 the lake : the shining glow-worms flew 
 around like little floating lights. Do the 
 dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? 
 The odour of the flowers says they are corp- 
 ses ; the evening bell tolls for the dead !" 
 
 " You make me quite sad," said little Ger- 
 da. " I cannot help thinking of the dead 
 maidens. Oh ! is little Kay really dead? 
 The Roses have been in the earth, and they 
 say no." 
 
 " Ding, dong !" sounded the Hyacinth bells. 
 " We do not toll for little Kay ; we do not 
 know him. That is our way of singing, the 
 only one we have." 
 
 And Gerda went to the Ranunculuses, that 
 looked forth from among the shining green 
 leaves. 
 
 " You are a little bright sun !" said Gerda. 
 " Tell me if you know where 1 can find my 
 playfellow." 
 
 And the Ranunculus shone brightly, and 
 looked again at Gerda. Why.t song could 
 the Rananculus sing ? It was one that said 
 nothing about Kay either.
 
 THE FLOWER-GARDEN. 110 
 
 " In a small court the bright sun was shin- 
 ing in the first days of spring. The beams 
 ghded down the white walls of a neighbor's 
 house, and close by the fresh yellow flowers 
 were growing, shining like gold in the warm 
 sun-rays. An old grandmother was sitting 
 in the air ; her grand-daughter, the poor and 
 lovely servant just come for a short visit. 
 She knows her grandmother. There w^as 
 gold, pure virgin gold in that blessed kiss. 
 There, that is my little story," said the Ra- 
 nunculus 
 
 '• My poor old grandmother !*' sighed Ger- 
 da. " Yes, she is longing for me, no doubt : 
 she is sorrowing for me, as she did for little 
 Kay. But I will soon come home, and tlien 
 I will bring Kay with me. It is of no use 
 asking the flowers ; they only know their 
 own old rhymes, and can tell me nothing." 
 And she tucked up her frock, to enable lier 
 to run quicker ; but the Narcissus gave her 
 a knock on the leg, just as she was going 
 to jump over it. So she stood still, looked at 
 the long yellow flower, and asked, " You per- 
 haps know something ?" and she bent down 
 to the Narcissus. And what did it say ?
 
 120 THE SNOW-aUEEN. 
 
 " I can see myself — I can see myself ! Oh^ 
 how odorous I am ! Up in the little garret 
 there stands, half-dressed, a little Dancer. 
 She stands now on one leg, now on both ; 
 she despises the whole world ; yet she lives 
 only in imagination. She pours water out 
 of the teapot over a piece of stuff which she 
 holds in her hand ; it is the bodice ; cleanli- 
 ness is a fine thing. The white dress is 
 hanging on the hook ; it was washed in the 
 teapot, and dried on the roof. She puts it 
 on, ties a saffron-colored kerchief round her 
 neck, and then the gown looks whiter. I can 
 see myself — I can see myself !" 
 
 " That's nothing to me,'" said little Gerda. 
 " That does not concern me." And then off 
 she ran to the further end of the garden. 
 
 The gate was locked, but she shook the 
 rusted bolt till it was loosened, and the gate 
 opened ; and little Gerda ran off barefooted 
 into the wide world. She looked round her 
 thrice, but no one followed her. At last she 
 could run no longer ; she sat down on a large 
 stone, and when she looked about her, she 
 saw that the summer had passed ; it was late 
 in the autumn, but that one could not re-
 
 THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS. 121 
 
 mark in the beautiful garden, wliere there 
 was always sunshine, and wliere there were 
 flowers the whole year round. 
 
 " Dear me, how long I have staid !" said 
 Gerda. " Autumn is come. I must not rest 
 any longer.'' And she got up to go further. 
 
 Oh, how tender and wearied her little feet 
 were ! All around it looked so cold and raw : 
 the long willow-leaves were quite yellow, and 
 the fog dripped from them like water; one 
 leaf fell after the other : the sloes only stood 
 full of fruit, wiiich set one's teeth on edge. 
 Oh, how dark and comfortless it was in the 
 dreary world ! 
 
 FOURTH STORY. 
 
 THE PRIXOE AND I'RINCESS. 
 
 Gerda was obliged to rest herself again, 
 when, exactly opposite to her, a large Raven 
 came hopping over the white snow. He had 
 long been looking at Gerda and shaking his 
 head ; and now he said, " Caw ! caw !" Good
 
 ^:.I22 THE SNOW-aUEEN. 
 
 day! good day ! He could not say it better ; 
 but he felt a sympathy for the httle girl, and 
 asked her where sue was going all alone. 
 The word "alone" Gerda understood quite 
 well, and felt how much was expressed by it ; 
 so she told the Raven her whole history, and 
 asked if he had not seen Ka^. 
 
 The Raven nodded very gravely, and said, 
 "It may be — it may oe !" 
 
 " AYhat, do you really think so ?" cried the 
 httle girl ; and she nearly squeezed the Ra- 
 ven to death, so nnich did she kiss him. 
 
 "Gently, gently," said the Raven. "I 
 think I know ; I think that it may be little 
 Kay. But now he has forgotten you for the 
 Princess." 
 
 "Does he live with a Princess?" asked 
 Gerda. 
 
 " Yes, — listen," said the Raven ; " but it 
 will be difficult for me to speak your lan- 
 guage. If you understand the Raven lan- 
 guage I can tell you better." 
 
 " No, I have not learnt it," said Gerda ; 
 "but my grandmother understands it, and 
 she can speak gibberish too. I wish I had 
 earnt it."
 
 THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS. 123 
 
 " No matter," said the Raven ; " I will tell 
 you as well as I can ; however, it will be 
 bad enough." And then he told all he knew. 
 
 "In the kingdom where we now are there 
 lives a Princess, who is extraordinarily cle- 
 ver ; for she has read all the newspapers in 
 the whole world, and has forgotten them' 
 again, — so clever is she. She was lately, it 
 is said, sitting on her throne, — which is not 
 very amusing after all, — when she began 
 humming an old tune, and it was just, ' Oh, 
 why should I not be married?' 'That song is 
 not without its meaning,' said she, and so then 
 she was determined to marry ; but she would 
 have a husband who knew how to give an 
 answer when he was spoken to, — not one 
 who looked only as if he were a great per- 
 sonage, for that is so tiresome. She then had 
 all the ladies of the court drummed together ; 
 and when they heard her intention, all were 
 very pleased, and said, ' We are very glad to 
 hear it ; it is the very thing we were think- 
 ing of You may believe every word I say," 
 said the Raven ; " for I have a tame sweet- 
 heart that hops about in the palace quite 
 free, and it was she who told me all this.
 
 124 THE SNOW-Q.UEEN. 
 
 " The newspapers appeared forthwith with 
 a border of hearts and the initials of the 
 Princess ; and therein you might read that 
 every good-looking young man was at liberty 
 to come to the palace and speak to the Prin- 
 cess ; and he who spoke in such wise as 
 showed he felt himself at home there, that one 
 the Princess would choose for her husband. 
 
 "Yes, yes," said the Raven, you may be- 
 lieve it ; it is as true as I am sitting here. 
 People came in crowds ; there was a crush 
 and a hurry, but no one was successful either 
 on the first or second day. They could all 
 talk well enough when they were out in the 
 street ; but as soon as they came inside the 
 palace-gates, and saw the guard richly dress- 
 ed in silver, and the lackeys in gold on the 
 staircase, and the large illuminated saloons, 
 then they were abashed ; and when they 
 stood before the throne on which the Princess 
 was sitting, all they could do was to repeat 
 the last word they had uttered, and to hear it 
 again did not interest her very much. It was 
 just as if the people within were under a 
 charm, and had fallen into a trance till they 
 came out again into the street ; for then, — •
 
 THE PKINCE AND PRINCESS. 125 
 
 oh, then, — they could chatter enough. There 
 was a whole row of them standing from the 
 town-gdtes to the palace. 1 was there myself 
 to look," said the Raven. " They grew hun- 
 gry and thirsty ; but from the palace they got 
 nothing whatever, not even a glass of water. 
 Some of the cleverest, it is true, had taken 
 bread and butter witli them : but none shared 
 it with his neighbor, for each thought, ' Let 
 him look hungry, and then the Princess won't 
 have him.' " 
 
 " But Kay — httle Kay," said Gerda, "when 
 did he come ? was he among the number?" 
 
 "Patience, patience; we are just come to 
 him. It was on the third day, when a little 
 personage without horse or equipage, came / 
 marching right boldly up to the palace ; his 
 eyes shone like yours, he had beautiful long 
 hau', but his clothes were Very shabby." 
 
 " That was Kay," cried Gerda, with a 
 voice of delight. " Oh, now I've found him !" 
 and she clapped her hands for joy. 
 
 " He had a little knapsack at his back," 
 said the Raven. 
 
 " No, that was certainly his sledge, ' said
 
 126 THE SNOW-aUEEN. 
 
 Gerda ; " for when he went away he took his 
 sledge with him." 
 
 " That may be," said the Raven ; " I did 
 not examine him so minutely ; but I know 
 from my tame sweetheart, that when he came 
 into the courtyard of the palace, and saw the 
 body-guard in silver, the lackeys on the stair- 
 case, he was not the least abashed ; he nod- 
 ded, and said to them, ' It must be very tire- 
 some to stand on the stairs ; for my part, I 
 shall go in.' The saloons were gleaming 
 with lustres, — privy councillors and excellen- 
 cies were walking about barefooted, and 
 wore gold keys ; it was enough to make 
 any one feel uncomfortable. His boots 
 creaked, too, so loudly, but still he was not at 
 all afraid." 
 
 "That's Kay for certain," said Gerda. "I 
 know he had on new boots ; I have heard 
 them creaking in grandmama's room." 
 
 " Yes, they creaked," said the Raven. 
 " And on he went boldJy up to the Princess, 
 who was sitting on a pearl as large as a 
 spinning-wheel. All the ladies of the court, 
 with their attendants and attendants' atten- 
 dants, and all the cavaliers, with their gentle-
 
 THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS. 127 
 
 men and gentlemen's gentlemen, stood round ; 
 and the nearer they stood to the door, the 
 prouder they looked. It was hardly possible 
 to look at the gentleman's gentleman, so very 
 haughtily did he stand in the doorway." 
 
 " It must have been terrible," said little 
 Gerda. " And did Kay get the Princess ?" 
 
 " Were I not a Raven, I should have taken 
 the Princess jnyself, although I am promised. 
 It is said he spoke as well as I speak when I 
 talk Raven language ; this I learned from my 
 tame sweetheart. He was bold and nicely 
 behaved ; he had not come to woo the Prin- 
 cess, but only to hear her wisdom. She 
 pleased him, and he pleased her." . 
 
 " Yes, yes ; for certain that was Kay," said 
 Gerda. " He was so clever ; he could reckon 
 fractions in his head. Oh, won't you take 
 me to the palace ?" 
 
 " That is very easily said," answered the 
 Raven. " But how are we to manage it ? 
 I'll speak to my tame sweetheart about it : 
 she must advise us ; for so much 1 must tell 
 you. such a little girl as you are will never 
 get permission to enter." 
 
 "Oh, yes I shall," said Gerda j "when
 
 l28 THE SNOW-Q.UEEN. 
 
 Kay hears that I am here, he will come out 
 directly to fetch me." 
 
 " Wait for me here on these steps," said the 
 Raven. He moved his head backwards and 
 forwards and flew away. 
 
 The evening was closing in when the Ra- 
 ven returned. " Caw — caw !" said he. " She 
 sends you her comphments ; and here is a 
 roll for you. ' She took it out of the kitchen, 
 where there is bread enough. You are 
 hungry, no doubt. It is not possible for you 
 to enter the palace, for you are barefooted : 
 the guards in silver, and the lackeys in gold, 
 would not allow it ; but do not cry, you shall 
 come in still. My sweetheart knows a little 
 back stair that leads to the bedchamber, and 
 she knows where she can get the key of it." 
 
 And they went into the garden in the large 
 avenue, where one leaf was falling after the 
 other ; and when the lights in the palace had 
 all gradually disappeared, the Raven led little 
 Gerda to the back door, which stood half 
 open. 
 
 O, how Gerda's heart beat with anxiety 
 and longing ! It was just as if she had been 
 about to do something wrong ; and yet she
 
 THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS. 129 
 
 only wanted to know if little Kay was there. 
 Yes, he must be there. She called to mind 
 his intelligent eyes, and his long hair, so vivid- 
 ly, she could quite see him as he used to laugh 
 when they were sitting under the roses at 
 home. " He will, no doubt, be glad to see you, 
 — to hear what a long way you have come 
 for his sake ; to know how unhappy all at 
 home were when he did not come back." 
 
 Oh, what a fright and a joy it was ! 
 
 They were now on the stairs. A single 
 lamp was burning there; and on the floor 
 stood the tame Raven, turning her head on 
 every side and looking at Gerda, who bowed 
 as her grandmother had taught her to do. 
 
 " My intended has told me so much good 
 of you, m}^ dear young lady," said the tame 
 Raven. " Your tale is very affecting. If 
 you will take the lamp, I will go before. We 
 will go straight on, for we shall meet no one." 
 
 " I think there is somebody just behind 
 us," said Gerda ; and something rushed past : 
 it was like shadowy figures on the wall ; 
 horses with flowing manes and thin legs, 
 huntsmen, ladies and gentlemen on horse- 
 back. 
 
 9
 
 130 THE SNOW-Q.UEEN. 
 
 " They are only dreams," said the Raven. 
 "They come to fetch the thoughts of the 
 high personages to the chase ; 'tis well, for 
 now you can observe them in bed all the 
 better. But let me find, when you enjoy 
 honor and distinction, that you possess a 
 grateful heart." 
 
 "Tut! that's not worth talking about," 
 said the Raven of the woods. 
 
 They now entered the first saloon, which 
 was of rose-colored satin, with artificial flow 
 ers on the w^all. Here the dreams were rush- 
 ing past, but they hastened by so quickly 
 that Gerda could not see the high personages. 
 One hall was more magnificent than the 
 other ; one might indeed well be abashed ; 
 and at last they came into the bedchamber. 
 The ceiling of the room resembled a large 
 palm-tree with leaves of glass, of costly glass ; 
 and in the middle, from a thick golden stem, 
 hung two beds, each of which resembled a 
 lily. One was white, and in this lay the 
 Princess ; the other was red, and it was here 
 that Gerda was to look for little Kay. She 
 bent back one of the red leaves and saw a 
 brown neck — Oh ! that was Kay ! She call-
 
 THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS. 131 
 
 ed him quite loud by name, held the lamp 
 towards him — the dreams rushed back again 
 into the chamber — he awoke, turned his 
 head, and — it was not httle Kay ! 
 
 The Prince was only like him about the 
 neck ; but he was young and handsome. 
 And out of the white lily leaves the Princess 
 peeped, too, and asked what was the matter. 
 Then little Gerda cried, and told her her 
 whole history, and all that the Ravens had 
 done for her. 
 
 " Poor little thing !" said the Prince and 
 the Princess. They praised the Ravens very 
 much, and told them iliey were not at all 
 angry with them, but they were not to do so 
 again. However, they should have a reward. 
 
 " Will you fiy about here at liberty," asked 
 the Princess ; " or would you like to have a 
 fixed appointment as court ravens, with all 
 the broken bits from the kitchen ?" 
 
 And both the Ravens nodded, and begged 
 for a fixed appointment; for they thought of 
 their old age, and said, " it was a good thing 
 to have a provision for their old days." 
 
 And the Prince got up and let Gerda sleep 
 in his bed, and more than this b.e could no!
 
 132 THE SNOW-aUEEN. 
 
 do. She folded her httle hands and thought, 
 " how good men and animals are !" and she 
 then fell asleep and slept soundly. All the 
 dreams flew in again, and they now looked 
 like the angels ; they drew a little sledge, in 
 which little Kay sat and nodded his head ; 
 but the whole was only a dream, and there- 
 fore it all vanished as soon as she awoke. 
 
 The next day she was dressed from head 
 to foot in silk and velvet. They offered to 
 let her stay at the palace, and lead a happy 
 life ; but she begged to have a little carriage 
 with a horse in front, and for a small pair of 
 shoes ; then, she said, she would again go 
 forth in the wide world and look for Kay. 
 
 Shoes and a muff were given her ; she 
 was, too, dressed very nicely ; and when she 
 was about to set off, a new carriage stopped 
 before the door. It was of pure gold, and ihe 
 arms of the Prince and Princess shone like a 
 star upon it ; the coachman, the footmen, 
 and the outriders, for outriders were tliere, 
 too, all wore golden crowns. The Prince 
 and the Princess assisted l^er into the carriag;e 
 themselves, and wished her all success. The 
 Raven of the woods, who was now married,
 
 THE LITTLE ROBBER-MAIDEN. 133 
 
 accompanied her for the first three miles. He 
 sat beside Gerda, for he could not bear riding 
 backwards; the other Raven stood in the 
 doorway, and flapped her wings ; she could 
 not accompany Gerda, because she suffered 
 from headache since she had had a fixed ap- 
 pointment and ate so much. The carriage 
 was lined inside with sugar-plums, and in 
 the seats were fruits and gingerbread. 
 
 " Farewell ! farewell !" cried Prince and 
 Princess ; and Gerda wept, and the Raven 
 wept. Thus passed the first miles ; and 
 then the Raven bade her farewell, and this 
 was the most painful separation of all. He 
 flew into a tree, and beat his black wings as 
 long as he could see the carriage, that shone 
 from afar like a sunbeam. 
 
 FIFTH STORY, 
 
 THE LITTLE ROBBER-MAIDEN. 
 
 They drove through the dark wood ; but 
 the carriage shone like a torch, and it dazzled 
 bb
 
 134 THE SNOAV-Q.UEEN. 
 
 the eyes of the robbers, so that they could 
 not bear to look at it. 
 
 " 'T is gold ! 't is gold !" cried they ; and 
 they rushed forward, seized the horses, knock- 
 ed down the httle postilion, the coachman, 
 and the servants, and pulled little Gerda out 
 of the carriage. 
 
 "How plump, how beautiful she is ! She 
 must have been fed on nut-kernels," said the 
 old female Robber, who had a long, scrubby 
 beard, and bushy eyebrows that hung down 
 over her eyes ; " she is as good as a fatted 
 lamb ! how nice she will be !" And then she 
 drew out a knife, the blade of which shone so 
 that it was quite dreadful to behold. 
 
 " Oh !^' cried the woman at the same mo- 
 ment. She had been bitten in the ear by 
 her own little daughter, who himg at her 
 back ; and who was so wild and unmanage- 
 able, that it was quite amusing to see her. 
 " You naughty child !" said the mother : and 
 now she had not time to kill Gerda. 
 
 " She sball play with me," said the little 
 Robber-child ; "she shall give me her muff, 
 and her p jetty frock ; she ^all sleep in my 
 bed !" And then she gave her mother an-
 
 THE LITTLE ROBBER-MAIDEN. 135 
 
 Other bite, so that she jumped, and ran round 
 with the pain ; and the Robbers laughed, 
 and said, " Look, how she is dancing with 
 the httle one !" 
 
 " I will go into the carriage," said the little 
 Robber-maiden ; and she would have her 
 will, for she was very spoiled and very head- 
 strong. She and Gerda got in ; and then 
 away they drove over the stumps of felled 
 trees, deeper and deeper into the woods. The 
 little Robber-maiden was as tall as Gerda, 
 but stronger, broader-shouldered, and of dark 
 complexion ; her eyes were quite black ; they 
 looked almost melancholy. She embraced 
 little Gerda, and said, " They shall not kill 
 you as long as I am not displeased with you. 
 You arc, doubtless, a Princess?" 
 
 " No," said little Gerda ; who then related 
 all that had happened to her. and how much 
 she cared about little Kay. 
 
 The little Robber-maiden looked at her 
 with a serious air, nodded her head slightly, 
 and said, " They shall not kill you, even if 
 I am angry with you : then I will do it my- 
 self;" and she dried Gerda's eyes, and put
 
 136 THE SNOW-aUEEN. 
 
 both her hands in the handsome mulT, which 
 was so soft and warm. 
 
 At length the carriage stopped. They 
 were in the midst of the conrt-yard of a 
 robber's castle. It was full of cracks from 
 top to bottom ; and out of the openings 
 magpies and rooks were flying ; and the 
 great bull-dogs, each of which looked as if 
 he could swallow a man, jumped up, but 
 they did not bark, for that was forbidden. 
 
 In the midst of the large, old, smoking 
 hall burnt a great fire on the stone floor. 
 The smoke disappeared under the stones, 
 and had to seek its own egress. In an im- 
 mense caldron soup was boiling ; and rab- 
 bits and hares were being loasted on a spit. 
 
 " You shall sleep with me to-night, with 
 all my animals," said the little Robber-maiden. 
 They had something to eat and drink ; and 
 then went into a corner, where straw and 
 carpets were lying. Beside them, on laths 
 and perches, sat nearly a hundred pigeons, all 
 asleep, seemingly ; but yet they moved a 
 little when the Robber-maiden came. " They 
 are all mine."' said she ; at the same time 
 seizing one that was next to htr by the legs
 
 THE LITTLE ROBBER-MAIDEN. 13< 
 
 and shaking it so that its wings fluttered. 
 '• Kiss it," cried the httle girl, and flung the 
 pigeon in Gerda's face. " Up there is the 
 rabble of the wood," continued she, pointing 
 to several laths which weie fastened before a 
 hole high up in the wall ; " that's the rabble ; 
 they would all fly away immediately, if they 
 were not well fastened in. And here is my 
 dear old Bac ;•" and she laid hold of the 
 horns of a reindeer, that had a bright copper i 
 ring round its neck, and was tethered to the i 
 spot. " We are obliged to lock this fellow j 
 in too, or he would make his escape. Every I 
 evening I tickle his neck with my sharp 
 knife; he is so frightened at it!" and the | 
 httle girl drew forth a long knife, from a i 
 crack in the wall, and let it glide over the 
 reindeer's neck. The poor animal kicked ; 
 the girl laughed, and pulled Gerda into bed 
 with her. 
 
 " Do you intend to keep your knife while 
 you sleep ? asked Gerda ; looking at it 
 rather fearfully. 
 
 '• I always sleep with the knife," said the 
 little Robber-maiden ; " there is no knowing 
 what may happen. But tell me now, once
 
 138 THE SNOW-Q.UEEN. 
 
 more, all about little Kay ; and why you 
 have started off in the wide world alone." 
 And Gerda related all, from the very begin- 
 ning : the wood-pigeons cooed above in their 
 cage, and the others slept. The little Rob- 
 ber-maiden wound her arm round Gerda's 
 neck, held the knife in the other hand, and 
 snored so loud that every body could hear 
 her ; but Gerda could not close her eyes, 
 for she did not know whether she was to live 
 or die. The Robbers sat round the fire, sang 
 and drank ; and the old female Robber 
 jumped about so, that it was quite dreadful 
 for Gerda to see her. 
 
 Then the Wood-pigeons said, " Coo ! coo ! 
 we have seen little Kay ! A white hen 
 carries his sledge ; he himself sat in the 
 carriage of the Snow-Q,ueen, who passed 
 here, down just over the wood, as we lay in 
 our nest. She blew upon us young ones ; 
 and all died except we two. Coo ! coo !" 
 
 " What is that you say up there ?" cried 
 httle Gerda. "Where did the Snow-dueen 
 g-o to? Do you know any thing about it?" 
 
 " She is no doubt gone to Lapland ; foi
 
 THE LITTLE ROBBER-MAIDEN. 139 
 
 there is always snow and ice there. Only 
 ask the reindeer, who is tethered there." 
 
 " Ice and snow is tliere ! There it is, 
 g-lorious and heautiful !" said the Reindeer. 
 •^ One can spring ahout in the large shining 
 valleys ! The Snow-Queen hasher summer 
 lent there: but her fixed abode is high up 
 towards the North Pole, on the Island called 
 Spitzbergen." 
 
 "Oh, Kay ! poor little Kay!" sighed Gerda. 
 
 "Do you choose to be quiet?" said the 
 Robber-maiden. " If you don't, I shall make 
 you." 
 
 In the morning Gerda told her all that the 
 Wood-pigeons had said ; and the little maid- 
 en looked very serious, but she nodded her 
 head, and said, " That's no matter — that's 
 no matter. Do you know where Lapland 
 lies !" asked she of the Reindeer. 
 
 " Who should know better than I ?" said 
 the animal ; and his eyes rolled in his head. 
 " I was born and bred there ; — there I leapt 
 about on the fields of snow. 
 
 '- Listen," said the Robber maiden to 
 Gerda. " You see that the men are gone *, 
 but my mother is still here, and will remain.
 
 140 THE SNOW-aUEEN. 
 
 However, towards morning she takes a 
 draught .out of the laige tiask, and then she 
 sleeps a httle : then I will do something for 
 you." She now jumped out of bed, flew to 
 her mother ; with her arms round her neck, 
 and puUing her by the beard, said, "Good 
 morrow, my own sweet nanny-goat of a 
 mother."' And her mother took hold of her 
 nose, and pinched it till it was red and blue ; 
 but this was all done out of pure love. 
 
 When the mother had taken a sup at her 
 flask, and was having a nap, the little 
 Robber-maiden went to the Reindeer, and 
 said, "I should very much like to give you' 
 still many a tickling with the sharp knife, 
 for then you are so amusing ; however, I 
 will un tether you, and help you out, £0 that 
 you may go back to Lapland. But you 
 must make good use of your legs ; and take 
 this little girl for me to the palace of the 
 Snow-Q,ueen, where her play-fellow is. You 
 have heard, I suppose, all she said ; for she 
 spoke loud enough, and you were listening." 
 
 The Reindeer gave a bound for joy. The 
 Robber-maiden lifted up little Gerda, and 
 took the precaution to bini hei fast on the
 
 THE LITTLE ROBBER-MAIDEN. Ill 
 
 Reindeer's back ; she even gave her a small 
 cushion to sit on. " Here are your worsted 
 leggins, for it will be cold ; but the niuH" I 
 shall keep for myself, for it is so very pretty. 
 But I do not wish you to be cold. Here is 
 a pair of lined gloves of my mother's ; they 
 just reach up to your elbow. On with them ! 
 Now you look about the hands just like m/ 
 ugly old mother !" 
 
 And Gerda wept for joy. 
 
 " I can't bear to see you fretting," said the 
 little Robber-maiden. " This is just the 
 time when you ought to look pleased. 
 Here are two loaves and a ham for you, so 
 that you won't starve." The bread and the 
 meat were fastened to the Reindeer's back; 
 the little maiden opened the door, called in 
 all the dogs, and then with her knife cut the 
 rope that fastened the animal, and said to 
 him, " Now, off with you ; but take good 
 care of the little girl !" 
 
 And Gerda stretched out her hands with 
 the large wadded gloves towards the Robber- 
 maiden, and said, " Farewell !" and tne 
 Reindeer flew on over bush and bramole 
 
 CO
 
 142 THE LAPLAND WOMEN. 
 
 through the great wood, over moor and heath, 
 as fast as he could go. 
 
 " Ddsa ! ddsa !" was heard in the sky. It 
 was just as if somebody was sneezing. 
 
 " These are my old northern-lights," said 
 the Reindeer, -Mook how they gleam ! And 
 on he now sped still quicker, — day and 
 night on he went : the loaves were consum- 
 ed, and the ham too ; and now they were 
 in Lapland. 
 
 I SIXTH STORY. 
 
 i THE LAPLAND WOMAN AND THE FINLAND 
 
 ! WOMAN. 
 
 Suddenly they stopped before a little 
 house, which looked very miserable : tlie 
 roof reached to the ground ; and the door 
 was so low, that the family were obliged to 
 creep upon their stomachs when they went 
 in or out. Nobody was at home except an 
 old Lapland woman, who was dressing fish
 
 THE SNOW-Q.UEEN. 143 
 
 by the light of an oil lamp. And the Rein- 
 deer told her the whole of Gerda's history, 
 but first of all his own ; for that seemed to 
 him of much greater importance. Gerda 
 was so chilled that she could not speak. 
 
 " Poor thing," said the Lapland woman, 
 " you have far to run still. You have more 
 than a hundred miles to go before you get to 
 Finland ; there the Snow-Q,ueen has liei 
 country-house, and burns blue lights every 
 evening. I will give you a few words from 
 me, which I will write on a dried haberdine, 
 for paper I have none ; this you can take 
 with you to the Finland woman, and she 
 will be able to give you more information 
 than I can." 
 
 When Gerda had warmed herself^^ and 
 had eaten and drunk the Lapland woman 
 wrote a few words on a dried haberdine, 
 begged Gerda to take care of them, put her 
 on the Reindeer, bound her fast, and away 
 sprang the animal. " Ddsa ! ddsa !" was 
 again heaid in the air ; the most charming 
 blue lights burned the whole night in the sky, 
 and at last they came to Finland. They
 
 144 THE LAPLAND WOMAN. 
 
 knocked at the chimney of the Fmland 
 woman ; for as to a door, she had none. 
 
 There was such a heat inside that the 
 ^Finland woman herself went about ahnost 
 naked. She w^as diminutive and dirty. She 
 immediately loosened little Gerda's clothes, 
 pulled off her thick gloves and boots ; for 
 otherwise the heat Avould have been too 
 great, — and after laying a piece of ice on the 
 Reindeer's head, read what was written on 
 the fish-skin. She read it three times : she 
 then knew it by heart ; so she put the fish 
 into the cupboard, — for it might very well 
 be eaten, and she never threw any thing 
 away. 
 
 Then the Reindeer related his own story 
 first, and afterwards that of little Gerda ; and 
 the Finland woman winked her eyes, but 
 said nothing. 
 
 " You are so clever," said the Reindeer ; 
 "you can, I know, twist all the winds of the 
 world together in a knot. If the seaman loos- 
 ens one knot, then he has a good wind ; if a 
 second, then it blows pretty stiffly ; if he un- 
 does the third and fourth, then it rages so 
 that the forests are upturned. Will you give
 
 THE SNOW-aUEEN. 
 
 the little maiden a potion, that she may possess 
 the stjength of twelve men, and vanquish the 
 Snow -Queen ?" 
 
 " The strength of twelve men !" said the 
 Finland woman. " Much good that would 
 be !" Then she went to a cupboard, and 
 drew out a large skin rolled up. When she 
 had unrolled it, strange characters were to 
 be seen written thereon ; and the Finland 
 woman read at such a rate that the perspira- 
 tion trickled down her forehead. 
 
 But the Reindeer begged so hard for little 
 Gerda, and Gerda looked so imploringly with 
 tearful eyes at the Finland woman, that she 
 winked, and drew the Reindeer aside into a 
 corner, where they whispered together, while 
 the animal got some fresh ice put on his 
 head. 
 
 " 'T is true little Kay is at the Snow- 
 Queen's, and finds every thing there quite to 
 his taste ; and he thinks it the very best 
 place in the world ; but the reason of that is, 
 he has a splinter of glass in his eye, and in 
 his heart. These must be got out first ; 
 otherwise he will never go back to mankind. 
 
 10
 
 14G THE LAPLAND WOMAN. 
 
 and the Snow-Q,ueen will retain her powei 
 over him." 
 
 "But can you give little Gerda nothing to 
 take which will endue her with power over 
 the whole ?" 
 
 " I can give her no more power than what 
 she has already. " Don't you see how great 
 it is ? Don't you see how men and animals 
 are forced to serve her ; how well she gets 
 through the world barefooted? She nmst 
 not hear of her power from us ; that power 
 lies in her heart, because she is a sweet and 
 innocent child ! If she cannot get to the 
 Snow-Q,ueen by herself, and rid little Kay of 
 the glass, we cannot help her. Two miles 
 hence the garden of the Sno\v-Q,ueen begins ; 
 thither you may carry the little girl. Set her 
 down by the large bush with red berries, 
 standing in the snow ; don't stay talking, but 
 hasten back as fast as possible." And now 
 the Finland woman placed little Gerda on the 
 Reindeer's back, and off he ran with all im- 
 aginable speed. 
 
 " Oh ! 1 have not got my boots ! I have 
 not brought my gloves !" cried little Gerda. 
 She remarked she was without them from
 
 THE SNOW-Q.UEEN. 147 
 
 the cutting frost; but the Reindeer dared not 
 stand still ; on he ran till he came to the 
 great bush with the red berries, and there he 
 set Geida down, kissed her month, while 
 large bright tears flowed from the animal's 
 eyes, and then back he went as fast as pos- 
 sible. There stood poor Gerda now, without 
 shoes or gloves, in the very middle of dread- 
 ful icy Finland. 
 
 She ran on as fast as she could. There 
 then came a whole regiment of snow-flakes, 
 but they did not fall from above, and they 
 were quite bright and shining from the Au- 
 rora Borealis. The flakes ran along the 
 ground, and the nearer they came the larger 
 they grew. Gerda well jemembered how 
 large and strange the snow-flakes appeared 
 when she once saw them through a magni- 
 fyjng-glass ; but now they were large and 
 terrific in another manner — they were all 
 alive. They were the outposts of the Snow- 
 Queen. They had the most wondrous 
 shapes ; some looked like large ugly porcu- 
 pines ; others like snakes knotted together, 
 with their heads sticking out ; and others, 
 again, like small fat bears, with the hair
 
 148 THE LAPLAND WOMAN. 
 
 Btanding on end : all were of dazzling white- 
 ness — all were living snow-flakes. 
 
 Little Gerda repeated the Lord's Prayer. 
 The cold was so intense that she could see 
 her own breath, which came like smoke out 
 of her mouth. It grew thicker and thicker, 
 and took the form of little angels, that grew 
 more and more when they touched the earth. 
 All had helms on their heads, and lances and 
 shields in their hands ; they increased in 
 numbers ; and when Gerda had finished the 
 Lord's Prayer, she was surrounded by a 
 whole legion. They thrust at the horrid 
 snow-flakes with their spears, so that they 
 flew into a thousand pieces ; and little Gerda 
 walked on bravely and in securit)^ The 
 angels patted her hands and feet ; and then 
 she felt the cold less, and went on quickly 
 towards the palace of the Snow-Q,ueen. 
 
 But now we shall see how Kay fared. He 
 never thought of Gerda, and least of all that 
 she was standing before the palace.
 
 THE PALACE OF THE SNOW-CIUEEN. 149 
 
 SEVENTH STORY. 
 
 WHiT TOOK PLACE IN THE PALACE OF THE SNOW- 
 QUEEN, AND WHAT HAPPENED AFTERWARD. 
 
 The walls of the palace were of driving 
 snow, and the windows and doors of cutting 
 winds. Tliere were more than a hundred 
 halls there, according as the snow was driven 
 by the winds. The largest was many miles 
 in extent ; all were lighted up by the power- 
 ful Aurora Borealis, and all were so large, so 
 empty, so icy cold, and so resplendent ! Mirth 
 never reigned there ; tliere was never even a 
 little bear-ball, with the storm for music, 
 while the polar bears went on their hind- 
 legs and showed off their steps. Never a 
 Httle tea-part}^ of white young lady fox.'.- ; 
 vast, cold, and empty were the halls of the 
 Snow-Queen. The northern-lights shone 
 with such precision that one could tell exactly 
 when they were at their highest or lowest 
 degree of brightness. In the middle of tha
 
 150 THE SNOW-aUEEN. 
 
 empty, endless hall of snow, was a frozen 
 lake ; it was cracked in a thousand pieces, 
 but each piece was so like the other, that it 
 seemed the work of a cunning artificer. In 
 the middle of this lake sat the Snow-Q.ueen 
 when she was at home ; and then she said she 
 was sitting in the Mirror of Understanding, 
 and that this was the only one and the best 
 thing in the world. 
 
 Little Kay was quite blue, yes nearly black 
 with cold ; but he did not observe it, for she 
 had kissed away all feeling of cold from his 
 body, and his heart was a lump of ice. He 
 was dragging along some pointed flat pieces 
 of ice, which he laid together in all pos- 
 sible ways, for he wanted to make some- 
 thing with them ; just as we have little flat 
 pieces of wood to make geometrical figures 
 with, called the Chinese Puzzle. Kay made 
 all sorts of figures, the most complicated, for 
 it was an ice-puzzle for the understanding. 
 In his eyes the figures were extraordinarily 
 beautiful, and of the utmost importance ; for 
 the bit of glass which was in his eye caused 
 this. He found whole figures which repre- 
 sented a written word ; but he never could
 
 THE PALACE OF THE SNOW-QUEEN. 15l 
 
 manage to represent just the word he wantea 
 — ^^that word was " eternity ;" and the Snow- 
 dueen had said, " If you can discover that 
 figure, you shall be your own master, and I 
 will make you a present of the whole world 
 and a pair of new skates." But he could 
 not find it out. 
 
 " I am going now to warm lands," said 
 the Snow-Q,ueen. '' I must have a look 
 down into the black caldrons." It was the 
 volcanoes Vesuvius and Etna that she meant. 
 "I will just give them a coating of white, 
 for that is as it ought to be ; besides, it is 
 good for the oranges and the grapes." And 
 then away she flew, and Kay sat quite alone 
 in the empty halls of ice that were miles 
 long, and looked at the blocks of ice, and 
 thought and thought till his skull was al- 
 most cracked. There he sat quite benumbed 
 and motionless ; one would have imagined 
 he was frozen to death. 
 
 Suddenly little Gerda stepped through the 
 great portal into the palace. The gate 
 was formed of cutting winds ; but Gerda re- 
 peated her evening prayer, and the winds 
 were laid as though they slept ; and the
 
 152 THE SNOW-aUEEN. 
 
 little maiden entered the vast, empty, cold 
 halls. There she beheld Kay : she lecog 
 nised him, flew to embrace him, and cried 
 out, her arms firmly holding him the while, 
 " Kay, sweet little Kay ! Have I then found 
 you at last ?" 
 
 But he sat quite still, benumbed and cold. 
 Then little Gerda shed burning tears ; and 
 they fell on his bosom, they penetrated to his 
 heart, they thawed the lumps of ice, and con- 
 sumed the splinters of the looking-glass ; he 
 looked at her, and she sang the hymn : 
 
 " The rose in the valley is bloomin°: so sweet, 
 And angels descend there the children to greet." 
 
 Hereupon Kay burst into tears ; he wept 
 so much that the splinte:* rolled out of his 
 eye, and he recognised her, and shouted, 
 "Gerda, sweet little Gerda! where have you 
 been so long? And where have I been?" 
 He looked round him. " How cold it is 
 here !" said he ; " how empty and cold !" 
 And he held fast by Gerda, who laughed 
 and wept for joy. It was so beautiful, that 
 even the blocks of ice danced about for joy ; 
 and when they were tired and laid themselves
 
 THE PALACE OF THE SNOW-aUEEN. 153 
 
 down, they formed exactly the letters which' 
 the Snow-Queen had told him-- to rind out ; 
 so now he was his own master, and he would 
 have the whole world and a pair of new 
 skates into the bargain. 
 
 Gerda kissed his cheeks, and they grew 
 quite blooming ; she kissed his eyes, and they 
 shone like her own ; she kissed his hands 
 and feet, and he was again well and merry. 
 The Snow-Glueen might come back as soon 
 as she liked ; there stood his discharge 
 written in resplendent masses of ice. 
 
 They took each other by the hand, and 
 wandered forth out of the large hall ; they 
 talked of their old grand-mother, and of the 
 roses upon the roof; and wherever they 
 went, the winds ceased raging, and the sun 
 burst forth. And when they reached the 
 bush with the red berries, they found the 
 Reindeer waiting for them. He had brought 
 another, a young one, with him, whose udder 
 was rilled with milk, which he gave to the 
 little ones, and kissed their lips. They then 
 carried Kay and Gerda, — rirst to the Finland 
 woman, where they warmed themselves in 
 the warm room, and learned what they wera
 
 154 THE SNOW-aUEEN. 
 
 to do on their journey home ; and they went 
 to the Lapland woman, who made some new 
 clothes for them and repaired their sledges. 
 
 The Reindeer and the young hind leaped 
 along beside them, and accompanied them to 
 the boundary of the country. Here the first 
 vegetation peeped forth ; here Kay and Gerda 
 took leave of the Lapland woman. " Fare- 
 well ! farewell !" said they all. And the 
 first green buds appeared, the first little birds 
 began to chirrup ; and out of the wood came, 
 riding on a magnificent horse, which Gerda 
 knew (it was one of the leaders in the golden 
 carriage), a young damsel with a bright-red 
 cap on her head, and armed with pistols. It 
 was the little Robber-maiden, who, tired of 
 being at home, had determined to make a 
 journey to the north ; and afterwards in 
 another direction, if that did not please her. 
 She recognised Gerda immediately, and Gerda 
 knew her too. It was a joyful meeting. 
 
 " You are a fine fellow for tramping about," 
 said she to little Kay ; " I should like to know, 
 faith, if you deserve that one should run 
 from one end of the world to the other for 
 your sake ?"
 
 THE PALACE OF THE SNOW-Q.UEEN. 155 
 
 But Gerda patted her cheeks, and inquired 
 for the Prince and Princess. 
 
 " They are gone abroad," said the other. 
 
 " But the Raven ?" asked Httle Gerda. 
 
 " Oh ! the Raven is dead," answered she. 
 "His tame sweetheart is a widow, and wears 
 a bit of black worsted round her leg" ; she 
 laments most piteously, but it's all mere talk 
 and stuff! Now tell me what you've been 
 doing and how you managed to catch him." 
 
 And Gerda and Kay both told their story. 
 
 And " Schnipp-schnapp-schnurre-basselur- 
 re," said the Robber-maiden ; and she took 
 the hands of each, and promised that if she 
 should some day pass through the town 
 where they lived, she would come and visit 
 them ; and then away she rode. Kay and 
 Gerda took each other's hand : it was lovely 
 spring weather, with abundance of flowers 
 and of verdure. The church-bells rang, and 
 the children recognised the high towers, and 
 the large town : it was that in which they 
 dwelt. They entered and hastened up to 
 their grand-mother's roont, where every 
 thing was standing as formerly. The clock 
 said " tick ! tack !" and the finger moved
 
 156 THE SNOW-aUEEN. 
 
 round ; but as they entered, they remarked 
 that they were now grown up. The roses on 
 the leads hung blooming in at the open win- 
 dow ; there stood the little children's chairs, 
 and Kay and Gerda sat down on them, hold- 
 ing each other by the hand ; they both had for- 
 gotten the cold empty splendor of the Snow- 
 Q,ueen, as though it had been a dream. The 
 grand-mother sat in the bright sunshine, and 
 read aloud from the Bible : " Unless ye be- 
 come as little children, ye cannot enter the 
 kingdom of heaven." 
 
 And Kay and Gerda looked in each other's 
 eyes, and all at once they understood the old 
 hymn : 
 
 " The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, 
 
 There sat the two grown-up persons ; 
 grown-up, and yet children ; children at least 
 in heart ; and it was summer-time ; summer 
 glorious summer !
 
 THE LEAP-FROG. 
 
 FLEA, a Grasshopper, and a 
 Leap-frog once wanted to see 
 which could jump highest ; 
 and they invited the whole 
 world, and every body 
 else besides who chose 
 to come, to see the fes- 
 tival. Three famous jumpers 
 were they, as every one would say, 
 when they all met together in the room. 
 
 " I will give my daughter to him who 
 jumps highest," exclaimed the King; " for it 
 is not so amusing where there is no prize to 
 jump for." 
 
 The Flea was the first to step forward. 
 
 He had exquisite manners, and bowed to the 
 
 vjompany on all sides ; for he had noble blood, 
 
 and was, moreover, accustomed to the society 
 
 dd 157
 
 158 THE LEAP-FROG. 
 
 of man alone ; and that makes a great differ 
 ence. 
 
 Then came the Grasshopper. He was 
 considerably heavier, but he wa? well-man- 
 nered, and wore a green uniform, which he 
 had by right of birth ; he said, moreover, 
 that he belonged to a very ancient Egyptian 
 family, and that in the house where he then 
 was, he was thought much of. The fact 
 was, he had been just brought out of the 
 fields, and put in a pasteboard house, three 
 stories high, all made of court-cards, with the 
 colored side inwards ; and doors and win- 
 dows cut out of the body of the Q.ueen of 
 Hearts. "1 sing so well," said he, "that six- 
 teen native grasshoppers who have chirped 
 from infancy, and yet got no house built of 
 cards to live in, grew thinner than they were 
 before for sheer vexation when they heard 
 me." 
 
 It was thus tliat the t'lea and the Grass- 
 hopper gave an account of themselves, and 
 thought they were quite good enough to 
 marry a Princess. 
 
 The Leap-frog said nothing ; but people 
 gave it as their opinion, that he therefore
 
 THE LEAP-FROG. 159 
 
 thought the more ; and when the house-dog 
 snuffed at him with his nose, he confessed 
 the Leap-frog was of good family. The old 
 councillor, w^ho had had three orders given 
 him to make him hold his tongue, asserted 
 that the Leap-frog was a prophet ; for that 
 one could see on his back, if there would be 
 a severe or mild winter, and that was what 
 one could not see even on the back of the 
 man w^ho writes the almanac. 
 
 "I say nothing, it is true," exclaimed the 
 King ; " but I have my own opinion, notwith-. 
 standing." 
 
 Now the trial was to take place. The 
 Flea jumped so high that nobody could see 
 where he went to ; so they all asserted he 
 had not jumped at all ; and that was dishon- 
 orable. 
 
 The Grasshopper jumped only half as 
 high ; but he leaped into the King's face, 
 who said that was ill-mannered. 
 
 The Leap-frog stood still for a long time 
 lost in thought ; it was believed at last he 
 would not jump at all. 
 
 " I only hope he is not unwell," said the 
 house-dog ; when, pop ! he made a jump all
 
 160 THE LEAP-FROG. 
 
 on one side into the lap of the Princess, who 
 was sitting on a Httle golden stool close by. 
 
 Hereupon the King said, *' There is no- 
 thing abov^e my daughter ; therefore to bound 
 up to her is the highest jump that can be 
 made ; but for this, one must possess under- 
 standing, and the Leap-frog has shown that 
 he has understanding. He is brave and in- 
 tellectual." 
 
 And so he won the Princess. 
 
 " It's all the same to me," said the Flea ; 
 "she may have the old Leap-frog, for all I 
 care. I jumped the highest; but in this 
 world merit seldom meets its reward. A fine 
 exterior is what people look at now-a-days." 
 
 The Flea then went into foreign service, 
 where, it is said, he was killed. 
 
 The Grasshopper sat without on a green 
 bank, and reflected on worldly things ; and 
 he said too, " Yes, a fine exterior is every 
 thing — a fine exterior is what people care 
 about." And then he began chirping his 
 peculiar melancholy song, from* which we 
 have taken this history ; and which may, 
 very possibly, be all untrue, although it does 
 Btand here printed in black and white.
 
 apart K»«, 
 THIRTEEN NEW STORIES; 
 
 A.N D 
 
 ADDRESS TO YOUNG READERS.
 
 THE OLD HOUSE. 
 
 ^pN the street, 
 up there, was 
 an old, a very 
 old house, — 
 it was almost three 
 hundred years old, 
 for that might be known 
 by reading the great beam 
 on which the date of the 
 year was carved : together 
 with tulips and hop-binds 
 there were whole verses 
 spelled as in former times, and 
 over every window was a dis- 
 torted face cut out in the 
 beam. The one story stood forward a great 
 9
 
 10 THE OLD HOUSE. 
 
 way over the other ; and directly under the 
 eaves was a leaden spout with a dragon's 
 head ; the rain-water should have run out of 
 the mouth, but it ran out of the belly, for 
 there was a hole in the spout. 
 
 All the other houses in the street were so 
 new and so neat, with large window-panes 
 and smooth walls, one could easily see that 
 they would have nothing to do with the old 
 house : they certainly thought, " How long 
 is that old decayed thing to stand here as a 
 spectacle in the street ? And then the pro- 
 "ecting windows stand so far out, that no 
 one can see from our windows what hap- 
 pens in that direction ! The steps are as 
 broad as those of a palace, and as high as to 
 a church tower. The iron railings look 
 just like the door to an old family vault, 
 and then they have brass tops, — that's so 
 stupid !" 
 
 On the other side of the street were also 
 new and neat houses, and they thought just 
 as the others did ; but at the window oppo- 
 site the old house there sat a little boy with 
 fresh rosy cheeks and bright beaming eyes : 
 he certainly liked the old house best, and
 
 THE OLD HOUSE. 11 
 
 that both in sunshine and moonshine. And 
 when he looked across at the wall where the 
 mortar had fallen out, he could sit and find 
 out there the strangest figures imaginable ; 
 exactly as the street had appeared before, 
 with steps, projecting Avindows, and pointed 
 gables ; he could see soldiers with halberds, 
 and spouts where the water ran, like dragons 
 and serpents. That was a house to look at ; 
 and there lived an old man, who wore plush 
 breeches; and lie had a coat with large brass 
 buttons, and a wig that one could see was a 
 real wig. Every morning there came an old 
 fellow to him who put his rooms in order, 
 and went on errands ; otherwise, the old man 
 in the plush breeches was quite alone in the 
 old house. Now and then he came to the 
 window and looked out, and the little boy 
 nodded to him, and the old man nodded 
 again, and so they became acquaintances, 
 and then they were friends, although they 
 had never spoken to each other, — but that 
 made no difference. The little boy heard 
 fds parents say, "The old man opposite is 
 '^ery well off, but he is oo very, very lonely !" 
 The Sunday fcllowing, the little boy took
 
 12 THE OLD HOUSE. 
 
 Bomething, and wrapped it up in a piece of 
 papei-j went down stairs, and stood in the 
 doorway ; and when the man who went on 
 errands came past, he said to him — 
 
 " I say, master ! will you give this to the 
 old man over the way from me ? I have two 
 pewter soldiers — this is one of them, and he 
 shall have it, for 1 know he is so very, very 
 lonely." 
 
 And the old errand man looked quite 
 pleased, nodded, and took the pewter soldier 
 over to the old house. Afterwards there 
 came a message ; it was to ask if the little 
 boy himself had not a wish to come over and 
 pay a visit ; and so he got permission of his 
 parents, and then went over to the old house. 
 
 And the brass balls on the iron railings 
 shone much brighter than ever ; one would 
 have thought they were polished on account 
 of the visit ; and it was as if the carved-out 
 trumpeters — for there were trumpeters, who 
 stood in tulips, carved out on the door — b'ew 
 with all their might, their cheeks appeared 
 so much rounder than before. Yes, they 
 blew — " Trateratra ! the little boy comes 
 trateratra !" — and then the door opened.
 
 THE OLD HOUSE. 13 
 
 The whole passage was hung with por- 
 craits of knights in armor, and ladies in 
 silken gowns ; and the armor rattled, and 
 tiir: silken gowns rustled ! And then there 
 was a flight of stairs which went a good way 
 upwards, and a little way downwards, and 
 then one came on a balcony which was in a 
 very dilapidated state, sure enough, with 
 large holes and long crevices, but grass grew 
 there and leaves out of them altogether, for 
 the whole balcony outside, the yard, and the 
 walls, were overgrown with so much green 
 stuff, that it looked like a garden ; but it was 
 only a balcony. Here stood old flower-pots 
 with faces and asses' ears, and the flowers 
 grew just as they liked. One of the pots was 
 quite overrun on all sides with pinks, that is 
 to say, with the green part ; shoot stood by 
 shoot, and it said quite distinctl}^, " The air 
 has cherished me, the sun has kissed me, and 
 promised me a little flower on Sunday ! — a 
 little flower on Sunday !" 
 
 And then they entered a chamber where 
 the walls were covered with hog's leather, 
 and printed with gold flowers.
 
 14 THE OLD HOUSE. 
 
 > 
 
 " The gilding decays, 
 But hog's leather stays!" 
 
 paid the walls. 
 
 And there stood easy chairs, with such 
 high backs, and so carved out, and with arms 
 on both sides. " Sit down ! sit down !" said 
 they. " Ugh ! how I creak ; now I shall 
 certainly get the gout, like the old clothes- 
 press, ugh !" 
 
 And then the little boy came into the room 
 where the projecting windows were, and 
 where the old man sat. 
 
 "I thank you for the pewter soldier, my 
 Httle friend !" said the old man, " and I thank 
 you because you come over to me." 
 
 " Thankee ! thankee !" or "cranky ! cranky !" 
 sounded from all the furniture ; there was so 
 much of it, that each article stood in the 
 other's way, to get a look at the little boy. 
 
 In the middle of the wall hung a picture 
 representing a beautiful lady, so young, so 
 glad, but dressed quite as in former times, 
 with clothes that stood quite stiff, and with 
 pov/der in her hair ; she neither said " thankee, 
 thankee !" nor " cranky, cranky '" but looked 
 with her mild eyes at the littie boy, who
 
 THE OLD HOUSE. 15 
 
 directly asked the old man, " Where did you 
 get her?" 
 
 "Yonder, at the broker's," said the old 
 man, "where there are so many pictures 
 hanging. No one knows or cares about 
 them, for they are all of them buried ; but I 
 knew her in by-gone days, and now she has 
 been dead and gone these fifty years !" 
 
 Under the picture, in a glazed frame, 
 there hung a bouquet of withered flowers ; 
 they were almost fifty years old ; they 
 looked so very old ! 
 
 The pendulum of the great clock went to 
 and fro, and the hands turned, and every 
 thing in the room became still older ; but 
 they did not observe it. 
 
 " They say at home," said the little boy, 
 " that you are so very, very lonely !" 
 
 "Oh!" said he, "the old thoughts, with 
 what they may bring with them, come and 
 visit me, and now you also come ! I am 
 very well off!" 
 
 Then he took a book with pictures in it 
 down from the shelf; there were whole 
 long processions and pageants, with the 
 strangest characters, which one never sees
 
 t6 THE OLD HOUSE. 
 
 now-a-days ; soldiers like the knave of 
 clubs, and citizens with waving flags : the 
 tailors had theirs, with a pair of shears held 
 oy two lions, — and the shoemakers theirs, 
 without boots, but with an eagle that had 
 two heads, for the shoemakers must have 
 everything so that they can say, it is a 
 pair ! — Yes, that was a picture book ! 
 
 The old man now went into the other 
 room to fetch preserves, apples, and nuts; — 
 yes, it was delightful over there in the old 
 house. 
 
 " I cannot bear it any longer !" said the 
 pewter soldier, who sat on the drawers ; " it 
 is so lonely and melancholy here ! but when 
 one has been in a family circle one cannot 
 accustom oneself to this life ! I cannot bear it 
 any longer !• the whole day is so long, and the 
 evenings are still longer ! here it is not at all 
 as it is over the way at your home, where 
 your father and mother spoke so pleasantly, 
 and where you and all your sweet children 
 made such a delightful noise. Nay, how 
 lonely the old man is ! — do you think that he 
 gets kisses ? do you think he gets mild eyes,
 
 THE OLD HOUSE. 17 
 
 or a Christmas tree? — He will get nothing 
 but a grave . — I can bear it no longer !" 
 
 " You must not let it grieve you so nuich," 
 said the little boy ; " I find it so very delightful 
 here, and then all the old thoughts, with 
 what they may bring with them, they come 
 and visit here." 
 
 " Yes, it's all very well, but I see nothing 
 of them, and I don't know them !" said the 
 pewter soldier, " I cannot bear it !" 
 
 " But you must !" said the little boy. 
 
 Then in came the old man with the most 
 pleased and happy face, the most delicious 
 preserves, apples, and nuts, and so the little 
 boy thought no more about the pewter sol- 
 dier. 
 
 The little boy returned home happy and 
 pleased, and weeks and days passed away, 
 and nods were made to the old house, and 
 from the old house, and then the little boy 
 went over there again. 
 
 The carved trumpeters blew, " trateratra ! 
 there is the little boy ! trateratra !" and the 
 swords and armor on the knights' portraits 
 rattled, and the silk gowns rustled ; the hog's- 
 leather spoke, and the old chairs had the gout 
 2
 
 IS THE OLD HOUSE. 
 
 in their leg's and rheumatism in their backs ; 
 Ugh-! — it was exactly like the first time, for 
 over there one day and hour was just like 
 another. 
 
 " I cannot bear it !" said the pewter soldier, 
 " I have shed pewter tears ! it is too melan- 
 choly ! rather let me go to the wars and lose 
 ai*ms and legs ! it would at least be a change. 
 I cannot bear it longer ! — Now, I know what 
 it is to have a visit from one's old thoughts, 
 with what they may bring with them ! I 
 have had a visit from mine, and you may be 
 sure it is no pleasant thing in the end ; I was 
 at last about to jump down from the drawers. 
 
 " I saw you all over there at home so dis- 
 tinctly, as if you really were here ; it was 
 again that Sunday morning ; all you children 
 stood before the table and sung your Psalms^ 
 as you do every morning. You stood devoutly 
 with folded hands ; and father and mother 
 were just as pious ; and then the door was 
 opened, and little sister Mary, wlio is not two 
 years old yet, and who always dance? when 
 she hears music or singing, of whatever kind 
 it may be, was put into the room — thougli she 
 ought not to have been there — and then she
 
 THE OLD HOUSE. 19 j 
 
 I 
 
 began to dance, but could not keep time, be- i 
 cause the tones were so long ; and then she ■ 
 stood, first on the one leg, and bent her head \ 
 forwards, and then on the other leg, and bent I 
 her head forwards — but all would not do. You | 
 stood very seriously all toget"her, although ' 
 it was difficult enougli ; but I laughed to my- i 
 self, and then I fell off the table, and got a I 
 bump, which I have still — for it was not right I 
 of me to laugh. But the whole now passes | 
 before me again in thought, and everything i 
 that I have lived to see ; and these are the old 
 thoughts, with what they may bring with them. 
 
 "Tell me if you still sing on Sundays? 
 Tell me something about little Mary ! and 
 how my comrade, the other pewter soldier, 
 lives ! Yes, he is happy enough, that's sure ! 
 I cannot bear it any longer !" 
 
 " You are given away as a present !" said 
 the little boy ; " you must remain. Can you 
 not understand that ?" 
 
 The old man now came with a drawer, in 
 which there was much to be seen, both " tin 
 boxes" and "balsam boxes," old cards, so 
 large and so gilded, such as one never sees
 
 20 THE OLD HOUSE. 
 
 them now. And several drawers were opened, 
 and the piano was opened ; it had landscapes 
 on the inside of the lid, and it was so hoarse 
 when the old man played on it ! and then he 
 hummed a song. 
 
 " Yes, she could sing that !" said he, and 
 nodded to the portrait, which he had bought 
 at the broker's, and the old man's eyes shone 
 so bright ! 
 
 " I will go to the wars ! I will go to the 
 wars !" shouted the pewter soldier as loud as 
 he could, and threw hunself off the drawers 
 right down on the floor. 
 
 What became of him? The old man 
 sought, and the little boy sought ; he was 
 away, and he stayed away. 
 
 " I shall find him ! " said the old man ; but 
 he never found him. The floor was too open 
 — the pewter soldier had fallen through a 
 crevice, and there he lay as in an open tomb. 
 
 That day passed, and the little boy went 
 home, and that week passed, and several 
 weeks too. The windows were quite frozen, 
 the little boy was obliged to sit and breathe 
 on them to get a peep-hole over to the old 
 house, and there the snow had been blown
 
 THE OLD HOUSE, 21 
 
 into all the carved work and inscriptions; it 
 lay quite up over the steps, just as if there 
 was no one at home; — nor was there any 
 one at home — the old man was dead ! 
 
 In the evening there was a hearse seen 
 befoie the door, and he was borne into it in 
 his coffin : he was now to go out into the 
 country, to lie in his grave. He was driven 
 out there, but no one followed ; all his friends 
 were dead, and the little boy kissed his hand 
 to the coffin as it was driven away. 
 
 Some days afterwards there was an auction 
 at the old house, and the httle boy saw from 
 his window how they carried the old knights 
 and the old ladies away, the flower-pots with 
 the long ears, the old chairs, and the old 
 clothes-presses. Something came here, and 
 something came there ; the portrait of her 
 who had been found at the broker's came to 
 the broker's agahi ; and there it hung, for no 
 one knew her more — no one cared about the 
 old picture. 
 
 In the spring they pulled the house down, 
 for, as people said, it was a ruin. One could 
 see from the street right into the room with 
 the hog's-leather hanging, which was slashed
 
 22 
 
 THE OLD HOUSE. 
 
 and torn ; and the green grass and leaves 
 
 about the balcony hung quite wild about the 
 
 falling beams. — -And then it was put to rights. 
 
 " That was a relief," said the neighboring 
 
 houses. 
 
 # * * # # # * 
 
 A fine house was built there, with large 
 windows, and smooth white walls ; but be- 
 fore it, where the old house had in fact stood, 
 was a little garden laid out, and a wild grape- 
 vine ran up the wall of the neighboring house. 
 Before the garden there was a large iron rail- 
 ing with an iron door, it looked quite splendid, 
 and people stood still and peeped in, and the 
 sparrows hung by scores in the vine, and 
 chattered away at each other as well as they 
 could, but it Avas not about the old house, for 
 they could not remember it, so many years 
 had passed, — so many that the little boy had 
 grown up to a whole man, yes, a clever man, 
 and a pleasure to his parents ; and he had 
 just been married, and, together with his little 
 wife, had come to live in the house here, 
 where the garden was ; and he stood by her 
 there whilst she planted a field- flower thai 
 she found so pretty ; she planted it with hei
 
 THE OLD HOUcTK. 23 
 
 little hand, and pressed the earth around it 
 with her fingers. Oh ! what was that ? She 
 had stuck herself. There sat something 
 pointed, straight out of the soft mould. 
 
 It was yes, guess ! — it was the pewter 
 
 soldier, he that Avas lost up at the old man's, 
 and had tumbled and turned about amongst 
 the timber and the rubbish, and had at last 
 laid for many years in the ground. 
 
 The young wife wiped the dirt off the sol- 
 dier, first with a green leaf, and then with 
 her fine handkerchief — it had such a delight- 
 ful smell, that it was to the pewter soldier 
 just as if he had awaked fiom a trance. 
 
 " Let me see him," said the young man. 
 He laughed, and then skook his head. " Nay, 
 it cannot be he ; but he reminds me of a 
 story about a pewter soldier which I had 
 when I was a little boy !" And then he told 
 his wife about the old house, and the old man, 
 and about the pewter soldier that he sent over 
 to him because he was so very, very lonely ; 
 and he told it as correctly as it had really 
 been, so that the tears cam6 into the eyes of 
 his young wife, on account of the old house 
 and the old man. 
 
 hh
 
 24 THE OLD HOUSE. 
 
 " It may possibly be, however, that it is the 
 same pewter sol Jier !" said she, " I will take 
 care of it, and remember all that you have 
 told me ; hut yoii must show me the old man's 
 grave ! " 
 
 " But I do not know it," said he, " and no 
 one knows it ! all his friends were dead, no 
 one took care of it, and I was then a little 
 boy!" 
 
 " How very, very lonely he must have 
 been !" said slie. 
 
 " Very, very lonely T' said tlie pewter sol- 
 dier ; " but it is delightful not to be forgotten 1" 
 
 " Delightful !" shouted sometlnng close by ; 
 but no one, except the pewter soldier, saw 
 that it was a piece of the hog's-leaiher hang- 
 ings ; it liad lost all its gilding, it looked like 
 a |)iece of wet clay, but it had an opinion, 
 and it gave it : 
 
 ♦' The gilding decays, 
 But hog's leather stays f** 
 
 This the pewter soldier did not believe.
 
 THE DROP OF WATER. 
 
 HAT a magnifying 
 glass is, you surely 
 know — such a round 
 sort of spectacle-glass 
 that makes eveiy- 
 thing full a hundred 
 times larger than it 
 really is. When one 
 holds it before the 
 eye, and looks at a drop of water out of the 
 pond, then one sees above a thousand strange 
 creatures. It looks almost like a whole 
 plateful of shrimps springing about among 
 each other, and they are so ravenous, they 
 tear one another's arms and legs, tails and 
 sides, and yet they are glad and pleased in 
 their way. 
 
 25
 
 26 THE DROP OF WATER. 
 
 Now, there was once an old man, who was 
 called by every body Creep-and-Crawl ; foi 
 that was his name. He would always make 
 the best out of everything, and when he 
 could not make anything out of it, he re? 
 sorted to witchcraft. 
 
 Now, one day he sat and held his magni- 
 fying glass before his eye, and looked at a 
 drop of water that was taken out of a httle 
 pool in the ditch. What a creeping and 
 crawling was there ! all the thousands of 
 small creatures hopped and jumped about, 
 pulled one another, and pecked one another. 
 
 " But this is abominable !" said Creep-and- 
 Crawl, " Can one not get them to live in peace 
 and quiet, and each mind his own business ?" 
 And he thought and thought, but he could 
 come to no conclusion, and so he was obliged 
 to conjure. "I must give them a color, that 
 they may be more discernible !" said he ; and 
 so he poured something like a little drop of 
 red wine into the drop of water, but it was 
 bewitched blood from the lobe of the ear — 
 the very finest sort for a penny ; and~tlTen all 
 the strange creatures became rose-colored
 
 THE DROP OF WATER. 27 
 
 over the whole body. It looked like a whole 
 town of naked savasres. 
 
 " What have you got there ?" said anothei 
 old wizard, who had no name, and that was 
 just the best of it. 
 
 " Why," said Creep-a nd-Crawl, " if you can . 
 guess what it is, 1 will make you a present of 
 IT; but it is not so easy to find out when one 
 does not know it!" 
 
 The wizard who hnd no name looked 
 through the magnitymg glass, li actually 
 appeared like a whole town, where all the 
 inhabitants ran about without clothes ! it was 
 terrible, but still more terrible to see how the 
 one knocked and pushed the other, bit each 
 otheF, and drew one another about. What 
 was undermost should be topmost, and what 
 was topmost should be undermost ! — See 
 there, now ! his leg is longer than mine ! — 
 whip it off, and away with it ! There is one 
 that has a little lump behind the ear, a little 
 innocent lump, but it pains him, and so it 
 Ehall pain him still more ! And they pecked 
 at it, and they dragged him about, and they 
 ate him, and all on account of the little lump. 
 'There sat one as still as a little maid, who
 
 28 THE DROP OF WATER. 
 
 only wished for peace and quietness, but she 
 must be brought out and they dragged her, 
 and they pulled her, and they devoured her ! 
 
 " It is quite amusing !" said the wizard. 
 
 " Yes ; but what do you think it is ?" asked 
 Creep-and-Crawl. " Can you find it out !" 
 
 " It is very easy to see," said the other, " it 
 is some great city, they all resemble each 
 other. A ffreat city it is, that's sure !" 
 
 " It is djtch-water !" said Creep-and-Crawl
 
 THE HAPPY FAMILY. 
 
 EALLY, the largest 
 green leaf in this coun- 
 try is a dock-leaf; if 
 one holds it before 
 one, ii is like a whole 
 apron, and if one holds 
 it over one's head in 
 rainy weather, it is almost as 
 good as an umbrella, for it is so 
 immensely large. The burdock 
 never grows alone, but where 
 there grows one there always 
 grow several : it is a great delight, and all 
 this delightfulness is snails' food. The great 
 white snails which persons of quality in for- 
 mer times made fricassees of, ate, and said, 
 " Hem, hem ! how delicious !" for they though i 
 20
 
 30 THE HAPPY FAMILY. 
 
 it tasted so delicate — lived on dock leaves, 
 and therefore burdock seeds were sown. 
 
 Now, there was an old nanor-house, where 
 they no longer ate snails, they were quite ex- 
 tinct ; but the burdocks were not extinct, they 
 grew and grew all over the walks and all the 
 beds ; they could not get the mastery over 
 them — it was a whole forest of burdocks. 
 Here and there stood an apple and a plumb- 
 tree, or else one never would have thought 
 that it was a garden ; all was burdocks, and 
 there lived the two last venerable old snails. 
 
 They themselves knew not how old they 
 were, but they could remember very well that 
 there had been many more ; that they were 
 of a family from foreign lands, and that for 
 them and theirs the whole forest was planted. 
 They had never been outside it, but they 
 knew that there was still something more in 
 the world, which w^as called the manor-house, 
 and that there they were boiled, and then 
 they became black, and were then placed on 
 a silver dish ; but what happened further 
 they knew not ; or, in fact, what it was to be 
 boiled, and to lie on a silver dish, they could 
 act possibly imagine ; but it was said to be
 
 THE HAPPY FAMILY. 31 
 
 delightful, and particularly genteel. Neither 
 the chafers, the toads, nor the earth-worms, 
 whom they asked about it could give them 
 any information, — none of thein had been 
 boiled or laid on a silver dish. 
 
 The old white snails were the first persons 
 of distinction in the world, that they knew ; 
 the forest was planted for their sake, and the 
 manor-house was there that they might be 
 boiled and laid on a silver dish. 
 
 Now they lived a very lonely and happy 
 life ; and as they had no children themselves, 
 they had adopted a little common snail, 
 which they brought up as their own ; but the 
 little one would not grow, for he was of a 
 common family ; but the old ones, especially 
 Dame Mother Snail, thought they could ob- 
 serve how he increased in size, and she beo^o^ed 
 father, if he could not see it, that he would at 
 least feel the little snail's shell ; and then he 
 felt it, and found the good dame was right. 
 
 One day there was a heavy storm of rain. 
 
 "Hear how it beats like a drum on the 
 dock leaves P said Father Snail. 
 
 " There are also rain-drops !" said Mother 
 Snail ; " and now the rain pours right down 
 
 ii
 
 32 /THE HAPPY FAMILY. 
 
 the Stalk ! You will see that it will be wel 
 here ! I am very happy to think that we 
 have our good house, and the little one has 
 his also ! There is more done for us than 
 for all other creatures, sure enough ; but can 
 you not see that we are folks of quality in the 
 world ? We are provided with a house from 
 our birth, and the burdock forest is planted 
 for our sakes ! I should like to know how far 
 it extends, and what there is outside !" 
 
 " There is nothing at all," said Father, 
 Snail. " No place can be better than ours, 
 
 /nd I have nothing to wish for !" 
 " Yes," said the dame. " I would willing- 
 ly go to the manor-house, be boiled, and laid 
 on a silver dish ; all our forefathers have been 
 treated so ; there is something extiaordinary 
 in it, you may be sure !" 
 
 " The manor-house has most likely fallen 
 to ruin !" said Father Snail, " or the burdocks 
 have grown up over it, so that they cannot 
 come out. There need not, however, be any 
 haste about that ; but you are always in such 
 a tremendous hurry, and the little one is be 
 ginning to be the same. Has he not been
 
 THE HAPPY FAMILY. 33 
 
 creeping up that stalk these three days ? It 
 gives me a headache when I look up to him !'" 
 
 "You must not scold him," said Mother 
 Snail; "he creeps so carefully; he will 
 afford us much pleasure — and we have noth- 
 ing but him to live for ! But have you not 
 thought of it ? — where shall we get a wife for 
 him ? Do you not think that there are some 
 of our species at a great distance in the inte- 
 rior of the burdock forest ?" 
 
 " Black snails, I dare say, there are enough 
 of," said the old one — " black snails without a 
 house — but they are so common, and so con- 
 ceited. But we might give the ants a com- 
 mission to look out for us ; they run to and 
 fro as if they had something to do, and they 
 certainly know of a wife for our little snail !" 
 
 "I know one, sure enough — the most 
 charming one !" said one of the ants ; " but 
 I am afraid we shall hardly succeed, for she 
 is a queen !" 
 
 " That is nothing !" said the old folks ; 
 " has she a house ?" 
 
 " She has a palace !" said the ant — " the 
 finest ant's palace, with seven hundred pas- 
 sages !"
 
 34 THE HAPPY FAMILY. 
 
 " I thank you !" said Mother Snail ; " om 
 son shall not go into an ant-hill ; if you know 
 nothing better than that, we shall give the 
 commission to the white gnats. They fly far 
 and wide, in rain and sunshine ; they know 
 the w4iole forest here, both within and with- 
 out." 
 
 " We have a wafe for him," said the gnats ; 
 "at a hundred human paces from here there 
 sits a little snail in her house, on a goose- 
 berry bush ; she is quite lonely, and old 
 enough to be married. It is only a hundred 
 human paces !" 
 
 " Well, tlien, let her come to him !" said 
 the old ones ; " he has a whole forest of bur- 
 docks, she has onl}^ a bush !" 
 
 And so they went and fetched little Miss 
 Snail. It was a whole week before she ar- 
 rived ; but tlierein was just the very best, of 
 it, for one could thus see that she was of 
 the same species. 
 
 And then the marriage was celebrated. 
 Six eart h-w^orms shone as well as they could. 
 In other respects the whole went off very 
 quietly, for the old folks could not bear noise 
 and merriment ; but old Dame Snail mad«
 
 THE HAPPY FAMILY. 35 
 
 a brilliant speech. Father Snail could not 
 speak, he was too much affected ; and so 
 they gave them as a dowry and inheritance, 
 the whole forest of burdocks, and said — -what 
 they had always said — that it was the best 
 in the world ; and if they lived honestly and 
 decently, and increased and multiplied, they 
 and their children would once in the course 
 of time come to the manor-house, be boiled 
 black, and laid on silver dishes. After this 
 speech was made, the old ones crept into their 
 shells, and never more came out. They 
 slept ; the young couple governed in the for- 
 est, and had a numerous progeny, but they 
 were never boiled, and never came on the 
 silver dishes ; so from this they concluded 
 that the manor-house had fallen to ruins, and 
 that all the men in the world were extinct ; 
 and as no one contradicted them, so, of course 
 it was so. And the rain beat on the dock- 
 leaves to make drum-music for their sake, 
 and the sun shone in order to give the bur- 
 dock forest a color for their sakes ; and they 
 were very happy, and the whole family was 
 happy ; for they, indeed were so.
 
 THE STORY OF A MOTHER 
 
 MOTHER sat there with her 
 httle child. She was so down- 
 cast, so afraid that it should 
 die ! It was so pale, the 
 small eyes had closed them- 
 selves, and it drew its 
 breath so softly, now 
 and then, with a deep 
 ^^^^. ^ respiration, as if it sighed; and 
 -9 the mother looked still more sorrow- 
 fully oil the little creature. 
 
 Then a knocking was heard at the door, 
 and in came a poor old man wrapped up as 
 m a large horse-cloth, for it warms one, and 
 he needed it, as it was the cold winter season ! 
 Every thing out of doors was covered with 
 ice and snow, and the wind blew so that it 
 cut the face. 
 
 36
 
 THE STORY OF A MOTHER. 37 
 
 As the old man trembled with cold, and 
 the little child slept a moment, the mother 
 went and poured some ale into a pot and set 
 it on the stove, that it might be warm for 
 him ; the old man sat and rocked the cradle, 
 and the mother sat down on a chair close by 
 him, and looked at her little sick child that 
 drew its breath so deep, and raised its little 
 hand. 
 
 " Do you not think that I shall save him ?" 
 said she, " Our Lord will not take him from 
 me!" 
 
 And the old man, — it was Death himself, — 
 he nodded so strangely, it could just as well 
 signify yes as no. And the mother looked 
 down in hep lap, and the tears ran down over 
 her cheeks ; her head became so heavy — she 
 had not closed her eyes for three days and 
 nights ; and now she slept, but only for a 
 minute, when she started up and trembled 
 with cold : " What is that ? " said she, and 
 looked on all sides ; but the old man was 
 gone, and her little child was gone — he had 
 taken it with him ; and the old clock in the 
 corner burred, and burred, the great leaden
 
 38 THE STORY OF A MOTHER. 
 
 weight ran down to the floor, bump ! and 
 then the clock also stood still. 
 
 But the poor mother ran out of the house 
 and cried aloud for her child. 
 
 Out there, in the midst of the snow, there 
 sat a woman in long, black clothes ; and she 
 said, " Death has been in thy chamber, and 
 I saw him hasten away with thy little child ; 
 he goes faster than the wind, and he never 
 brings back what he takes !" 
 
 "Oh, only tell me which way he went!" 
 said the mother : " Tell me the way, and I 
 shall find him !" 
 
 "I know it !" said the woman in the black 
 clothes, "but before I tell it, thou must first 
 sing for me all the songs thou hast sung for 
 thy child ! — I am fond of them ; I have heard 
 them before ; I am Night ; I saw thy tears 
 whilst thou sang'st them !" 
 
 " I will sing them all, all !" said the mother ; 
 " but do not stop me now ; — I may overtake 
 him — I may find my child !" 
 
 But Night stood still and mute. Then the 
 mother wrung her hands, sang and wept, and 
 there were many songs, but yet many more 
 tears ; and then Night said, " Go to the right,
 
 THE STORY OF A MOTHER. 39 
 
 into the dark pine forest ; thither I saw Death 
 take his way with thy Httle child !" 
 
 The roads crossed each other in the depths 
 of the forest, and she no longer knew whither 
 she should go ; then there stood a thorn-bush ; 
 there was neither leaf, nor flower on it, it was 
 also in the cold winter season, and ice-flakes 
 hung on the branches. 
 
 " Hast thou not seen Death go past wi^, ■ 
 my little child ? " said the mother. / ^ 
 
 " Yes," said the thorn-bush ; " but I will 
 not tell thee which way he took, unless thou 
 wilt first warm me up at thy heart. I am 
 freezing to death ; I shall become a lump of 
 ice!" 
 
 And she pressed the thorn-bush to her 
 breast, so firmly, that it might be thoroughly 
 warmed, and the thorns went right into her 
 flesh, and her blood flowed in large drops, but 
 the thorn-bush shot forth fresh green leaves, 
 and there came flowers on it in the cold win- 
 ter night, the heart of the afl^icted mother 
 was so warm ; and the thorn-bush told her 
 the way she should go. 
 
 She then came to a large lake, where there 
 was neither ship nor boat. The lake was
 
 40 THE STORY OF A MOTHER. 
 
 not frozen sufficiently to bear her ; neithei 
 was it open, nor low enough that she could 
 wade through it ; and across it she must go 
 if she w^ould find her child ! Then she lay 
 down to drink up the lake, and that was 
 an impossibility for a human being, but the 
 afflicted mother thought that a miracle might 
 happen nevertheless. 
 
 " Oh, what would I not give to come to my 
 child!" said the weeping mother; and she 
 wept still more, and her eyes sunk down in 
 the depths of the waters, and became two 
 precious pearls ; but the water bore her up? 
 as if she sat in a swing, and she flew in the 
 rocking waves to the shore on the opposite 
 side, where there stood a mile-broad, strange 
 house, one knew not if it were a mountain 
 with forests and caverns, or if it were built 
 up ; but the poor mother could not see it ; she 
 had wept her eyes out. 
 
 " Where shall I find Death, who took away 
 my Uttle child?" said she. 
 
 " He has not come here yet !" said the old 
 grave woman, who w^as appoint-xl to look 
 after Death's great greenhouse ! " How have
 
 THE STORY OF A MOTHER. 41 
 
 you been able to find the way hither ? and 
 who has helped you ? " 
 
 " Our Lord has helped me," said she. " He 
 is merciful, and you will also be so ! Where 
 shall I find my httle child?" 
 
 " Nay, I know not," said the woman, " and 
 you cannot see ! Many flowers and trees 
 have withered this night; Death will soon 
 come and plant them over again ! You cer- 
 tainly know that every person has his or her 
 life's tree or flower, just as every one happens 
 to be settled ; they look like other plants, but 
 they have pulsations of the heart. Children's 
 hearts can also beat ; go after yours, perhaps 
 you may know your child's ; but what will 
 you give me if I tell you what you shall do 
 more ?" 
 
 " I have nothing to give," said the afflicted 
 mr ther, " but I will go to the world's end for 
 you ! " 
 
 " Nay, I have nothing to do there ! " said 
 the woman, " but you can give me your long 
 black hair ; you know yourself that it is fine, 
 and that I like ! You shall have my white 
 hair instead !" and that's always something !" 
 
 " Do you demand nothing else ? ' said she,
 
 42 THE STORY OF A MOTHER. 
 
 — " that I will gladly give you ! " And she 
 gave ner her fine black hair, and got the old 
 woman's snow-white hair instead. 
 
 So they went into Death's great greenhouse, 
 where flowers and trees grew strangely into 
 one another. There stood fine hyacinths 
 under glass bells, and there stood strong- 
 stemmed peonies ; there grew water plants, 
 some so fi-esh, others half sick, the water- 
 snakes lay doAvn on them, and black crabs 
 pinched their stalks. There stood beautiful 
 palm-trees, oaks, and plantains ; there stood 
 parsley and flowering thyme : every tree and 
 every flower had its name ; each of them was 
 a human life, the human frame still lived — 
 one in China, and another in Greenland — 
 round about in the world. There were large 
 trees in small pots, so that they stood so 
 stunted in growth, and ready to burst the 
 pots ; in other places, there was a little dull 
 flower in rich mould, with moss round about 
 it, and it was so petted and nursed. But the 
 distressed mother bent down over all the 
 smallest plants, and heard within them how 
 the human heart beat ; and amongst millions 
 ehe knew her child's.
 
 THE STORY OF A MOTHER. 43 
 
 "There it is !" cried she, and stretched her 
 hands out over a Uttle blue crocus, that hung 
 quite sick.y on one side. 
 
 '•Don't touch the flower!" said the old 
 woman, " but place yourself here, and when 
 Death comes, — I expect him every moment, 
 — do not let him pluck the flower up, but 
 threaten him that you will do the same with 
 the others. Then he will be afraid ! he is re- 
 sponsible for them to Our Lord^ and no one 
 dares to pluck them up before He gives leave." 
 
 All at once an icy cold rushed through the 
 great hall, and the blind mother could feel 
 that it was Death that came. 
 
 " How hast thou been able to find thy way 
 hither ? " he asked. " How couldst thou come 
 quicker than I ? " 
 
 " I am a mother," said she. 
 
 And Death stretched out his long hand 
 towards the fine little flower, but she held her 
 hands fast around his, so tight, and yet afi aid 
 that she should touch one of the leaves. 
 Then Death blew on her hands, and she felt 
 that it was colder than the cold wind, and 
 her hands fell down powerless.
 
 44 THE STORY OF A MOTHER. 
 
 " Thou canst not do anything against me !" 
 said Death. 
 . " But that Our Lord can !" said she. 
 
 " I only do His bidding !" said Death. " 1 
 am His gardener, I take all His flowers and 
 trees, and plant them out in the great garden 
 of Paradise, in the unknown land ; but how 
 they grow there, and how it is there I dare 
 not tell thee." 
 
 " Give me back my child !" said the mother, 
 and she wept and prayed. At once she seiz- 
 ed hold of two beautiful flowers close by, 
 with each hand, and cried out to Death, " I 
 will tear all thy flowers off, for I am in des- 
 pair." 
 
 "Touch them not!" said Death. "Thoy 
 say'st that thou art so unhap[)y, and now 
 thou wilt make another mothej- equally un- 
 happy." 
 
 " Another mother !" said the poor woman, 
 and directly let go her hold of both the 
 flowers. 
 
 " There, thou hast thine eyes," said Death ; 
 "I fished them up from the lake, they shone 
 so bright ; I knew not they were thine Take 
 them again, they are now brighter than be
 
 THE STORY OF A MOTHER. 45 
 
 fore ; now look down into the deep well close 
 by ; I shall tell thee the names of the two flow- 
 ers thou wouldst have torn up, and thou wilt 
 see their whole future life — their whole 
 human existence : and see what thou wast 
 about to disturb and destroy." 
 
 And she looked down into the well ; and 
 it was a happiness to see how the one be- 
 came a blessing to the world, to see how 
 much happiness and joy were felt everywhere. 
 And she saw the other's life, and it was sor 
 row and distress, horror, and wretchedness. 
 
 " Both of them are God's will !" said Death. 
 
 " Which of them is Misfortune's flower ? 
 and which is that of Happiness ?" asked she. 
 
 " That I will not tell thee," said Death ; 
 " but this thou shalt know from me, that the 
 one flower was thy own child ! it was thy 
 child's fate thou saw'st, — thy own child's 
 future life !" 
 
 I'hen the mother screamed with terror, 
 " Which of them was my child ? Tell it me ! 
 save the inno'cent ! save my child from all 
 that misery ! rather take it away ! take it into 
 God's kingdom ' Forget my tears, forget my 
 prayers, aij-. iii mat [ have done !"
 
 i6 THE STORY OF A MOTHER. 
 
 "I do not understand thee!" said Death. 
 " Wilt thou have thy child again, or shall 1 
 go with it there, where thou dost not know !" 
 
 Then the mother wrung her hands, fell on 
 her knees, and prayed to our Lord : " Oh, 
 hear me not when I pray against Thy will, 
 which is the best ! hear me not ! hear me 
 not !" 
 
 And she bowed her head down in her lap, 
 and Death took her child and went with it 
 into the unknown land.
 
 THE FALSE COLLAR. 
 
 HERE was once a fine 
 gentleman, all of whose 
 moveables were a boot- 
 jack and a hair- 
 comb : but he had 
 the finest false col- 
 lars in the world ; 
 and it is about one 
 of these collars that we are now to hear a 
 story. 
 
 It was so old, that it began to think of 
 marriage ; and it happened that it came to 
 be washed in company with a garter. 
 
 " Nay !" said the collar, " I never did see 
 anything so slender and so fine, so soft and 
 so neat. May I not ask your name?" 
 
 "That I shall not tell you!" said the 
 kk 47
 
 48 THE FALSE COLLAR. 
 
 " Where do you live ?" asked the collar. 
 
 But the garter was so bashful, so modest, 
 and thought it was a strange question to 
 answer. 
 
 "You are certainly a girdle," said the 
 collar; *'that is to say an inside girdle. I 
 see well that you are both for use and or- 
 nament, my dear young lady." 
 
 " I will thank you not to speak to me," 
 said the garter. " I think I have not given 
 the least occasion for it." 
 
 " Yes ! when one is as handsome as you," 
 said the collar, " that is occasion enough." 
 
 " Don't come so near me, I beg of you !" 
 said the garter. "You look so much like 
 those men-folks." 
 
 "I am also a fine gentleman," said the 
 collar. " I have a boot-jack and a hair-comb." 
 
 But that was not true, for it was his mas- 
 ter who had them : but he boasted. 
 
 " Don't come so near me," said the garter : 
 " I am not accustomed to it." 
 
 " Prude !" exclaimed the collar ; and then 
 it was taken out of the washing-tub. It was 
 starched, hung over the back of a chair in the 
 Bunsliine, and was then laid on the ironing-
 
 THE FALSE COLLAR. 49 
 
 blanket ; then came the warm box-iron. 
 " Dear lady !" said the collar. " Dear widow- 
 lady ! I feel quite hot. I am quite changed. 
 I begin to unfold myself. You will burn a 
 hole in me. Oh ! I olTer you my hand." 
 
 " Rag !" said the box-iron ; and went proud- 
 ly over the collar : for she fancied she was a 
 steam-engine, that would go on the railroad 
 and draw the waggons. " Rag !" said the 
 box-iron. 
 
 The collar was a little jagged at the edge, 
 and so came the long scissors to cut off the 
 jagged part. 
 
 " Oh !" said the collar, " you are certamly the 
 first opera dancer. How well you can stretch 
 your legs out ! It is the most graceful per- 
 formance I have ever seen. No one can im- 
 itate you." 
 
 " I know it," said the scissors. 
 
 " You deserve to be a baroness," said the 
 collar. " All that I have, is, a fine gentle- 
 man, a boot-jack, and a hair-comb. If I only 
 had the barony !" 
 
 " Do you seek my hand ?" said the scissors ; 
 for she was angry ; and without more ado, 
 she cut him, and then he was condemned. 
 4
 
 50 THE FALSE COLLAR. 
 
 " I shall now be obliged to ask the hair- 
 comb. It is surprising how well you preserve 
 your teeth, Miss," said the collar. "Have 
 you never thought of being betrothed ?" 
 
 " Yes, of course ! you may be sure of that," 
 said the hair comb. "I am betrothed — to 
 the boot-jack !" 
 
 " Betrothed !" exclamied the collar. Now 
 there was no other to court, and so he des- 
 pised it. 
 
 A long time passed away, then the collar 
 came into the rag chest at the paper mill ; 
 there was a large company of rags, the fine 
 by themselves, and the coarse by themselves, 
 just as it should be. They all had much to 
 say, but the collar the most ; for he was a real 
 boaster. 
 
 " I have had such an immense number of 
 sweet-hearts !" said the collar, " I could not 
 be in peace ! It is true, I was always a fine 
 starched-up gentleman ! I had both a boot- 
 jack and a hair-comb, which I never used ! 
 You should have seen me then, you should 
 have seen me when I lay down ! — I shall 
 never forget my first love — she was a girdle, 
 80 fine, so soft, and so charming, she threv?
 
 THE FALSE COLLAR. 51 
 
 herself into a tub of water for my sake ! 
 There was also a widow, who became glow- 
 ing hot, but I left her standing till she got 
 black again ; there was also the first opera 
 dancer, she gave me that cut which I now 
 go with, she was so ferocious! my own hair- 
 comb was m love with me, she lost all her 
 teeth from the heart-ache ; yes, I have lived 
 to see much of that sort of thing ; but I am 
 extremely sorry for the garter — I mean the 
 girdle — that went into the Avater-tub. I have 
 much on my conscience, I want to become 
 white paper !" 
 
 And it became so, all the rags were turned 
 into white paper ; but the collar came to be 
 just this very piece of white paper we here 
 see, and on which the story is printed ; and 
 that was because it boasted so terribly after- 
 wards of what had never happened to it. It 
 would be well for us to beware, that we may 
 not act in a similar manner, for we can never 
 know if we may not, in the course of time, 
 also come into the rag chest, and be made 
 into white paper, and then have our whole 
 life's history printed on it, even the most se- 
 cret, and be obliged to run about and tell it 
 ourselves, just like this collar.
 
 THE SHADOW. 
 
 Viiy^^^^F^ ' T is in the liot lands 
 .^iStW^; j'!'\ that the sun burns, 
 sure enough! — there 
 the people become 
 quite a mahogany 
 brown, ay, and in 
 the hottest lands they 
 are burnt to negroes. 
 But now it was only to the Jiot lands that a 
 learned man had come from the cold; there 
 he thought that he could run about just as 
 wlien at home, but he soon foimd out his 
 mistake. 
 
 He, and all sensible folks, were obliged to 
 stay within doors, — the window-shutters and 
 doors were closed the whole day ; it looked 
 as if the whole house slept, or there was 
 Qo one at home. 
 
 ?j2
 
 THE SHADOW. 
 
 53 
 
 The narrow street with the high houses, 
 was built so that the sunshine must fall there 
 from morning till evening — it was really not 
 to be borne. 
 
 The learned man from the cold lands — he 
 was a young man, and seemed to be a clever 
 man — sat in a glowing oven ; it took effect 
 on him, he became quite meagre — even his 
 shadow shrunk in, for the sun had also an 
 effect on it. It was first towards evening 
 when the sun was down, that they began to 
 freshen up again. 
 
 In the warm lands every window has a 
 balcony, and the people came out on all the 
 balconies in the street — for one must have 
 air, even if one be accustomed to be mahoga- 
 ny !* It was lively both up and down the 
 street. Tailors, and shoemakers, and all the 
 
 * The word mahogany can be understood, in Danish, 
 as having two meanings. In general, it means the red- 
 dish-brown wood itself; but in jest, it signifies "exces- 
 sively fine," which arose from an anecdote of Nyboder, 
 in Copenhagen, (the seamen's quarter.) A sailor's wife, 
 who was always proud and fine, in h"er way, came to 
 her neighbor, and complained that she had got a splinter 
 in her finger. I' What of?'' asked the neighbor's wife. 
 '' It is a mahogany splinter," said the other. " Mahoga-
 
 54 THE SHADOW. 
 
 folks, moved out into the street — chairs and 
 tables were brought forth — and candles 
 burnt — yes, above a thousand lights were 
 burning — and the one talked and the other 
 sung ; and people walked and church-bells 
 rang, and asses went along with a dingle- 
 dingle-dong ! for they too had bells on. The 
 street boys were screaming and hooting, and 
 shouting and shooting, with devils and deto- 
 nating balls : — and there came corpse bearers 
 and hood wearers, — for there were funerals 
 with psalm and hyn)n, — and then the din of 
 carriages driving and company arriving: — 
 yes, it was, in truth, lively enough down in 
 the street. Only in that single house, which 
 stood opposite that in which the learned for- 
 eigner lived, it was quite still ; and yet some 
 one lived there, for there stood flowers in the 
 balcony — they grew so well in the sun's heat! 
 — and that they could not do unless they were 
 watered — and some one must water them — 
 there must be somebody there. The door 
 opposite was also opened late in the evening, 
 
 ny ! it cannot be less with you !*' exclaimed the wo 
 man; — and thence the proverb, " It is so mahogany.'" — 
 (that is, so excessively fine) — is derived.
 
 THE SHADOW. 55 
 
 Dut it was dark within, at least in the front 
 room ; further in there was heard the sound 
 of music. The learned foreisrner thoug^ht it 
 quite marvellous, but now — it might be that 
 ne only imagined it — for he found everything 
 marvellous out there, in the warm lands, if 
 there had only been no sun. The stranger's 
 landlord said that he didn't know who had 
 taken the house opposite, one saw no person 
 about, and as to the music, it appeared to 
 him to be extremely tiresome. " It is as if 
 some one sat there, and practised a piece that 
 he could not master — always the same piece. 
 ^ I shall master it !' says he ; but yet he can- 
 not master it, however long he plays." 
 
 One night the stranger awoke — he slept 
 with the doors of the balcony open — the cur- 
 tain before it was raised by the wind, and he 
 thought that a strange lustre came from the 
 opposite neighbor's house ; all the flowers 
 shone like flames, in the most beautiful col- 
 ors, and in the midst of the flowers stood a 
 slender, graceful maiden, — it was as if she 
 also shone ; the light really hurt his eyes 
 He now opened them quite wide — yes, he 
 was quite awake ; with one spring he was on 
 
 11
 
 56 THE SHADOW. 
 
 the floor ; he crept gently behind the curtain 
 but the maiden was gone ; the flowers shone 
 no longer, but there they stood, fresh and 
 blooming as ever; the door was ajar, and, 
 far within, the music sounded so soft and de- 
 Hghtful, one could really melt away in sweet 
 thoughts from it. Yet it was like a piece ol 
 enchantment. And who lived there ? Where 
 was the actual entrance ? The whole of the 
 ground-floor was a row of shops, and there 
 people could not always be running through. 
 
 One evening the stranger sat out on the 
 balcony. The light burnt in the room behind 
 him ; and thus it was quite natural that his 
 shadow should fall on his opposite neighbor's 
 wall. Yes ! there it sat, directly opposite, be- 
 tween the flowers on the balcony ; and when 
 the stranger moved, the shadow also moved : 
 for that it always does. 
 
 " I think my shadow is the only living thing 
 one sees over there," said the learned man. 
 " See ! how nicely it sits between the flowers. 
 The door stands half-open : now the shadow 
 should be cunning, and go into the room, look 
 about, and then come and tell me Avhat it had 
 seen. Come, now ! be useful and do me a
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 THE SHADOW. 
 
 
 1 
 57 i 
 
 service, 
 
 ' said he, in jest. ^' Have 
 
 the 
 
 kind- i 
 
 ness 
 
 to 
 
 step in. 
 
 Now ! art thou going ? 
 
 ' and t 
 
 then 
 
 he 
 
 nodded 
 
 to the shadow, an 
 
 d tlie 
 
 sha- 
 
 dow nodded again. " Well then, go ! but 
 don't stay away." 
 
 The stranger rose, and his shadow on the 
 opposite neighbors balcony rose also ; the 
 stranger turned round and the shadow also 
 turned round. Yes ! if any one had paid 
 particular attention to it, they would have 
 seen, (juite distinctly, that the shadow went 
 in through the half-open balcony-door of their 
 opposite neighbor, just as the stranger went 
 into his own room, and let the long curtain 
 fall down after him. 
 
 Next morning, the learned man went out 
 to drink coffee and read the newspapers. 
 
 "What is that?" said he, as he came out 
 into the sunshine. " I have no shadow ! So 
 then, it has actually gone last night, and not 
 come again. It is really tiresome !" 
 
 This annoyed him : not so much because 
 the shadow was gone, but because he knew 
 there was a stofy about a man without a 
 shadow.* It was known to everybody al 
 
 "Peter Schlemihl, the shadowless man.
 
 58 THE SHADOW. 
 
 home, in the cold lands ; and if the learned 
 man now came there and told his stoi:y, they 
 would say that he was imitating it, and that 
 he had no need to do. He would, therefore, 
 not talk about it at all ; and that was wisely 
 thought. 
 
 In the evening he went out again on the 
 balcony. He had placed the light directly 
 behind him, for he knew that the shadow 
 would always have its master for a screen, 
 but he could not entice it. He made himself 
 little ; he made himself great : but no sha- 
 dow came again. He said, "Hem! hem!" 
 but it was of no use. 
 
 It was vexatious ; but in the ^varm lands 
 every thing grows so quickly ; and after the 
 apse of eight days he observed, to his great 
 oy, that a new shadow came in the sunshine. 
 In the course of three weeks he had a very 
 fair shadow, which, w^hen he set out for his 
 home in the northern lands, grew more and 
 more in the journey, so that at last it was so 
 long and so large, that it was more than 
 sufficient. 
 
 The learned man then came home, and he 
 w^rote books about what w^as true in the
 
 THE SHADOW. 
 
 59 
 
 world, and about what was good and what 
 was beautiful ; and there passed days and 
 years, — yes ! many years passed away. 
 
 One evening, as he was sitting in his room, 
 there was a gentle knocking at the door. 
 
 " Come in !" said he ; but no one came in ; 
 ^o he opened the door, and there stood before 
 him such an extremely lean man, that he 
 felt quite strange. As to the rest, the man 
 was very finely dressed, — he must be a gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " Whom have I the honor of speaking to ? " 
 asked the learned man. 
 
 ''Yes! I thought as much," said the fine 
 man. " I thought you would not know me. 
 I have got so much body. I have even got 
 flesh and clothes. You certainly never 
 thought of seeing me so well off. Do you 
 not know your old shadow ? You certainly 
 thought I should never more return. Things 
 have gone on well with me since I was last 
 witli you. I have, in all respects, become 
 very well off. Shall I purchase my freedom 
 from service ? If so, I can do it ;" and then 
 he rattled a whole bunch of valuable seals 
 that hung to his watch, and he stuck his
 
 60 THE SHADOW. 
 
 hand in the thick gold chain he wore around 
 his neck ; — nay ! how all his fingers glittered 
 with diamond rings ; and then all were pine 
 gems. 
 
 " Nay ; I cannot recover from my sur- 
 prise !" said the learned man: "what is tlie 
 meaning of all this?" • 
 
 "Something common, is it not," said the 
 sliadow : " but you yourself do not belong to 
 the common order ; and I, as you know well, 
 have from a child followed in your footsteps. 
 As soon as you found I was capable to go 
 out alone in the world, I Avent my own Avay. 
 I am in the most brilliant circumstances, but 
 there came a sort of desire over me to see you 
 once more before you die ; you will die, 1 
 suppose? I also wished to see this land 
 again, — for you know we always love om* 
 native land. I know you have got another 
 shadow again ; have I anything to pay to it 
 or you ? If so, you will oblige me by saying 
 what it is." 
 
 " Nay, is it really thou ?" said the learned 
 man : " it is most remarkable : I never im- 
 agined that one's old shadow could come 
 aofain as a man."
 
 THE SHADOW. 61 
 
 " Tell me what I have to pay," said the 
 shadow ; " for I don't like to be in any sort of 
 debt." 
 
 " How canst thou talk so ?" said the learn- 
 ed man ; " what debt is there to talk about ? 
 Make thyself as free as any one else. I am 
 extremely glad to hear of thy good fortune : 
 sit down, old friend, and tell me a little how 
 it has gone with thee, and what thou hast 
 seen at our opposite neighbor's there — in the 
 warm lands." 
 
 ^ " Yes, I will tell you all about it," said the 
 shadow, and sat down : " but then you must 
 also promise me, that, wherever 5^ou may 
 meet me, you will never say to any one here 
 in the town that I have been your shadow. 
 I intend to get betrothed, for I can provide 
 for more than one family." 
 
 "Be quite at thy ease about that," said the 
 learned man ; " I shall not say to any one 
 who thou actually art : here is my hand — I 
 promise it, and a man's bond is his word." 
 
 "A word is a shadow," said the shadow, 
 " and as such it must speak." 
 
 It was really quite astonishing how much 
 of a man it was. It w - s dressed entirely iu
 
 62 THE SHADOW. 
 
 black, and of the very finest cloth ; it had 
 patent leather boots, and a hat that could be 
 folded together, so that it was bare crown 
 and brim ; not to speak of what we already 
 know it had — seals, gold neck-chain, and 
 diamond rings ; yes, the shadow was well- 
 dressed, and it was just that which made it 
 quite a man. 
 
 " Now 1 shall tell you my adventures," said 
 the shadow ; and then he sat, with the 
 polished boots, as heavily as he could, on 
 the arm of the learned man's new shadow% 
 which lay like a poodle-dog at his feet. Now 
 this was perhaps from arrogance ; and the 
 shadow on the ground kept itself so still and 
 quiet, that it might hear all that passed : it 
 wished to know how it could get free, and 
 work its way up, so as to become its own 
 master. 
 
 " Do you know who hved in om' opposite 
 neighbor's house?" said the shadow ; " it was 
 the most charming of all beings, it was Poe- 
 sy ! I w^as there for three weeks, and thai 
 has as much effect as if one had lived three 
 thousand years, and read all that was com- 
 posed and written ; that is what I say, and
 
 THF SHADOW 63 
 
 it is right. I have seen everything and I 
 know everything !" 
 
 " Poesy !" cried the learned man ; " yes, 
 yes, she often dwells a recluse in large 
 cities ! Poesy ! yes, I have seen her, — a 
 single short moment, but sleep came into my 
 eyes ! She stood on the balcony and shone 
 as the aurora borealis shines. Go on, go on ! 
 — thou wert on the balcony, and went 
 through the doorway, and then " 
 
 " Then 1 was in the antechamber," said 
 the shadow. "You always sat and looked 
 over to the antechamber. There was no 
 light ; there was a sort of twilight, but the 
 one door ' stood open directly opposite the 
 other through a long row of rooms and 
 saloons, and there it was lighted up. I should 
 have been completely killed if I had gone 
 over to the maiden ; but I was circumspect, 
 I took time to think, and that one must 
 always do." 
 
 " And what didst thou then see ?" asked thts 
 learned man. 
 
 " I saw everything, and 1 shall tell all to 
 you : but, — it is no pride on my part, — as a 
 free man, and wiih the knowledge I have,
 
 64 THE SHADOW. 
 
 not to speak of my position in life, my excel- 
 lent circumstances, — I certainly wish that 
 you would say you* to me !*' 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the learned man ; 
 "it is an old habit with me. 'Yon are per- 
 fectly right, and I shall remember it ; but 
 now you must tell me all you saw !" 
 
 " Everything !" said the shadow, " for I 
 saw everything, and I know everything !" 
 
 "How did it look in the furthest saloon?' 
 asked the learned man. " Was it there as in 
 
 * It is the custom in Denmark for intimate acquaint- 
 anoes to use the second person singular, '* Du/' (thou) 
 when speaking to each other. When a friendship is 
 formed between men, they generally affirm it, when 
 occasion offers, either in public or private, by drinking to 
 each other and exclaiming, " thy health,''^ at the same 
 time striking their glasses together. — This "is called 
 drinking "I>M?is :" — they are then, '■^ Duns Brodre,''^ (thou 
 brothers,) and ever afterwards use the pronoun "thou" 
 to each other, it being regarded as more familiar than 
 " De," (you). Father and mother, sister and brother, 
 say ihon to one another — without regard to age or rank. 
 Master and mistress say thou to their servants — the su- 
 perior to the inferior. But servants and inferiors do not 
 use the same term to their masters, or superiors — nor is 
 it ever used when speaking to a stranger, or any one 
 with whom they are but slightly acquainted — they then 
 Bay as in English — you.
 
 THE SHADOW. 65 
 
 the fiesh woods ? Was it there as in a holy 
 cliurch ? Were the saloons like the starlit 
 firmament when we stand on the high moun- 
 tains ?" 
 
 " Everything was there !" said the shadow. 
 "I did not go quite in, I remained in the 
 foremost room, in the twilight, but I stood 
 tliere quite well ; I saw everything, and I 
 know everything ! I have been in the ante- 
 chamber at the court of Poesy." 
 
 " But what did you see? Did all the gods 
 of the olden times pass through the large sa- 
 loons ? Did the old heroes combat there 1 
 Did sweet cliildren play there, and relate 
 theii dreams ?" 
 
 " I tell you I was there, and you can con- 
 ceive that 1 saw everything there was to be 
 seen. Had you come over there, you would 
 not have been a man ; but I became so I 
 And besides, I learned to know my inward 
 nature, my innate qualities, the relationship I 
 had with Poesy. At the time I was with 
 you, I thought not of that, but always — you 
 know it well — when the sun rose, and when 
 the sun went down, I became so strangely 
 great ; in the moonlight I was very rear being
 
 66 THE SHADOW. 
 
 more distinct than yourself; at that time 1 
 did not understand my nature ; it was re- 
 vealed to me in the antechamber ! I became 
 a man ! — I came out matured ; but you were 
 no longer in the warm lands ; — as a man I 
 was ashamed to go as I did. I was in want 
 of boots, of clothes, of the whole human var- 
 nish that makes a man perceptible. I took 
 my way — I tell it to you, but you will not put 
 it in any book — I took my way to the cake 
 woman — I hid myself behind her ; the wo- 
 man didn't think how much she concealed. 
 I went out first in the evening ; I ran about 
 the streets in the moonlight ; I made myself 
 long up the walls — it tickles the back so de- 
 hghtfuUy ! I ran up, and ran down, peeped 
 into the highest windows, into the saloons, 
 and on the roofs, I peeped in where no one 
 could peep, and I saw what no oiie else saw, 
 what no one else should see ! This is, in fact, 
 a base world ! I woidd not be a man if it 
 were not now once accepted and regarded as 
 something to be so ! I saw the most unim- 
 aginable things with the women, with the 
 men, with parents, and with the sweet, 
 matchless children ; I saw," said the shadow
 
 THE SHADOW. 67 
 
 " what no human being must know, but what 
 they would all so willingly know — what is 
 bad in their neighbor. Had I written a 
 newspaper, it would have been read ! but I 
 wrote direct to the persons themselves, and 
 there was consternation in all the towns 
 where I came. They were so afraid of me, 
 and yet they were so excessively fond of me. 
 The professors made a professor of me ; the 
 tailors gave me new clothes — I am well fur- 
 nished : the master of the mint struck new 
 coin for me, and the women said 1 was so 
 handsome ! and so I became the man I am. 
 And I now bid you farew^ell ; — here is my 
 card — I live on the simny side of the street, 
 and am ahvays at home in rainy weather !" 
 A.nd so away went the shadow. 
 
 " That was most extraordinary !" said the 
 learned man 
 
 Years and days passed away, then the 
 shadow came again. 
 
 "How goes it?" said the shadow. 
 
 " Alas !" said tlie learned man, " I write 
 about the true, and the good, and the beauti- 
 ful, but no one cares to hear such things ; I
 
 68 THE SHADOW. 
 
 am quite desperate, for I take it so much to 
 heart!" 
 
 ''But I don't!" said the shadow, ''I become 
 fat, and it is that one wants to become ! You 
 do not understand the world. Yon will be- 
 come ill by it. You must travel ! I shall 
 make a tour this summer ; will you go with 
 me ? — I should like to have a travelling com- 
 panion ! will you go with me, as shadow ? It 
 will be a great pleasure for me to have you 
 with me ; Ishallpay the travelling expenses!" 
 
 " Nay, this is too much!" said the learned 
 man. 
 
 " It is just as one takes it !" — said the sha- 
 dow. " It will do you much good to travel ! 
 — will you be my shadow ? — you shall have 
 everything free on the journey !" 
 
 "Nay, that is too bad!" said the learned 
 man. 
 
 '' But it is just so with the world !" said the 
 shadow, — " and so it will be !" — and away it 
 went again. 
 
 The learned man was not at all in the 
 most enviable state ; grief and torment fol- 
 lowed him, and what he said about the true^ 
 and the good, and the beautiful, was, to most
 
 THE SHADOW. 69 
 
 persons, like roses for a cow ! — he was quite 
 ill at last. 
 
 "You really look like a shadow !" said his 
 friends to him ; and the learned man treir- 
 bled, for he thought of it. 
 
 "You must go to a watering-place !'' said 
 the shadow, who came and visited him ; 
 " there is nothing else for it ! I will take j^ou 
 with me for old acquaintance' sake ; I will 
 pay the travelling expenses, and you write 
 the descriptions — and if they are a little 
 amusing for me on the way ! I will go to a 
 watering-place, — my beard does not grow out 
 as it ought — that is also a sickness — and one 
 must have a beard ! Now you be wise and 
 accept the offer ; we shall travel as comrades T 
 
 And so they travelled ; the shadow was 
 master, and the master was the shadow ; they 
 drove with each other, they rode and walked 
 together, side by side, before and behind, just 
 as the sun was ; the shadow always took 
 care to keep itself in the master's place. Now 
 the learned man didn't think much about 
 that ; he was a very kind-hearted man, and 
 particularly mild and friendly, and so he said 
 one day to the shadow : " As we have now
 
 70 THE SHADOW. 
 
 become companions, and in this way have 
 grown up together from childhood, shall we 
 not drink ' thou ' together, it is more fami- 
 liar?" 
 
 " You are right," said the shadow, who was 
 now the proper master. " It is said in a very 
 straight-forward and well-meant manner. 
 You, as a learned man, certainly know how 
 strange nature is. Some persons cannot bear 
 to touch grey paper, or they become ill ; 
 others shiver in every limb if one rub a pane 
 of glass with a nail : I have just such a feel- 
 ing on hearing you say thou to me ; I feel 
 myself as if pressed to the earth in my first 
 situation with you. You see that it is a feel- 
 ing ; that it is not pride : I cannot allow you 
 to say thou to me, but I will willingly say 
 thoit to you, so it is half done ! " 
 
 So the shadow said thou to its former mas- 
 ter. 
 
 " This is rather too bad," thought he, that 
 I must say i/ou and he say thou" but he was 
 now obliged to put up with it. 
 
 So they came to a watering-place where 
 there were many strangers, and amongst
 
 THE SHADOW. 71 
 
 tber.l was a princess, who was troubled with 
 seeing too well ; and that was so alarming ! 
 
 She directly observed that the stranger 
 who had just come was quite a different sort 
 of person to all the others ; — " He has come 
 here in order to get his beard to grow, they 
 say, but I see the real cause, he cannot cast 
 a shadow." 
 
 She had become inquisitive ; and so she 
 entered into conversation directly with the 
 strange gentleman, on their promenades. As 
 the daughter of a king, she needed not to 
 stand upon trifles, so she said, " Your com- 
 plaint is, that you cannot cast a shadow ? " 
 
 " Your Royal Highness must be improving 
 considerably," said the shadow, — "1 know 
 your complaint is, that you see too clearly, 
 but it has decreased, you are cured. I just 
 happen to have a very unusual shadow ! Do 
 you not see that person who always goes 
 with me? Other persons have a common 
 shadow, but I do not like what is common to 
 all. We give our servants finer cloth for 
 their livery than we ourselves use, and so I 
 bad my shadow trimmed up into a man : yes, 
 /ou see I have even given him a shadow. It 
 
 mm
 
 72 THE SHADOW. 
 
 is somewhat expensive, but I like to have 
 something for myself !" 
 
 "What!" thought the princess, "should 1 
 really be cured ! These baths are the first in 
 the world ! In our time water has wonder- 
 ful powers. But I shall not leave the place, 
 for it now begins to be amusing here. I am 
 extremely fond of that stranger : would that 
 his beard should not grow ! for in that case 
 he will leave us." 
 
 In the evening, the princess and the sha- 
 dow danced together in the large ball-room. 
 She was light, but he was still lighter ; she 
 had never had such a partner in the dance. 
 She told him from v/hat land she came, and 
 he knew that land ; he had been there, but 
 then she was not at home ; he had peeped in 
 at the window, above and below — he had 
 seen both the one and the other, and so he 
 could answer the princess, and make insinu- 
 ations, so that she was quite astonished ; he 
 must be the wisest man in the whole wo'ld ! 
 she felt such respect for what he knew ! So 
 that when they again danced together she 
 fell in love with him ; and that the shadow 
 could remark, for she almost pierced him
 
 THE SHADOW. t6 
 
 through with her eyes. So they danced once 
 more together ; and she was about to declare 
 herself, but she was discreet ; she thought of 
 her country and kingdom, and of the many 
 persons she would have to reign over. 
 
 " He is a wise man," said she to herself — 
 " It is well ; and he dances delightfully — that 
 is also good ; but has he solid knowledge ? — 
 that is just as important ! — he must be exam- 
 ined." 
 
 So she began, by degrees, to question him 
 about the most difficult things she could think 
 of, and which she herself could not have an- 
 swered ; so that the shadow made a strange 
 face. 
 
 "You cannot answer these questions?" 
 said the princess. 
 
 " They belong to my childhood's learning," 
 said the shadow. " I really believe my sha- 
 dow, by the door there, can answer them !" 
 
 " Your shadow !" said the princess ; " that 
 would indeed be marvellous !" 
 
 " I will not say for a certainty that he can,'' 
 said the shadow, " but I think so ; he has 
 now followed me for so many years, and lis- 
 tened to my conversation — I should thv.ik it
 
 74 THE SHADOW. 
 
 possille. But your royal highness will per- 
 mit me to observe, that he is so proud of 
 passing himself off for a man, that when he 
 is to be in a proper humor — and he must be 
 so to answer well — he must be treated quite 
 like a man." 
 
 " Oh ! I like that !" said the princess. 
 
 So she went to the learned man by the 
 door, and she spoke to him about the sun and 
 the moon, and about persons out of and in 
 the world, and he answered with wisdom and 
 prudence. 
 
 " What a man that must be who has so 
 wise a shadow ! " thought she ; " It will be a 
 real blessing to my people and kingdom if 1 
 choose him for my consort — I will do it ! '' 
 
 They were soon agreed, both the princess 
 and the shadow ; but no one was to know 
 about it before she arrived in her own kingdom. 
 
 "No one — not even my shadow !" said the 
 shadow, and he had his own thoughts about 
 it! 
 
 Now they were in the country where the 
 princess reigned when she was at home. 
 
 " Listen, my good friend," said the shadow 
 to the learned man. " I have now become
 
 THE SHADOW 75 
 
 as happy and mighty as any one can be ; J 
 will, therefore, do something particular foi 
 thee ! Thou shalt always live with me in 
 the palace, drive with me in my royal car- 
 riage, and have ten thousand pounds a year ; 
 but then thou must submit to be called sha- 
 dow by all and every one ; thou must not 
 say that thou hast ever been a man ; and 
 once a-year, when I sit on the balcony in the 
 sunshine, thou must lie at my feet, as a sha- 
 dow shall do ! I must tell thee : I am going 
 to marry the king's daughter, and the nup- 
 tials are to take place this evening !" 
 
 " Nay, this is going too far !" said the learn- 
 ed man; "I will not have it ; I will not do 
 it ! it is to deceive the whole country and the 
 princess too ! I will tell every thing ! — that 
 I am a man, and that thou art a shadow — 
 thou art only dressed up !" 
 
 " There is no one who will believe it ! " said 
 the shadow; "be reasonable, or I will call 
 the guard ! '' 
 
 "I will go directly to the princess!" said 
 the learned man. 
 
 " But I will go first ! " said the shadow, 
 and thou wilt go to prison!" and that he
 
 76 THE SHADOW. 
 
 was obliged to do — for the sentinels obeyed 
 him whom they knew the king's daughter 
 was to marry. 
 
 "You tremble!" said the princess, as the 
 shadow came into her chamber ; " has any- 
 thing happened ? You must not be unwell 
 this evening, now that we are to have our 
 nuptials celebrated." 
 
 " I have lived to see the most cruel thing 
 that any one can live to see !" said the sha- 
 dow. " Only imagine — yes, it is true, such a 
 poor shadow-skull cannot bear much — only 
 think, my shadow has become mad ; he 
 thinks that he is a man, and that I — now only 
 think — that I am his shadow ! " 
 
 " It is terrible !" said the princess ; " but he 
 is confined, is he not?" 
 
 " That he is. I am afraid that he will 
 never recover." 
 
 "Poor shadow!" said the princess, he is 
 very unfortunate ; it would be a real work ol 
 charity to deliver him from the little life he 
 has, and, when I think properly over the 
 matter, I am of opinion that it will be neces- 
 sary to do away with him in all stillness !" 
 
 'It is certainly hard !" said the shadow,
 
 THE SHADOW. 77 
 
 " for he was a faithful servant ! " and then he 
 gave a sort of sigh. 
 
 " You are a noble character ! " said the 
 princess. 
 
 The whole city was illuminated in the 
 evening, and the cannons went olT with a 
 bum ! bum ! and the soldiers presented arms. 
 That was a marriage ! The princess and 
 the shadow went out on the balcony to show 
 thejnselves, and get another hurrah ! 
 
 The learned man heard nothing of all this 
 — for they had deprived him of life.
 
 THE OLD STREET-LAMP, 
 
 AYE you heard the 
 story about the old 
 street lamp? It is 
 so very amu^iing, 
 one may very well 
 it once. It was 
 a decent old slreet- 
 j, that had doD^ its 
 duty for many, many years, but 
 now it was to be condemned. It 
 was the last evening, — it sat tlieie 
 on the post and lighted the street ; and it 
 was in just such a humor as an old figurante 
 in a ballet, who dances for the last evening? 
 and knows that she is to be put on the shelf 
 to-morrow. The lamp had such a fear of the 
 coming day, for it knew that it should then 
 78
 
 THE OLD STREET-LAMP. 79 
 
 be carried to the town-hall for the first thne, 
 and examined by the authorities of the city, 
 who should decide if it could be used or nuh 
 It would then be determined whether it 
 should be sent out to one of the suburbs, or in 
 to the country to a manufactory ; perhaps it 
 would be sent direct to the ironfounder's and 
 be re-cast ; in that case it could certainly be 
 all sorts of things : but it pained it not to 
 know whether it would then retain the re- 
 membrance of its having been a street-lamp. 
 However it might be, whether it went into 
 the country or not, it would be separated 
 from the watchman and his wife, whom it 
 regarded as its family. It became a street- 
 lamp when he became watchman. His wife 
 was a very fine woman at that time ; it was 
 only in the evening when she went past the 
 lamp that she looked at it, but never in the 
 daytime. Now, on the contrary, of late 
 years, as they had all three grown old, — the 
 watchman, his wife, and the lamp, — the wife 
 had always attended to it, polished it up, and 
 put oil in it. They were honest folks that 
 married couple, they had not cheated the 
 lamp of a single drop. It was its last evening 
 nn
 
 80 THE OLD STREET-LAMP. 
 
 in the street, and to-morrow it was to ])e taken 
 to the town-hall ; these were two dark 
 thoughts in the lamp, and so one can know 
 how it burnt. But other thoughts also pass- 
 ed through it ; there was so much it had 
 seen, so much it had a desire for, perhaps 
 just as much as the whole of the city autho- 
 rities ; but it didn't say so, for it was a well- 
 behaved old lamp — it would not insult any 
 one, least of all its superiors. It remembered 
 so much, and now and then the flames within 
 it blazed up, — it was as if it had a feeling of 
 — yes, they will also remember me ! There 
 was now that handsome young man — but 
 that is many years since, — he came with a 
 letter, it was on rose-colored paper ; so fine — 
 so fine ! and with a gilt edge ; it was so neatly 
 written, it was a lady's hand ; he read it 
 twice, and he kissed it, and he looked up to 
 me with his two bright eyes — they said, " 1 
 am the happiest of men !" Yes, only he and 
 I knew^ what stood in that first letter from 
 his beloved. 
 
 I also remember two other eyes — it is 
 strange how one's thoughts fly about ! — there 
 was a grand funeral here in the st-reet, the
 
 THE OLD STREET-LAMP. 81 
 
 beautiful young" wHe lay in tiie coffin on the 
 \relvet-covered funeral car ; there were so 
 many flowers and wreaths, there were so 
 many torches burning, that I was quite for- 
 gotten — out of sight ; the whole footpath was 
 filled with persons ; they all followed in the 
 procession ; but when the torches were out 
 of sight, and I looked about, there stood one 
 who leaned against my post and wept. I 
 shall never forget those two sorrowful eyes 
 that looked into me. Thus there passed 
 many thoughts through the old street-lamp, 
 which this evening burnt for the last time. 
 The sentinel who is relieved from his post 
 knows his successor, and can say a few words 
 to him, but the lamp knew not its successor ; 
 and yet it could have given him a liint about 
 rain and drizzle, and how far the moon shone 
 on the footpath, and from what corner the 
 wind blew. 
 
 Now, there stood three on the kerb-stone ; 
 they had presented themselves before the 
 lamp, because they thought it was the street- 
 lamp who gave away the office ; the one of 
 these three was a herring's head, for it shines 
 in the dark, and it thought that it could be of
 
 82 THE OLD STREET-LAMP. 
 
 great service, and a real saving of oil, if ii 
 came to be placed on the lamp-post. The 
 other was a piece of touchwood, which also 
 shines, and always more than a stock-fish ; 
 besides, it said so itself, it was the last piece 
 of a tree that had once been the pride of the 
 forest. The third was a glow-worm ; but 
 where it had come from the lamp could not 
 imagine ; but the glow-worm was there, and 
 it also shone, but the touchwood and the her- 
 ring's head took their oaths that it only shone 
 at certain times, and therefore it could never 
 be taken into consideration. 
 
 The old lamp said that none of them shone 
 well enough to be a street-lamp ; but not one 
 of them thought so ; and as they heard that 
 it was not the lamp itself that gave away the 
 office, they said that it was a very happy 
 thing, for that it was too infirm and broken 
 down to be able to choose. 
 
 At the same moment the wind came from 
 the street corner, it whistled through the cowl 
 of the old lamp, and said to it, " What is it 
 that I hear, are you going away to-morrow ? 
 Is it the last evening I shall meet you here ? 
 Then you shall have a present ! — now I wiU
 
 THE OLD STREET-LAMP. 83 
 
 blow up your brain-box so that you shall not 
 only remember, clearly and distinctly, what 
 you have seen and heard, but when anything 
 is told or read in your presence, you shall 
 be so clear-headed that you will also see it." 
 
 " That is certainly much !" said the old 
 street-lamp ; " I thank you much ; if I be 
 only not re-cast." 
 
 " It will not happen yet awhile," said the 
 wind ; " and now I will blow up your memo- 
 ry ; if you get more presents than that you 
 may have quite a pleasant old age." 
 
 " If I be only not re-cast," said the lamp ; 
 " or can you then assure me my memory ?" 
 
 " Old lamp, be reasonable !" said the wind, 
 and then it blew. The moon came forth at 
 the same time. " What do you give ?" asked 
 the wind. 
 
 " I give nothing !" said the moon ; " I am 
 waning, and the lamps have never shone 
 for me, but I have shone for the lamps."* 
 So the moon went behind the clouds 
 
 * It is the custom in Denmark, and one deserving the 
 severest censure, that, on those nights in which the 
 moon sliiues, or, according to almanac authority, ought 
 to shine, the street lamps are not lighted; so that, 
 as it too frequently happens, when the moon is over-
 
 84 THE OLD STREET-LAMP. 
 
 a^ain, for it would not be plagued. A drop 
 of rain then fell straight down on the lamp's 
 cowl, it was like a drop of water from the 
 eaves, but the drop said that it came from the 
 grey clouds, and was also a present, — and 
 perhaps the best of all. "I penetrate into 
 you, so that you have the power, if you wish 
 it, in one night to pass over to rust, so that 
 you may fall in pieces and become dust." 
 But the lamp thought this was a poor present, 
 and the wind thought the same. " Is there 
 no better — is there no better ?" it whistled, as 
 loud as it could. A shooting-star then fell, 
 it shone in a long stripe. 
 
 " What was that ?" exclaimed the herring's 
 head ; " did not a star fall right down ? I 
 think it went into the lamp ! Well, if per- 
 sons who stand so high seek the office, we 
 may as well take ourselves off." 
 
 And it did so, and the others did so too ; 
 
 clouded, or on rainy evenings when she is totally obscur- 
 ed, the streets are for the most part in perfect darkness. 
 This petty economy is called " the magistrates' light," 
 they having the direction of the lighting, paving, and 
 cleansing of towns. 
 
 The same management may be met with in some 
 other countries besides Denmark.
 
 THE OLD STREET-LAMP. 85 
 
 bat the old lamp shone all at once so sing-u- 
 laily bright." 
 
 " That was a fine present !" it said ; " the 
 bright stars which I have always pleased 
 myself so much about, and which shine so 
 beautifully, — as 1 really have never been able 
 to shine, although it was my whole aim and 
 endeavor, — have noticed me, a poor old-lamp, 
 and sent one down Avith a present to me, 
 which consists of that quality, that everything 
 I myself remember and see quite distinctly, 
 shall also be seen by those I am fond of; and 
 that is, above all, a true pleasure, for what 
 one cannot share with others is but a half 
 delight." 
 
 " It is a very estimable thought," said the 
 wind ; " but you certainly don't know that 
 there must be wax-candles ; for unless a wax- 
 candle be lighted in you there are none of 
 the others that will be able to see anything 
 particular about you. The stars have not 
 thought of that; they think that everything 
 which shines has, at least, a wax-candle in 
 it. But now I am tired," said the wind, '•' I 
 will now lie down;" and so it lay down to 
 rest.
 
 86 THE OLD STREET-LAMP. 
 
 The next day — yes, the next day we wih 
 ypring over : the next evening the lamp lay 
 in the arm chair, — and where ? At the old 
 watchman's. He had, for his long and faith- 
 ful services, begged of the authorities that he 
 might be allowed to keep the old lamp ; they 
 laughed at him when he begged for it, and 
 then gave him it ; and now the lamp lay in 
 the arm-chair, close by the warm stove, and 
 it was really just as if it had become larger 
 on that account, — it almost filled the whole 
 chair. The old folks now sat at their sup- 
 per, and cast mild looks at the old lamp, 
 which they would willingly have given a 
 place at the table with them. It is true they 
 lived in a cellar, a yard or so below ground: 
 one had to go through a paved front-room to 
 come into tlie room they lived in ; but it was 
 warm here, for there was list round the door 
 to keep it so. It looked clean and neat, with 
 cuitaius round the bed and over the small 
 windows, where two strange-looking flower- 
 pots stood on the sill. Christian, the sailor, 
 had brought them from the East or West 
 Indies ; they were of clay in the form of two 
 elephants, the backs of which were wanting:
 
 THE OLD STREET-LAMP. 87 
 
 but in their place there came flourishing 
 plants out of the earth that was in them ; in 
 the one was the finest chive, — it was the old 
 folks' kitchen -garden, — and in the other was 
 a large flowering geranium — this was their 
 flower-garden. On the wall hung a large 
 colored print of " The Congress of Vienna ;" 
 there they had all the kings and emperors at 
 once. A Bornholm* clock, with heavy leaden 
 weights went '• tic-tac !" and always too fast ; 
 but the old folks said it was better than if it 
 went too slow. They ate their suppers, and 
 the old lamp, as we have said, lay in the arm- 
 chair close by the warm stove. It was, for 
 the old lamp, as if the whole world was turn- 
 ed upside down. But when the old watch- 
 man looked at it, and spoke about what they 
 had lived to see with each other, in rain and 
 
 * Bornholm, a Danish island in the Baltic is famous 
 for its manufactures of clocks, potteries, and cement ; it 
 contains also considerable coal mines, though not worked 
 to any extent. It is fertile in minerals, chalks, potters' 
 clay of the finest quality, and other valuable natural pro- 
 ductions ; but, on account of the jealous nature of the 
 inhabitants, which deters foreigners from settling there, 
 these productions are not made so available or profitable 
 IS they otherwise might be.
 
 S8 THE OLD STREET-LAMP. 
 
 drizzle, in the clear, short summer nights, 
 and when tlie snow drove about so that it was^ 
 g"ood to get into the pent-house of the cellar, 
 — then all was again in order for the old 
 lamp, it saw it all just as if it were now pre- 
 sent ; — yes ! the wind had blown it up right 
 well, — it had enlightened it. 
 
 The old folks were so clever and indus- 
 trious, not an hour was quietly dozed away ; 
 on Sunday afternoons some book was always 
 brought forth, particularly a book of travels, 
 and the old man read aloud about Africa, 
 about the g reat forests and the elephants that 
 were there quite wild ; and the old woman 
 listened so attentively, and now and then 
 took a side glance at the clay elephants — her 
 flower-pots. " I can almost imagine it !" said 
 she ; and the lamp wished so much that there 
 was a wax candle to light and be put in it, so 
 tliat she could plainly see everything just as 
 tlie lamp saw it; the tall trees, the thick 
 branches twining into one another, the black 
 men on horseback, and whole trains of ele- 
 phants, which, with their broad feet, crushed 
 the canes and bushes. 
 
 '• Of what use are all my abihties when 
 
 1
 
 THE OLD STREET-LAMP. 89 
 
 there is no wax candle ?" sighed the lamp ; 
 " they have only train oil and tallow candles, 
 and they are not sufficient." 
 
 One day there came a whole bundle of 
 stumps of wax candles into the cellar, the 
 largest pieces were burnt, and the old woman 
 used the smaller pieces to wax her thread 
 with when she sewed ; there were wax can- 
 die ends, but they never thought of putting 
 a little piece in the lamp. 
 
 " Here I stand with my rare abilities," said 
 the lamp ; " I have everything within me. 
 but I cannot share any part with them. 
 They know not that I can transform the 
 white walls to the prettiest paper-hangings, 
 to rich forests, to everything that they may 
 wish for. They know it not !" 
 
 For the rest, the lamp stood in a corner, 
 where it always met the eye, and it was neat 
 and well scoured ; folks certainly said it was 
 an old piece of rubbish ; but the old man and 
 his wife didn't care about that, they were 
 fond of the lamp. 
 
 One day it was the old watchman's birth 
 day ; the old woman came up to the lamp, 
 smiled, and said, " I will illuminate for him,'
 
 90 THE OLD STREET-LAMP. 
 
 and the lamp's cowl creaked, for it thought, 
 " They will now be enhghtened !" But she 
 put in train oil, and no wax candle ; it burnt 
 the whole evening ; but now it knew that 
 the gift which the stars had given it, the best 
 gift of all, was a dead treasure for this life. 
 It then dreamt — and when one has such 
 abilities, one can surely dream, — that the old 
 folks were dead, and that it had come to an 
 ironfounder's to be cast anew ; it was in as 
 much anxiety as when it had to go to the 
 town-hall to be examined by the authorities ; 
 but although it had the power to fall to pieces 
 hi rust and dust, when it wished it, yet it 
 did not do it ; and so it came into the furnace 
 and was re-cast as a pretty iron candlestick, 
 in which any one might set a wax candle. 
 It had the form of an angel, bearing a nose- 
 gay, and in the centre of the nosegay they 
 put a wax tapt/^ and it was placed on a 
 green writing-table ; and the room was so 
 snug and comfortable : there hung beauLiful 
 pictures — there stood many books ; it was at 
 a poet's, and everything tfiat he wrote, un 
 veiled itself round about : the room became 
 a deep, dark forest, — a sun-lit meadow.
 
 THE OLD STREET-LAMP. 91 | 
 
 where the stork stalked about ; and a ship's , 
 deck hio^h aloft on the swellinsr sea ! i 
 
 " What power I have ! " said the old lamp, 
 as it awoke. " 1 almost long to be re-cast ; — 
 but no, it must not be as long as the old folks 
 live. They are fond of me for the sake of 
 my person. I am to them as a child, and 
 they have scoured me, and they have given 
 me train oil. After all, I am as well off as 
 ' The Congress,' — which is something so very 
 grand." 
 
 From that time it had more inward peace, 
 which v«ras 'iierited by the old street-lamp.
 
 THE DREAM OF LITTLE TUK. 
 
 H ! yes, that was little Tuk ; 
 in reality his name was not 
 Tuk, but that was what he 
 called himself before he could 
 speak plain : he meant it 
 for Charles, and it is 
 all well enough if one 
 do but know it. He 
 had now to take care of his 
 little sister Augusta, who was much 
 less than himself, and he was, besides, to 
 learn his lesson at the same time ; but these 
 two thino^s would not do together at all. 
 There sat the poor little fellow with his sister 
 on his lap, and he sang to her all the songs 
 he knew ; and he glanced the while from 
 92
 
 THE DREAM OP LITTLE TUK. 93 
 
 time to time into the geogiaphy-book that lay 
 open before him. By the next morning he 
 was to have learnt all the towns in Zealand 
 oy heart, and to know about them all that is 
 possible to be known. 
 
 His mother now came home, for she had 
 been out, and took little Augusta on her arm. 
 Tuk ran quickly to the window, and read 
 80 eagerly that he pretty nearly read his 
 eyes out ; for it got darker and darker, but 
 his mother had no money to buy a candle. 
 
 " There goes the old washerwoman over 
 the way," said his mother, as she looked out 
 of the window. " The poor woman can 
 hardly drag herself along, and she must now 
 drag the pail home from the fountain : be a 
 good boy, Tukey, and run across and help 
 the old woman, won't you ? " 
 
 So Tuk ran over quickly and helped her ; 
 but when he came back again into the room 
 it was quite dark, and as to a light, there was 
 no thought of such a thing. He was now to 
 go to bed ; that was an old turn-up bedstead ; 
 in it he lay and thought about his geography 
 lesson, and of Zealand, and of all that his 
 master had told him. He ought, to be sure,
 
 94 THE DREAM OF LITTLE TUK. 
 
 to have read over his lesson again, but that, 
 you know, he could not do. He therefore 
 put his geography-book under his pillow, be- 
 cause he had heard that was a very good 
 thing to do when one wants to learn one's 
 lesson ; but one cannot, however, rely upon 
 it entirely. Well there he lay, and thought 
 and thought, and all at once it was j ust as if 
 some one kissed his eyes and mouth : he 
 slept, and yet he did not sleep ; it was as 
 though the old washerwoman gazed on him 
 with her mild eyes and said, " It were a great 
 sin if you were not to know your lesson to- 
 morrow morning. You have aided me, I 
 therefore will now help you ; and the loving 
 God will do so at all times." And all of a 
 sudden the book under Tuk's pillow began 
 scraping and scratching. 
 
 "Kickery-ki! kluk ! kluk ! kluk !"— that 
 was an old hen who came creeping along, 
 and she was from Kjoge. I am a Kjoger 
 hen,"* said she, and then she related how 
 
 * Kj5ge, a town in the bay of Kj6ge. " To see the 
 Kjftge hens," is an expression similar to " showing a child 
 London," which is said to be done by taking his head in 
 both hands, and so lifting him off the ground. At the in*
 
 THE DREAM OF LITTLE TUK. 95 
 
 many inhabitants there were there, and 
 about the battle that had taken place, and 
 which, after all, was hardly worth talking 
 about. 
 
 " Kribledy, krabledy — plump ! " down fell 
 somebody : it was a wooden bird, the popin- 
 jay used at the shooting-matches at Prastoe. 
 Now he said that there were just as many 
 inhabitants as he had nails in his body ; and 
 he was very proud. " Thorwaldsen lived 
 almost next door to me.* Plump ! here I lie 
 capitally." 
 
 But little Tuk was no longer lying down : 
 all at once he was on horseback. On he 
 went at full gallop, still galloping on and on. 
 A knight with a gleaming plume, and most 
 magnificently dressed, held him before him 
 on the horse, and thus they rode through the 
 wood to the old town of Bordingborg, and 
 
 vasion of the English in 1807, an encounter of a no very 
 glorious nature took place between the British troops and 
 the undisciplined Danish militia. 
 
 * PrastSe, a still smaller town than I^6ge. Some 
 hundred paces from it lies the manor-house Ny S6e, 
 where Thorwaldsen generally sojourned during his stay 
 in Denmark, and where he called many of his iramortaJ 
 works into existence. 
 
 GO
 
 96 THE DREAM OF LITTLE TUK. 
 
 that was a large and very lively town. High 
 towers rose from the castle of the king, and 
 the brightness of many candles streanied 
 fiom all the windows ; within was dance and 
 song, and King Waldemar and the young, 
 richly-attired maids of honor danced together. 
 The morn now came ; and as soon as the sun 
 appeared, the whole town and the king^s pal- 
 ace crumbled together, and one tower after 
 the other ; and at last only a single one re- 
 mained standing where the castle had been 
 before,* and the town was so small and poor, 
 and the school boys came along with their 
 books under their arms, and said, "2000 in- 
 habitants F' but that was not true, for there 
 were not so many. 
 
 And little Tukey lay in his bed : it seemed 
 to him as if he dreamed, and yet as if he 
 were not dreaming ; however, somebody was 
 close beside him. 
 
 " Little Tukey ! little Tukey !" cried some 
 one near. It was a seaman, quite a littb 
 
 • Bordingborg, in the reign of Kiog Waldemar a con- 
 siderable place, now an unimportant little town. One 
 Bolitary tower only, and some remains of a wall, show 
 where the castle once stood.
 
 THE DREAM OF LITTLE TUK. 97 
 
 personage, so little as if he were a midship- 
 man ; but a midshipman it was not. 
 
 " Many remembrances from Corsor.* That 
 is a town that is just rising into importance ; 
 a lively town that has steam-boats and stage- 
 coaches : formerly people called it ugly, but 
 that is no longer true. I lie on the sea," said 
 Corsor ; " I have high roads and gardens, and 
 I have given birth to a poet who was witty 
 and amusing, which all poets are not. I once 
 intended to equip a ship that was to sail all 
 round the earth ; but I did not do it, although 
 I could have done so : and then, too, I smell 
 so deliciously, for close before the gate bloom 
 the most beautiful roses." 
 
 Little Tuk looked, and all was red and 
 green before his eyes ; but as soon as the 
 confusion of colors was somewhat over, all of 
 a sudden there appeared a wooded slope close 
 to the bay, and high up above stood a magni- 
 ficent old church, with two high pointed 
 
 * CSrsdr, on the Great Belt, called, formerly, before 
 the introduction of steam-vessels, when travellers w^ere 
 often obliged to wait a long time for a favorable wind, 
 •* the most tiresome of towns." The poet Baggesen 
 was boru here. 
 
 1
 
 98 THE DREAM OF LITTLE TUK. 
 
 towers. From out the hill-side spouted foun 
 tains in thick streams of water, so that there 
 was a continual splashing ; and close beside 
 them sat an old king with a golden crown 
 upon his white head : that was King Hroar, 
 near the fountains, close to the town of Roes- 
 kilde, as it is now called. And up the slope 
 into the old church went all the kings and 
 queens of Denmark, hand in hand, all with 
 their golden crowns ; and the organ played 
 and the fountains rustled. Little Tuk saw 
 all, heard all. " Do not forget the diet," said 
 King Hroar.* 
 
 Again all suddenly disappeared. Yes, and 
 whither ? It seemed to him just as if one 
 turned over a leaf in a book. And now stood 
 there an old peasant-woman, who came from 
 Soroe,t where grass grows in the market- 
 
 * Roeskilde, once the capital of Denmark. The town 
 takes its name from King Hroar, and the many fountains 
 in the neighborhood. In the beautiful cathedral the 
 greater number of the kings and queens of Denmark 
 are interred. In Roeskilde, too, the members of the 
 Danish Diet assemble. 
 
 tSoroe, a very quiet little town, beautifully situated, 
 surrounded by woods and lakes. Holberg. Denmark's 
 Moliere, founded here an academy for the sons of the
 
 THE DREAM OF LITTLE TUK. 
 
 99 
 
 place. She had an old grey linen apron 
 hanging over her head and back : it was so 
 wet, it certainly must have been raining 
 " Yes, that it has," said she ; and she now 
 related many pretty things out of Holberg's 
 comedies, and about Waldemar and Absalon ; 
 but all at once she cowered together, and her 
 head began shaking backwards and forwards, 
 and she looked as she were going to make a 
 spring. " Croak ! croak !" said she : " it is 
 wet, it is wet ; there is such a pleasant death- 
 like stillness in Soroe 1 " She was now sud- 
 denly a frog, " Croak ;" and now she was an 
 old woman. " One must dress according to 
 the weather," said she. " It is wet, it is wet.- 
 My town is just hke a bottle ; and one gets 
 in by the neck, and by the neck one must get 
 out again ! In former times I had the finest 
 fish, and now I have fresh rosy-cheeked boys 
 at the bottom of the bottle, who learn wis- 
 dom, Hebrew, Greek,— Croak !" When she 
 spoke it sounded just like the noise of frogs, 
 or as if one walked with great boots over a 
 
 nobles. The poets Hauch and Ingemann were appoint- 
 ed professors here. The latter lives there still.
 
 100 THE DREAM OF LITTLE TUK. 
 
 moor ; always the same tone, so uniform and 
 BO tiring that little Tuk fell into a good sound 
 sleep, which, by the bye, could not do him 
 any harm. 
 
 But even in this sleep there came a dream, 
 or whatever else it was : his little sister Au- 
 gusta, she with the blue eyes and the fair 
 curling hair, was suddenly a tall, beautiful 
 girl, and without having wings was yet able 
 to fly ; and she now flew over Zealand — over 
 the green woods and the blue lakes. 
 
 " Do you hear the cock crow, Tukey ? 
 cock-a-doodle-doo ! The cocks are flying up 
 from Kjoge ! You will have a farm-yard, so 
 large, oh ! so very large ! You will suflfer 
 neither hunger nor thirst ! You will get on 
 in the world ! You will be a rich and happy 
 man ! Your house will exalt itself like King 
 Waldemar's tower, and will be richly deco- 
 rated with marble statues, like that at Pras- 
 toe. You understand what I mean. Your 
 name shall circulate with renown all round 
 the earth, like unto the ship that was to have 
 Bailed from Corsor ; and in Roeskilde " 
 
 " Do not forget the diet ! " said King Hroar. 
 " Then you will speak well and wisely,
 
 THE DREAM OF LITTLE TUK. 101 
 
 little Tukey ; and when at last you sink intc 
 your grave, you shall sleep as quietly " 
 
 " As if I lay in Soroe," said Tuk, awaking. 
 It was bright day, and he was now quite un- 
 able to call to mind his dream ; that, how- 
 ever, was not at all necessary, for one may 
 not know what the future will bring. 
 
 And out of bed he jumped, and read in his 
 book, and now all at once he knew his whole 
 lesson. And the old washerwoman popped 
 her head in at the door, nodded to him friendly, 
 and said, " Thanks, many thanks, my good 
 child, for 3^our help ! May the good ever- 
 loving God fulfil your loveliest dream !" 
 
 Little Tukey did not at all know what he 
 had dreamed, but the loving God knew it.
 
 THE NAUGHTY BOY, 
 
 LONG time ago 
 there lived an old 
 poet, a thoroughly 
 kind old poet. As 
 he was sitting one 
 evening in his 
 room, a dreadful 
 storm arose with- 
 out, and the rain streamed down from hea- 
 ven ; but the old poet sat warm and comfor- 
 table in his chimney-corner, where, the fire 
 blazed and the roasting apple hissed. 
 
 " Those who have not a roof over their 
 heads will be wetted to the skin," said the 
 good old poet. 
 " Oh let me in ! let me in ! I am cold, and 
 102
 
 THE NAUGHTY BOY. 103 
 
 I'm so wet !" exclaimed suddenly a child 
 that stood crying at the door and knocking 
 for admittance, while the rain poured down, 
 and the wind made all the windows rattle. 
 
 " Poor thing !" said the old poet, as he 
 went to open the door. There stood a Httle 
 boy, quite naked, and the water ran down 
 from his long golden hair; he trembled with 
 cold, and had he not come into a warm room 
 he would most certainly have perished in the 
 frightful tempest. 
 
 "Poor child !" said the old poet, as he took 
 the boy by the hand. "Come in, come in, 
 and I will soon restore thee ! Thou shalt 
 have wine and roasted apples, for thou art 
 verily a charming child!" And the boy 
 was so really. His eyes were like two 
 bright stars ; and although the water trickled 
 down his hair, it waved in beautiful curls. 
 He looked exactly like a little angel, but he 
 was so pale, and his whole body trembled 
 with cold. He had a nice little bow in his 
 hand, but it w^as quite spoiled by the rain, 
 and the tints of his many-colored arrows ran 
 one into the other. 
 
 The old poet seated himself beside his 
 PP
 
 104 THE NAUGHTY BOY. 
 
 hearth, and took the little fellow on his lap ; 
 he squeezed the water out of his dripping 
 hair, warmed his hands between his own, 
 and boiled for him some sweet wine. Then 
 the boy recovered, his cheeks again grew 
 rosy, he jumped down from the lap where 
 he was sitting, and danced round the kind 
 old poet. 
 
 ,, ," You are a merry fellow," said the old 
 man ; " what's your name ?" 
 
 " My name is Cupid," answered the boy. 
 " Don't you know me ? There lies my bow ; 
 it shoots well, I can assure you ! Look, the 
 weather is now clearing up, and the moon 
 is shining clear again through the window." 
 
 "Why, your bow is quite spoiled," said 
 the old poet. 
 
 "That were sad indeed," said the boy, 
 and he took the bow in his hand and ex- 
 amined it on every side. "Oh, it is dry 
 again, and is not hurt at all ; the string is 
 quite tight. I will try it directly." And 
 he bent his bow, took aim, and shot an 
 arrow at the old poet, right into his heart 
 " You see now that my bow was not spoiled," 
 said he, laughing ; and away he ran.
 
 THE NAUGHTY BOY. 105 
 
 The naughty boy ! to shoot the old poet 
 in that way ; he who had taken him into 
 his wann room, who had treated him so 
 kindly, and who had given him warm wine 
 and the very best apples ! 
 
 The poor poet lay on the earth and wept, 
 for the arrow had really flown into his heart. 
 
 " Fie !" said he, " how naughty a boy 
 Cupid is ! I will tell all children about him, 
 that they may take care and not play with 
 him, for he will only cause them sorrow and 
 many a heart-ache." 
 
 And all good children to whom he related 
 this story, took great heed of this naughty 
 Cupid ; but he made fools of them still, for 
 he is astonishingly cunning. When the 
 university students come from the lectures, 
 he runs beside them in a black coat, and 
 with a book under his arm. It is quite 
 impossible for them to know him, and they 
 walk along with him arm in arm, as if he. 
 too, were a student like themselves ; and 
 then, unperceived, he thrusts an arrow to 
 their bosom. When the young maidens 
 come from being examined by the clergy- 
 man, or go to church to be confirmed, there
 
 106 THE NAUGHTY BOY. 
 
 he is again close behind them. Yes, he is 
 for ever following people. At the play he 
 sits in the great chandelier and burns in 
 bright flames, so that people think it is 
 really a flame, but they soon discover it is 
 sometJring else. He roves about in the gar- 
 den of the palace and upon the ramparts : 
 yes, once he even shot your father and 
 mother right in the heart. Ask them only, 
 and you will hear what they'll tell you. 
 Oh, he is a naughty boy, that Cupid ; you 
 must never have anything to do with him. 
 He is for ever running after everbody. Only 
 think, he shot an arrow once at your old 
 grandmother ! But that is a long time ago, 
 and it is all past now ; however, a thing of 
 that sort she never forgets. Fie, naughty 
 Cupid ! But now you know him, and you 
 know, toOj how ill-behaved he is !
 
 THE TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 
 
 E really might have thought 
 something of importance was 
 going on in the duck-pond, but there 
 was nothing going on. All the ducks 
 that were resting tranquilly on the 
 water, or were standing in it on their heads 
 — for that they were able to do — swam sud- 
 denly to the shore: you could see in the 
 wet ground the traces of their feet, and hear 
 their quacking far and near. The water, 
 which but just now was smooth and bright 
 as a mirror, was quite put into commo- 
 tion. Before, one saw every tree reflected 
 107
 
 108 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 
 
 in it, every bush that was near : the old 
 farm-house, with the holes in the roof and 
 with the swallow's nest under the eaves ; but 
 principally, however, the great rose-bush, 
 sown, as it were, with flowers. It covered 
 the wall, and hung forwards over the water, 
 in which one beheld the whole as in a pic- 
 ture, except that everything was upside 
 down ; but when the water was agitated, all 
 swam away and the picture was gone. Two 
 duck's feathers, which the fluttering ducks 
 had lost, were rocking to and fro : suddenly 
 they flew forwards as if the wind were com- 
 ing, but it did not come : they were, there- 
 fore, obliged to remain where they were, and 
 the water grew quiet and smooth again, and 
 again the roses reflected themselves — they 
 were so beautiful, but that they did not know, 
 for nobody had told them. The sun shone 
 in between the tender leaves — all breathed 
 the most beautiful fragrance ; and to them 
 it was as with us, when right joyfully we 
 are filled with the thought of our happiness. 
 " How beautiful is existence !" said each 
 rose. " There is but one thing I should wish 
 for, — to kiss the sun, because it is so bright
 
 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 109 
 
 and warm.* The roses yonder, too, below in 
 the water, the exact image of ourselves — 
 them also I should like to kiss, and the nice 
 little birds below in their nest. There are 
 some above, too ; they stretch out their heads 
 and chirrup quite loud : they have no feathers 
 at all, as their fathers and mothers have. 
 They are good neighbors, those below as well 
 as those above. How beautiful existence is T' 
 
 The young birds above and below — those 
 below of course the reflection only in the 
 water — were sparrows : their parents were 
 likewise sparrows ; and they had taken pos- 
 session of the empty swallow's nest of the 
 preceding year, and now dwelt therein as if 
 it had been their own property. 
 
 " Are those little duck children that are 
 swimming there?" asked the young spar- 
 
 * In Danish the sun is of the feminine gender, and 
 not, as with us, when personified, spoken of as '• he." 
 We beg to make this observation, lest the roses' wish 
 '* to kiss the sun," be thought unmaidenly. We are 
 anxious, also, to remove a stumbling block, which might 
 perchance trip up exquisitely-refined modern notions. 
 Badly shocked, no doubt, as they would be, at such an 
 apparent breach of modesty and decorum. — (Note of th* 
 Translator. )
 
 110 TWO NEIG-HBORING FANILIES. 
 
 rows, when they discovered the duck's fea- 
 thers on the water. 
 
 " If you will ask questions, do let them be 
 a Uttle rational at least," said tli' mother. 
 " Don't you see that they are feat hers, living 
 stuff for clothing such as I wear, and such as 
 you will wear also ? But ours is finer. I 
 should, however, be glad if we had it up here 
 in our nest, for it keeps one warm. I am cu- 
 rious to know at what the ducks were so 
 frightened ; at us, surely not ; 'tis true I said 
 'chirp,' to you rather loud. In reality, the 
 thick-headed roses ought to know, but they 
 know nothing ; they only gaze on themselves 
 and smell : for my part, 1 am heartily tired of 
 these neighbors." 
 
 " Listen to the charming little birds above," 
 said the roses, " they begin to want to sing 
 too, but they cannot as yet. However, they 
 will do so by and by: what pleasure that 
 must afford ! It is so pleasant to have such 
 merry neighbors !" 
 
 Suddenly two horses came galloping along 
 to be watered. A peasant boy rode on one, 
 and he had taken off all his clothes except hia 
 large broad black hat. The youth whistled
 
 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. Ill 
 
 like a bird, and rode into the pond where it 
 was deepest ; and as he passed by the rose- 
 bush he gathered a rose and stuck it in his 
 hat ; and now he fancied himself very fine, 
 and rode on. The other roses looked after 
 their sister, and asked each other, " Whither 
 is she going ?" but that no one knew. 
 
 "I should like to go out into the world," 
 thought one ; " yet here at home amid our 
 foliage it is also beautiful. By day the sun 
 shines so warm, and in the night the sky 
 shines still more beautifully : we can see that 
 through all the little holes that are in it." 
 By this they meant the stars, but they did 
 not know any better. 
 
 " We enliven the place," said the mamma 
 sparrow ; " and the swallow's nest brings 
 luck, so people say, and therefore people are 
 pleased to have us. But our neighbors ! 
 Such a rose-bush against the wall produces 
 damp ; it will doubtless be cleared away, and 
 then, perhaps, some corn at least may grow 
 there. The roses are good for nothing ex- 
 cept to look at and to smell, and, at most to 
 put into one's hat. Every year — that I know 
 from my mother — they fall away ; the pea-
 
 112 
 
 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 
 
 Bants wife collects them together and strews 
 salt among them; they then receive a 
 French name which I neither can nor care to 
 pronounce, and are put upon the fire, when 
 they are to give a pleasant odor. Look ye, 
 such is their life ; they are only here to please 
 the eye and nose ! And so now you know 
 the whole matter." 
 
 As the evening came on, and the gnats 
 played in the warm air and in the red clouds, 
 the nightingale came and sang to the roses ; 
 sang that the beautiful is as the sunshine in 
 this world, and that the beautiful lives for 
 ever. But the roses thought that the night- 
 ingale sang his own praise, which one might 
 very well have fancied ; for that the song re- 
 lated to them, of that they never thought : 
 they rejoiced in it, however, and meditated if 
 perhaps all the little sparrows could become 
 nightingales too. 
 
 "I understood the song of that bird quite 
 well,'' said the young sparrows; "one word 
 only was not quite clear to me. What waa 
 the meaning of ' the beautiful V " 
 
 "That is nothing," said the mamma spar- 
 row , " that is only something external. Yon-
 
 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 113 
 
 der at the mansion, where the pigeons have 
 a house of their own, and where every day 
 peas and corn is strewn before them — I have 
 myself eaten there with them, and you shall, 
 too, in time ; tell me what company you keep. 
 and I'll tell you who you are — yes, yonder at 
 the mansion they have got two birds with 
 green necks and a comb on their head ; they 
 can spread out their tail like a great wheel, 
 and in it plays every color, that it quite hurts 
 one's eyes to look at it. These birds are 
 called peacocks, and that is 'the beauti- 
 ful.' They only want to be plucked a little, 
 and then they would not look at all different 
 from the rest of us. I would already have 
 plucked them, if they had not been quite so 
 
 big." 
 
 "I will pluck them," chirped the small- 
 est sparrow, that as yet had not a single fea- 
 ther. 
 
 In the peasant's cottage dwelt a young 
 married couple ; they loved each other dearly, 
 and were industrious and active : everything 
 in their house looked so neat and pretty. On 
 Sunday morning early the young woman 
 came out, gathered a handful of the most 
 8
 
 114 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 
 
 beautiful roses, and put them into a glass of 
 water, which she placed on the shelf. 
 
 " Now I see that it is Sunday," said the 
 man, and kissed his little wife. They sat 
 down, read in the hymn-book, and held each 
 other by the hand : the sun beamed on the 
 fresh roses and on the young married couple. 
 
 " This is really too tiring a sight," said the 
 mamma sparrow, who from her nest could 
 look into the room, and away she flew. 
 
 The next Sunday it was the same, for 
 every Sunday fresh roses were put in the 
 glass : yet the rose-tree bloomed on equally 
 beautiful. The young sparrows had now 
 feathers, and wanted much to fly with their 
 mother ; she, however, would not allow it, so 
 they were forced to remain. Off she flew ; 
 but, however, it happened, before she was 
 aware, she got entangled in a springe of 
 horse-hair, which some boys had set upon a 
 bough. The horse-hair drew itself tightly 
 round her leg, so tightly as though it would 
 cut it in two. That was an agony, a fright! 
 The boys ran to the spot and caught hold 
 of the bird, and that too in no very gentle 
 manner.
 
 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 115 
 
 " It's only a sparrow," said they ; but they, 
 Qevertheless, did not let her fly, but took her 
 home with them, and every time she cried 
 they gave her a tap on the beak. 
 
 There stood in the farm-yard an old man, 
 who knew how to make shaving-soap and 
 eoap for washing, in square cakes as well as 
 in round balls. He was a merry, wandering 
 old man. When he saw the sparrow that 
 the boys had caught, and which, as they 
 said, they did not care about at all, he asked, 
 " Shall we make something very fine of 
 him ?" Mamma sparrow felt an icy coldness 
 creep over her. Out of the box, in which 
 were the most beautiful colors, the old man 
 took a quantity of gold leaf, and the boys 
 were obliged to go and fetch the white of an 
 egg, with which the sparrow was painted all 
 over ; on this the gold was stuck, and mam- 
 ma sparrow was now entirely gilded ; but 
 she did not think of adornment, for she trem- 
 bled in every limb. And the soap-dealer 
 tore a bit off the lining of his old jacket, cut 
 scollops in It so that it might look like a 
 cock's comb, and stuck it on the head of the 
 bird.
 
 116 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 
 
 " Now, then, you shall see master gold- 
 coat fly." said the old man, and let the 
 sparrow go, who, in deadly fright, flew off, 
 illumined by the beaming sun. How she 
 shone ! All the sparrows, even a crow, al- 
 though an old fellow, were much frightened 
 at the sight ; they, however flew on after 
 him, in order to learn what foreign bird it was- 
 
 Impelled by anguish and terror, he flew 
 homewards : he was near falling exhausted 
 to the earth. The crowd of pursuing birds 
 increased ; yes, some indeed even tried to 
 peck at him. 
 
 " Look ! there's a fellow ! Look ! there's a 
 fellow !" screamed they all. 
 
 " Look ! there's a fellow ! Look ! there's 
 a fellow !" cried the young sparrows, as the 
 old one approached the nest. "That, for 
 certain, is a young peacock ; all sorts of 
 colors are playing in his feathers : it quite 
 hurts one's eyes to look at him, just as our 
 mother told us. Chirp ! chirp ! That is the 
 beautiful!" And now they began pecking 
 at the bird with their little beaks, so that it 
 ' was quite impossible for the sparrow to get 
 into the nest : she was so sadly used that she
 
 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 117 
 
 could not even say "Chirrup," still less, 
 " Why, I am your own mother !" The othei 
 birds, too, now set upon the sparrow, and 
 plucked out feather after feather ; so that at 
 last she fell bleeding in the rose-bush below. 
 
 " Oh ! poor thing ! " said all the roses, " be 
 quieted ; we will hide you. Lean your little 
 head on us." 
 
 The sparrow spread out her wings once 
 more, then folded them close to her body, and 
 lay dead in the midst of the family who were 
 her neighbors, — the beautiful fresh roses. 
 
 "Chirp! chirp!" sounded from the nest. 
 " Where can our mother be ? It is quite in- 
 conceivable ! It cannot surely be a trick of 
 hers by which she means to tell us that we 
 are now to provide for ourselves ? She has 
 left us the house as an inheritance; but to 
 which of us is it exclusively to belong, when 
 we ourselves have families.^" 
 
 "Yes, that will never do that you stay 
 here with me when my household is increas- 
 ed by the addition of a wife and children," 
 said the smallest. 
 
 " I shall have, I should think, more wivea 
 and children than you," said the second.
 
 118 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 
 
 "But I am the eldest," said the third. 
 They ail now grew passionate ; they beat 
 each other with their wings, pecked with 
 their beaks, when, plump I one after the other 
 was tumbled out of the nest. There they 
 lay with their rage ; they turned their heads 
 on one side, and winked their eyes as they 
 looked upward : that was their way of play- 
 ing the simpleton. They could fly a little, 
 and by practice they learned to do so still 
 better ; and they finally were unanimous as 
 to a sign by which, when at some future time 
 they should meet again in the world, they 
 might recognise each other. It was to con- 
 sist in a " Chirrup !" and in a thrice-repeated 
 scratching on the ground with the left leg. 
 
 The young sparrow that had been left be- 
 hind in the nest spread himself out to his full 
 size. He was now, you know, a householder ; 
 but his grandeur did not last long : in the 
 night red fire broke through the windows, the 
 flames seized on the roof, the dry thatch 
 blazed up high, the whole house w^as burnt, 
 and the young sparrow with it; but the 
 yoimg married couple escaped, fortunately, 
 with life. When the sun rose again, and
 
 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 119 
 
 every thing looked so refreshed and invigo- 
 rated, as after a peaceful sleep, there was 
 nothing left of the cottage except some charr- 
 ed hlack beams leaning against the chimney, 
 which now was its own master. A great 
 deal of smoke still rose from the ground, but 
 witliout, quite uninjured, stood the rose-bush, 
 fresh and blooming, and mirrored every flower, 
 every branch, in the clear water. 
 
 " Oh ! how beautifully the roses are bloom- 
 ing in front of the burnt-down house !" cried 
 a passer-by. " It is impossible to fancy a 
 more lovely picture. I must have that !" 
 
 And the man took a little book with white 
 leaves out of his pocket : he was a painter, 
 and with a pencil he drew the smoking 
 house, the charred beams, and the toppling 
 chimney, which now hung over more and 
 more. But the large and blooming rose-tree, 
 quite in the foreground, afforded a magnifi- 
 cent sight ; it was on its account alone that 
 the whole picture had been made. 
 
 Later in the day two of the sparrows who 
 had been born here passed by. " Where is 
 the house ? " asked they. " Where the nest 1 
 
 qq
 
 120 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 
 
 Chirp ! chirp ! All is burnt down, and our 
 strong brother —that is Avhat he has got for 
 keeping the nest. The roses have escaped 
 well ; there they are yet standing Avith their 
 red cheeks. They, forsooth, do not mourn 
 at the misfortune of their neighbors. T have 
 no wish whatever to address them ; and, be- 
 sides, it is very ugly here, that's my opinion." 
 And off and away they flew. 
 
 On a beautiful, bright, sunny autumn day 
 —one might almost have thought it was still 
 the middle of summer— the pigeons were 
 strutting about the dry and nicely-swept 
 court-yard in front of the great steps— black 
 and white and party-colored— and they shone 
 in the sunshine. The old mamma pigeon 
 said to the young ones : " Form yourselves in 
 groups, form yourselves in groups, for that 
 makes a much better appearance." 
 
 "V/hat little brown creatures are those 
 running about amongst us?" asked an old 
 pigeon, whose eyes were green and yellow. 
 "Poor little brownies ! poor little brownies !" 
 
 " They are sparrows : we have always had 
 the reputation of being kind and gentle ; we
 
 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 121 
 
 will, therefore, allow them to pick up the 
 grain with us. They never mix in the con- 
 versation, and they scrape a leg so prettily." 
 
 " Yes, they scratched three times with their 
 leg, and with the left leg too, and said also 
 " Chirrup ! " It is by this they recognised 
 each other ; for they were three sparrows 
 out of the nest of the house that had been 
 burnt down. 
 
 " Very good eating here," said one of the 
 sparrows. The pigeons strutted round each 
 other, drew themselves up, and had inwardly 
 their own views and opinions. 
 
 " Do you see the cropper pigeon ? " said 
 one of the others. "Do you see how she 
 swallows the peas ? She takes too many, 
 and the very best into the bargain ! " — " Coo ! 
 coo ! " — " How she puts up her top-knot, the 
 ugly, mischievous creature !" " Coo ! coo ! coo T 
 
 And every eye sparkled with malice. 
 " Form yourselves in groups ! form yourselves 
 in groups ! Little brown creatures ! Poor 
 little brownies ! Coo ! coo !" So it went on 
 unceasingly, and so will they go on chatter- 
 ing in a thousand years to come. 
 
 The sparrows ate right bravely. The}
 
 122 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 
 
 listened attentively to what was said, and 
 even placed themselves in a row side by side, 
 with the others. It was not at all becoming 
 to them, however. They were not satisfied, 
 and they therefore quitted the pigeons, and 
 exchanged opinions about them ; nestled 
 along under the garden palisades, and, as 
 they found the door of the room open that 
 led upon the lawn, one of them, who was 
 filled to satiety, and was therefore over-bold, 
 hopped upon the threshold. " Chirrup ! " said 
 he, " I dare to venture ! " 
 
 " Chirrup !" said another, " I dare, too, and 
 more besides !" and he hopped into the cham- 
 ber. No one was present : the third saw this, 
 and flew still further into the room, calling 
 out, " Either all or nothing ! However, 'tis a 
 curious human nest that we have here ; and 
 what have they put up there? What is 
 that?" 
 
 Close in front of the sparrows bloomed the 
 roses ; they mirrored themselves in the water, 
 and the charred rafters leaned against the 
 over-hanging chimney. But what can that 
 be ? how comes this in the room of the man- 
 sion? And all three sparrows were about to
 
 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 123 
 
 fly away over the roses and the chimney, but 
 they flew against a flat wall. It was all a 
 picture, a large, beautiful picture, which the 
 painter had executed after the little sketch. 
 
 " Chirrup !" said the sparrows, " it is no- 
 thing ! It only looks like something. Chirrup ! 
 That is beautiful ! Can you comprehend it ? 
 I cannot !" And away they flew, for people 
 came into the room. 
 
 Days and months passed, the pigeons had 
 often cooed, the sparrows had suffered cold 
 in winter, and in summer lived right jollily : 
 they were all betrothed and married, or what- 
 ever you choose to call it. They had young 
 ones, and each naturally considered his the 
 handsomest and the cleverest : one flew here, 
 another there ; and if they met they recog- 
 nised each other by the " Chirrup ?" and by 
 the thrice-repeated scratching with the left- 
 leg. The eldest sparrow had remained an 
 old maid, who had no nest and no family ; 
 her favorite notion was to see a large town, 
 so away she flew to Copenhagen. 
 
 There one beheld a large house, painted 
 with many bright colors, quite close to th« 
 eanal, in which lay many barges laden with
 
 124 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 
 
 earthen pots and apples. The windows were 
 broader below than above, and when the 
 sparrow pressed through, every room appeared 
 like a tulip, with the most varied colors 
 Lnd shades, but in the middle of the tuhp 
 white men were standing : they were of 
 marble, some, too, were of plaister ; but when 
 viewed with a sparrow's eyes, they are the 
 same. Up above on the roof stood a metal 
 chariot, with metal horses harnessed to it ; 
 and the goddess of victory, also of metal, held 
 the reins. It was Thorwaldsen's Museum. 
 "How it shines! How it shines!" said 
 the old maiden sparrow. That, doubtless, 
 is ' the beautiful.' Chirrup ! But here it is 
 larger than a peacock !" She remembered 
 still what her mother, when she was a child, 
 bad looked upon as the grandest among all 
 beautiful things. The sparrow fled down 
 into the court : all was so magnificent , 
 Palms and foliage were painted on the walls. 
 In the middle of the court stood a large, 
 blooming rose-tree ; it spread out its fresh 
 branches, with its many roses, over a grave. 
 Thither flew the old maiden sparrow, foi 
 she saw there many of her sort. "Chirrup!"
 
 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 125 
 
 and three scrapes with the left leg. Thus 
 had she often saluted, from one year's end to 
 the other, and nobody had answered the 
 greeting — for those who are once separated 
 do not meet again every day — till at last 
 the salutation had grown into a habit. But 
 to-day, however, two old sparrows and one 
 young one answered with a " Churup !" and 
 with a thrice-repeated scrape of the left leg. 
 
 "Ah, good day, good day!" It was two 
 old birds from the nest, and a little one be- 
 sides, of the family. " That we should meet 
 here ! It is a very grand sort of place, but 
 there is nothing to eat here : that is ' the 
 beautiful ! Chirrup !" 
 
 And many persons advanced from the side 
 apartments, where the magnificent marble 
 figures stood, and approached the grave that 
 hid the great master who had formed the 
 marble figures. All stood with glorified 
 countenances around Thorwaldsen's grave, 
 and some picked up the shed rose-leaves and 
 carefully guarded them. They had come 
 from far — one from mighty England, others 
 from Germany and France : the most lovely 
 lady gathered one of the roses and hid it in
 
 126 TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES. 
 
 her bosom. Then the sparrows thought that 
 the roses g-overned here, and that the whole 
 house had been buih on account of them. 
 Now, this seemed to them, at all events, too 
 much ; however, as it was for the roses that 
 the persons showed all their love, they would 
 remain no longer. " Chirrup !" said they, 
 and swept the floor with their tails, and 
 winked with one eye at the roses. They had 
 not looked at them long before they convinced 
 themselves that they were their old neigh- 
 bors. And they really were so. The 
 painter who had drawn the rose-bush beside 
 the burned-down house, had afterwards ob- 
 tained permission to dig it up, and had given 
 it to the architect — for more beautiful roses 
 had never been seen — and the architect had 
 planted it on Thorwaldsen's grave, where it 
 bloomed as a symbol of the beautiful, and 
 gave up its red fragrant leaves to be carried 
 to distant lands as a remembrance. 
 
 " Have you got an appointment he^e in 
 town ?" asked the sparrows. 
 
 And the roses nodded : they recognised 
 their brown neighbors, and rejoiced to see 
 them again. "How dehghtful it is to live
 
 TWO NEIGHBORING FHMILIES. 127 
 
 and to bloom, to see old friends again, and 
 every day to look on happy faces ! It is as 
 if every day were a holy-day." 
 
 " Chirrup !" said the sparrows. " Yes, it 
 is in truth our old neighbors ; their origin 
 — from the pond^s still quite clear in our 
 memory ! Chirmp 1 How they have risen 
 in the world ! Yes, Fortune favors some 
 while they sleep ! Ah ! there is a withered 
 leaf that I see quite plainly." And they 
 pecked at it so long till the leaf fell off; and 
 the tree stood there greener and more fresh, 
 the roses gave forth their fragrance in the 
 sunshine over Thorwaldsen's grave, with 
 whose immortal name they weie unitxid. 
 
 r i
 
 THE DARNING-NEEDLE. 
 
 jHERE was once upon a time 
 ^ a darning needle, that imagined 
 itself so fine, that at last it fan- 
 cied it was a sewing-needle. 
 
 Now, pay attention, and hold 
 me firmly P' said the darning-needle to 
 the fingers that were taking it out. 
 " Do not let me fall ! If I fall on the ground, 
 I shall certainly never be found again, so fine 
 am I." 
 
 "Pretty well as to that," answered the 
 fingers ; and so saying, they took hold of it 
 by the body. 
 
 " Look, I come with a train !" said the 
 darning-needle, drawing a long thread after 
 it, but there was no knot to the thread. 
 The fingers directed the needle against 
 128
 
 THE DARNING-NEEDLE. 129 
 
 an old pair of shoes belonging to the cook. 
 The upper-leather was torn, and it was now 
 to be sewed together, 
 
 "That is vulgar work," said the needle; 
 " I can never get through it. I shall break I 
 I shall break !" And it really did break. " Did 
 I not say so ?" said the needle ; " I am too 
 delicate," 
 
 "Now it's good for nothing," said the 
 fingers, but they were obliged to hold it still ; 
 the cook dropped sealing-wax upon it, and 
 pinned her neckerchief together with it 
 
 " Well, now I am a breast-pin," said the 
 darning-needle. " I was sure I should be 
 raised to honor: if one is something, one 
 is sure to get on !" and at the same time it 
 laughed inwardly ; for one can never see 
 when a darning-needle laughs. So there it 
 sat now as proudly as in a state-carriage, and 1 
 looked around on every side, 
 
 " May I take the liberty to inquire if you I 
 are of gold ?" asked the needle of a pin | 
 that was its neighbor. You have a splendid j 
 exterior, and a head of your own, but it is 
 small, however. You must do what you 
 can to grow, for it is not every one that is 
 9
 
 130 THE, DARNING-NEEDLE. 
 
 bedi'opped with sealing-wax !" And then 
 the darning-needle drew itself up so high 
 that it fell out of the kerchief, and tumbled 
 right into the sink, which the cook was at 
 that moment rinsing out. 
 
 " Now we are going on our travels," said 
 the needle. " If only I do not get lost !" But 
 It really did get lost. 
 
 " I am too dehcate for this world !" said 
 the needle, as it lay in the sink, " but 1 know 
 who I am, and that is always a consolation ;" 
 and the darning-needle maintained its proud 
 demeanor, and lost none of its good-humor. 
 
 And all sorts of things swam over it — 
 shavings, straws, and scraps of old news- 
 papers. 
 
 " Only look how they sail by," said the 
 needle. " They do not know what is hidden 
 below them ! I stick fast here : here I sit. 
 Look ! there goes a shaving : it thinks of no- 
 thing in the world but of itself — but of a shav- 
 ing ! There drifts a straw ; and how it tacks 
 about, how it turns round ! Think of some- 
 thing else besides yourself, or else perhaps 
 you'll run against a stone ! There swims a bi t 
 of a newspaper. What's written there is long
 
 THE DARNINCx-NEEDLE. 131 
 
 ago forgotten, and yet out it spreads itself, as 
 if it were mighty important ! I s^it here patient 
 and still : I know wiio I am, and that I shall 
 remain after all!" 
 
 One day there lay something close beside 
 the needle. It glittered so splendidly, that 
 the needle thought it must be a diamond: 
 but it was only a bit of a broken bottle, and 
 because it glittered the darning-needle ad- 
 dressed it, and introduced itself to the other 
 as a breast-pin. 
 
 " You are, no doubt, a diamond ?" 
 
 '^Yes, something of that sort." And so 
 each thought the other something very pre- 
 cious, and they talked together of the world, 
 and of how haughty it is, 
 
 "I was with a certain miss, in a little box," 
 said the darning-needle, " and this miss was 
 cook ; and on each hand she had five fingers. 
 In my whole life I have never seen anything 
 so conceited as these fingers ! And yet they 
 were only there to take me out of the box and 
 to put me back into it again !" 
 
 " Were they, then, of noble birth V asked 
 the broken bottle. 
 
 " Noble !" said the darning-needle ; ^^ no,
 
 132 THE DARNING-NEEDLE. 
 
 but high-minded ! There were five brothers, 
 all descendants of the ' Fingei' family. Theji 
 always kept together, although they were oi 
 different lengths. The outermost one, little 
 Thumb, was short and stovU ; he went at 
 the side, a little in front of the ranks : he 
 had, too, but one joint in his back, so that 
 lie could only make one bow ; but he said, if 
 a man were to cut him off, such an one were 
 no longer fit for military service. Sweet- 
 tooth, the second finger, pryed into what was 
 sweet, as well as into what was sour, pointed 
 to the sun and moon, and he it was that 
 gave stress when they wrote. Longman, the 
 third brother, looked at the others con- 
 temptuously over his shoulder. Goldrim, the 
 fourth, wore a golden girdle round his body I 
 and the little Peter Playallday did nothing 
 at all, of which he was very proud. 'Twas 
 boasting, and boasting, and nothing but boast- 
 mg, and so away I went." 
 
 "And now we sit here and glitter,'^ said 
 the broken glass bottle. 
 
 At the same moment more water came 
 along the gutter ; it streamed over the sides 
 and carried the bit of bottle away wilh it
 
 THE DARNING-NEEDLE. 133 
 
 " Well, that's an advancement," said the 
 darning-needle. " I remain where I am : I 
 am too fine ; but that is just my prile, and 
 as such is to be respected." And there it sat 
 so proudly, and had many grand thoughts. 
 
 " I should almost think that I was born of 
 a sunbeam, so fine am I ! It seems to me, 
 too, as if the sunbeams were always seek- 
 ing me beneath the surface of the water. 
 Ah ! I am so fine, that my mother is unable 
 to find me ! Had I my old eye that broke, 1 
 verily think I could weep ; but I would not 
 — weep ! no, it's not genteel to weep ! " 
 
 One day two boys came rummaging about 
 in the sink, where they found old nails, far- 
 things, and such sort of things. It was dirty 
 work ; however, they took pleasure in it. 
 
 "Oh !" cried one who had pricked himself 
 with the needle, " there's a fellow for you." 
 
 " I am no fellow, I am a lady ! " said the 
 darning-needle ; but no one heard it. The 
 .ealing-wax had worn off, and it had become 
 uite black ; but black makes one look more 
 Blender, and the needle fancied it looked more 
 delicate than ever. 
 
 "Here coines an egg-shell saihng along !'
 
 134 THE DARNING-NEEDLE. 
 
 said the boys ; and then they stuck the needle 
 upright in the egg-shell. 
 
 " The walls white and myself black," said 
 the needle. "That is becoming! People 
 can see me now ! If only 1 do not get sea- 
 sick, for then I shall snap." 
 
 But it was not sea-sick, and did not snap. 
 
 "It is good for sea-sickness to have a 
 stomach of steel, and not to forget that one 
 is something more than a human being ! 
 Now my sea-sickness is over. The finer one 
 is, the more one can endure !" 
 
 " Crack ! " said the egg-shell : a wheel went 
 over it. 
 
 " Good heavens ! how heavy that presses !" 
 said the needle. Now I shall be sea-sick ! 
 I snap!" But it did not snap, although a 
 wheel went over it. It lay there at full length, 
 and there it may lie stilL
 
 THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL. 
 
 OST terribly cold 
 
 it was ; it snowed, 
 
 and was nearly 
 
 quite dark, and eve- 
 
 ninsf — the last evenins: 
 
 of the year. In this 
 cold and darkness there 
 went along the street 
 a poor little girl, bareheaded, and 
 "^ with naked feet. When she left 
 ome she had slippers on, it is true ; but 
 what was the good of that? They were 
 very large slippers, which her mother had 
 hitherto worn ; so large were they ; and 
 the poor little thing lost them as she scuf- 
 fled away across the street, because of two 
 carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast 
 133
 
 136 THE LITTLE MATCH-GIRL. 
 
 One slipper was nowhere to be found ; the 
 other had been laid hold of by an urchin, 
 and off he ran with it ; he thought it would 
 do capitally for a cradle when he some day 
 or other should have children himself. fSo 
 the little maiden walked on wHh her tiny 
 naked feet, that were quite reci and blue 
 from cold. She carried a quantity of match- 
 es in an old apron, and she held a bundle of 
 them in her hand. Nobody had bought any- 
 thing of her the whole livelong day ; no one 
 had given her a single farthing. 
 
 She crept along trembhng with cold and 
 hunger — a very picture of sorrow, the poor 
 little thing ! 
 
 The flakes of snow covered her long fair 
 hair, which fell in beautiful curls around her 
 neck ; but of that, of course, she never once 
 now thought. From all the windows the 
 candles were gleaming, and it smelt so 
 deliciously of roast goose, for you know it 
 was new year's eve ; yes, of that she thoughU 
 
 In a cornea" formed by two houses, of which 
 one advanced more than the other, she seated 
 herself down and cowered, together. Her 
 little feet she had drawn close up to her, but
 
 THE LITTLE MATCH-GIRL. 137 
 
 she grew colder and colder, and to go home 
 she did not venture, for she had not sold any 
 matches and could not bring a farthing of 
 money : from her father she Avould certainly 
 get blows, and at home it was cold too, for 
 above her she had only the roof, through 
 which the wind whistled, even though the 
 largest cracks were stopped up with straw 
 and rags.^ 
 
 Her little hands were almost numbed with 
 cold. Oh ! a match might afford her a Avorld 
 of comfort, if she only dared take a single 
 one out of the bundle, draw it against the wall, 
 and warm her fingers by it. She drew one 
 out. " Rischt ! " how it blazed, how it burnt ! 
 It was a warm, bright flame, like a candle, 
 as she held her hands over it : it was a won- 
 derful light. It seemed really to the little 
 maiden as though she were sitting before a 
 large iron stove, w4th burnished brass feet 
 and a brass ornament at top. The fire burn- 
 ed with such blessed influence ; it warmed 
 so delightfully. The little girl had already 
 stretched out her feet to warm them too ; but 
 — the small flame went out. the stove vanish-
 
 138 THE LITTLE MATCH-GIRL. 
 
 ed: she had only the remams of the burnt 
 
 out match in her hand. 
 
 She rubbed another against the wall : it 
 
 burned brightly, and where the light fell on 
 
 the wall, there the wall became transparent 
 
 hke a veil, so that she could see into the room. 
 
 On the table was spread a snow-white table- 
 cloth ; upon it was a splendid porcelain ser- 
 vice, and the roast goose was steaming fa- 
 mously with its stuffing of apple and dried 
 plums. And what was still more capital to 
 behold was, the goose hopped down from the 
 dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and 
 fork in its breast, till it came up to the poor 
 httle girl ; when— the match went out and 
 nothmg but the thick, cold, damp wall was 
 left behind. 1 She lighted another match. 
 Now there sKe was sitting under the most 
 magnificent Christmas trees : it was still larg- 
 er, and more decorated than the one which 
 she had seen through the glass door in the 
 rich merchant's house. 
 
 ^Thousands of lights were burning on the 
 green branches, and gaily-colored pictures, 
 such as she had seen in the shop-windows
 
 THE LITTLE MATCII-GIRL. 139 
 
 looked down upon her. The little maiden 
 stretched out her hands towards them when^'^> 
 — the match went out. The lights of the 
 Christmas tree rose higher and higher, she 
 saw them now as stars in heaven ; one fell 
 down and formed a long trail of fire. 
 
 " Some one is just dead !" said the little 
 girl ; for her old grandmother, the only per- 
 son who had loved lier, and who was now 
 no more, had told her, that when a star falls, 
 a soul ascends to God. 
 
 She drew another match against the wall : 
 it was again light, and in the lustre there 
 stood the old grandmother, so bright and 
 radiant, so mild, and with such an expression 
 of love. 
 
 " Grandmother !" cried the little one ; " oh, 
 take me with you ! You go away when the 
 match burns out ; you vanish like the warm 
 stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like 
 the magnificent Christmas tree !" And she 
 rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly 
 against the wall, for she wanted to be quite 
 sure of keeping her grandmother near her. 
 And the matches gave such a brilhant hght 
 that it was brighter than at noon-day ; never
 
 140 THE LITTLE MATCH-GIRL. 
 
 formerly had the grandmother been so beau- 
 iful and so tall. She took the httle maiden, 
 on her arm, and both flew in brightness and 
 in joy so high, so very high, and then above 
 
 was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety 
 
 they were with God. 
 
 But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, 
 sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with 
 a smiHng mouth, leaning against the wall- 
 frozen to death on the last evening of the old 
 year. Stiff and stark sat the child there 
 with her matches, of which one bundle had 
 been burnt. " She wanted to warm herself," 
 people said: no one had the slightest sus- 
 picion of what beautiful things she had seen ; 
 no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, 
 with her grandmother she had entered on the 
 joys of a new year.
 
 THE RED SHOES. 
 
 HERE was once a little 
 girl who was very pret- 
 j^ ty and delicate, but in 
 ^ summer she was 
 
 forced to run about 
 with bare feet, she 
 P^=^ was so poor, and 
 ~~ in winter wear very 
 
 large wooden shoes, which made her little 
 insteps quite red, and that looked so danger- 
 ous ! 
 
 In the middle of the village lived old Dame 
 Shoemaker ; she sate and sewed together, as 
 well as she could, a little pair ol shoes out of 
 old red strips of cloth ; they were very clumsy, 
 out it was a kind thought. They were meant 
 for the little girl. The little girl was called 
 Karen. 
 
 141
 
 142 THE RED SHOES. 
 
 On the very day her mother was buried, 
 Karen received the red shoes, and wore them 
 for the first time. They were certainly not 
 intended for mournmg, but she had no others, 
 and with stockingless feet she followed the 
 poor straw coffin in them. 
 
 Suddenly a large old carriage drove up, 
 and a large old lady sate in it : she looked at 
 the little girl, felt compassion for her, and 
 then said to the clergyman : 
 
 " Here, give me the little girl, I will adopt 
 her!" 
 
 And Karen believed all this happened on 
 account of the red shoes, but the old lady 
 thought they were horrible, and they were 
 burnt. But Karen herself was cleanly and 
 nicely dressed ; she must learn to read and 
 sew ; and people said she was a nice little 
 thing, but the looking-glass said : " Thou art 
 more than nice, thou art beautiful!" 
 
 Now the queen once traveled through the 
 land, and she had her little daughter with 
 her. And this little daughter was a princess, 
 and people streamed to the castle, and Karen 
 was there also, and the little princess stood 
 in her fine white dress, in a window, and lei.
 
 THE RED SHOES. 143 
 
 herself be stared at ; she had neither a train 
 nor a golden crown, but splendid red morocco 
 shoes. Thej' were certainly far handsomer 
 than those Dame Shoemaker had made for 
 little Karen. Nothing in the world can be 
 compared with red shoes. 
 
 Now Karen was old enough to be confirm- 
 ed ; she had new clothes and was to have 
 new shoes also. The rich shoemaker in the 
 city took the measure of her little foot. This 
 took place at his house, in his room ; where 
 stood large glass-cases, filled with elegant 
 shoes and brilliant boots. All this looked 
 charming, but the old lady could not see well, 
 and so had no pleasure in them. In the midst 
 of the shoes stood a pair of red ones, just 
 like those the princess had worn. How beau- 
 tiful they were ! The shoemaker said also 
 they had been made for the child of a count, 
 but had not fitted. 
 
 "That must be patent leather!" said the 
 old lady, " they shine so ! " 
 
 "Yes, they shine!" said Karen, and they 
 fitted, and were bought, but the old lady knew 
 nothing about their being red, else she would 
 never have allowed Karen to have gone in 
 
 ss
 
 144 ^ THE RED SHOES. 
 
 red shoes to be confirmed. Yet such was the 
 case. 
 
 Everybody looked at her feet ; and when 
 she stepped through the chancel door on the 
 church pavement, it seemed to her as if the 
 old figures on the tombs, those portraits of 
 old preachers and preachers' wives, with stiflf 
 ruffs, and long black dresses, fixed their eyes 
 on her red shoes. And she thought only of 
 them as the clergyman laid his hand upon 
 her head, and spoke of the holy baptism, of 
 the covenant Avith God. and how she should 
 be now a matured Christian ; and the organ 
 pealed so solemnly ; the sweet children's voices 
 sang, and the old music-directors sang, but 
 Karen only thought of her red shoes. 
 
 In the afternoon, the old lady heard from 
 every one that the shoes had been red, and 
 she said that it was very wrong of Karen, thai 
 it was not at all becoming, and that in future 
 Karen should only go in black shoes to church, 
 even when she should be older. 
 
 The next Sunday there was the sacrament, 
 and Karen looked at the black shoes, looked 
 at the red ones — looked at them again, and 
 put on the red shoes.
 
 THE RED SHOES. 145 
 
 riie sun shone gloriously ; Karen and the 
 old lady walked along the path through the 
 corn ; it was rather dusty there. 
 
 At the church door stood an old soldier with 
 a crutch, and with a wonderfully long beard, 
 which was more red than white, and he bow- 
 ed to the ground, and asked the old lady 
 whether he might dust her shoes. And Karen 
 stretched out her little foot. 
 
 "See ! what beautiful dancing-shoes !" said 
 the soldier, " sit firm when you dance ;" and 
 he put his hand out towards the soles. 
 
 And the old " lady gave the old soldier an 
 alms, and went into the church with Karen. 
 
 And all the people in the church looked at 
 Karen's red shoes, and all the pictures, aiid 
 as Karen knelt before the altar, and raised 
 the cup to her lips, she only thought of the 
 red shoes, and they seemed to swim in it ; 
 and she forgot to sing her psalm, and she 
 forgot to pray, "Our father in Heaven !" 
 
 Now all the people went out of church, 
 and the old lady got into her carriage. Karen 
 raised her foot to get in after her, when the 
 old soldier said, 
 
 "Look, what beautiful dancing shoos !" 
 10
 
 146 THE RED SHOES. 
 
 And Karen could not help dancing a step 
 or two, and when she began her feet continu- 
 ed to dance ; it was just as though the shoes 
 had power over them. She danced round the 
 church corner, she could not leave off; the 
 coachman was obliged to run after and catch 
 hold of her, and he lifted her in the carriage, 
 but her feet continued to dance so that she 
 trod on the old lady dreadfully. At length 
 she took the shoes off, and then her legs had 
 peace. 
 
 The shoes were placed in a closet at home, 
 but Karen could not avoid looking at them. 
 
 Now the old lady was sick, and it was said 
 she could not recover ? She must be nursed 
 and waited upon, and there was no one whose 
 duty it was so much as Karen's. But there 
 was a great ball in the city, to which Karen 
 was invited. She looked at the old lady, 
 who could not recover, she looked at the red 
 shoes, and she thought there could be no sin 
 in it ; — she put on the red shoes, she might 
 do that also, she thought. But then she 
 went to the ball and began to dance. 
 
 When she wanted to dance to the right, 
 the shoes would dance to the left, and when
 
 THE RED SHOES. 147 
 
 she wanted to dance up the room, the shoes 
 danced back again, down the steps, into the 
 street, and out of the city gate. She danced, 
 and was forced to dance straight out into the 
 gloomy wood. 
 
 Then it was suddenly hght up among the 
 trees, and she fancied it must be tiie moon, 
 for there v/as a face ; but it was the old sol- 
 dier with the red beard ; he sate there, nodded 
 his head, and said, " Look, what beautiful 
 dancing shoes !" 
 
 Then she was terrified, and wanted to 
 fling off the red shoes, but they clung fast ; 
 and she pulled down her stockings, but the 
 shoes seemed to hav^e grown to her feet. And 
 she danced, and must dance, over fields and 
 meadows, in rain and sunshine, by night and 
 day ; but at night it was the most fearful. 
 
 She danced ov^er the churchyard, but the 
 dead did not dance, — they had something 
 better to do than to dance. She wished to 
 seat herself on a poor man's grave, where the 
 bitter tansy grew ; but for her there was nei- 
 ther peace nor rest ; and when she danced 
 towards the open church door, she saw an 
 angel standing there. He wore long, white
 
 148 THE RED SHOES. 
 
 garments ; he had wings which reached from 
 his shoulders to the earth ; his countenance 
 was severe and grave ; and in his hand he 
 held a sword, broad and glittering. 
 
 "Dance shalt thou!" said he, — "dance in 
 thy red shoes till thou art pale and cold ! till 
 thy skin shrivels up and thou art a skeleton ! 
 Dance shalt thou from door to door, and 
 where proud, vain children dwell, thou shalt 
 knock, that they may hear thee and tremble ! 
 Dance shalt thou !" 
 
 " Mercy !" ciioid Karen. But she did not 
 hear the angel's reply, for the shoes carried 
 her through the gate into the fields, across 
 roads and bridges, and she must keep ever 
 dancing. 
 
 One morning she danced past a door which 
 she Avell knew. Within sounded a psalm ; a 
 coffin, decked with flowers, was borne forth. 
 Then she knew that the old lady was dead, 
 and felt that she was abandoned by all, and 
 condemned by the angel of God. 
 
 She danced, and she was forced to dance 
 through the gloomy night. The shoes carried 
 her over stack and stone ; she was torn till 
 Bhe bled ; she danced over the heath till she
 
 THE RED SHOES. 149 
 
 came to a little house. Here, she knew, 
 dwelt the executioner ; and she tapped with 
 her fingers at the window, and said, " Come 
 out ! come out ! I cannot come in, for I am 
 forced to dance ! " 
 
 And the executioner said, " Thou dost not 
 know who I am, I fancy ? I strike bad peo- 
 ple's heads off; and I hear that my axe 
 rings !" 
 
 " Don't strike my head off ! " said Karen, 
 " then I can't repent of my sins ! But strike 
 off my feet in the red shoes !" 
 
 And then she confessed her entire sin, and 
 the executioner struck off her feet with the 
 red shoes, but the shoes danced away with 
 the little feet across the field into the deep 
 wood. 
 
 And he carved out little wooden feet for 
 her, and crutches, taught her the psalm crimi- 
 nals always sing ; and she kissed the hand 
 which had wielded the axe, and went over 
 the heath. 
 
 " Now I have suffered enough for the red 
 shoes !" said she ; " now I will go into the 
 church that people may see me !" And she
 
 150 THE RED SHOES. 
 
 hastened towards the church door : but when 
 she was near it, the red shoes danced before 
 her, and she was terrified, and turned round. 
 The whole week she was unhappy, and wept 
 many bitter tears ; but when Sunday return- 
 ed, she said, " Well, now I have suffered and 
 struggled enough ! I really believe I am as 
 good as many a one who sits in the church, 
 and holds her head so high ! " 
 
 And away she went boldly ; but she had 
 not got farther than the churchyard gate 
 before she saw the red shoes dancing before 
 her ; and she was frightened, and turned 
 back, and repented of her sin from her heart. 
 
 And she went to the parsonage, and 
 begged that they would take her into ser- 
 vice ; she would be very industrious, she 
 said, and would dfi everything she could ; she 
 did not care about the wages, only she wish- 
 ed to have a home, and be with good people. 
 And the clergyman's wife was sorry for her 
 and took her into service ; and she was in- 
 dustrious and thoughtful. She sate still and 
 listened when the clergyman read the Bible 
 in the evenings. All the children thought a
 
 THE RED SHOES. 153 
 
 deal of her; but when they spoke of dress, 
 and grandeur, and beauty, she shook her 
 head. 
 
 The following Sunday, when the family 
 was going to church, they asked her whether 
 she would not go with them ; but she glanced 
 sorrowfully, with tears in her eyes, at her 
 crutches. The family went to hear the word 
 of God ; but she went alone into her little 
 chamber ; there was only room for a bed and 
 chair to stand in it ; and here she sate down 
 with her prayer-book ; and whilst she read 
 with a pious mind, the wind bore the strains 
 of the organ towards her, and she raised 
 her tearful countenance, and said, " O God, 
 help me ! " 
 
 And the sun shone so clearly ! and straiglit 
 before her stood the "angel pf God in white 
 garments, the same she had seen that night 
 at the church door ; but he no longer carried 
 the sharp sword, but in its stead a splendid 
 green spray, full of roses. And he touched 
 the ceiling with the spray, and the ceiling 
 rose so high, and where he had touched it 
 there gleamed a golden star. And he touch- 
 ed the walls, and they widened out, and she 
 
 tt
 
 152 THE RED SHOES* 
 
 saw the organ which was playing ; she sa\v 
 the old pictures of the preachers and the 
 preachers' wives. The congregation sat in 
 cushioned seats, and sang out of their prayer- 
 books. For the chuich itself had come to the- 
 poor girl in her narrow chamber, or else she 
 had come into the church. She sate in the 
 pew with the clergyman's family, and when 
 they had ended the psalm and looked up, 
 they nodded and said, " It is right that thou 
 art come ! " 
 
 " It was through mercy ! " she said. 
 
 And the organ pealed, and the children's 
 voices in the choir sounded so sweet and 
 soft ! The clear sunshine streamed so warm- 
 ly through the window into the pew where 
 Karen sate ! Her heart was so full of sun- 
 shine, peace, and joy, that it broke. Her soul 
 flew on the sunshine to God, and there no 
 one asked after the Red Shoes.
 
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 Peter the Wbaler ; 
 
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 XOULISHED BY C. S. FRANCIS <fe CO., ITEW YOkK)k 
 
 PETER THE WHALER: 
 
 HIS EARLY LIFE AND ADVENTURES 
 
 -HE ARCTIC BEGIONS AND OTHER PARTS OP THE WOftLD 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 CONTENTS or THE OHAPTERS. 
 
 Chap. I. — An Account of my Family and Early Life.— 1 neglect 
 the Precepts of my Father, and listen to an Evil Counsellor. 
 
 Chap. II. — Why I went to Sea. — I suffer in consequence of .Hcting 
 opon the Advice of an Evil Counsellor. — I find that it is easier to 
 make a False Step than to retrace it. 
 
 Chap. III.— I visit Liverpool, and gain some insight into the Waya 
 of the World. — Am introduced to the Master of the Black Swan. 
 
 Chap. IV.— I go on board the Black Swan, and offer to make my- 
 self useful ; but my Services are not appreciated.— I meet Silas 
 Flint, and make the Acquaintance of some Emigrants. — 1 discover 
 that there are others worse off than myself. 
 
 Chap. V.— My first experience of a Sea Life. — The embarkation 
 of Emigrants for North America. — The First Mate reminds me that 
 [ offered to make myself useful. — An Emigrant Ship. — We sau, 
 and I go aloft for the first time. — Dick Derrick's advice. 
 
 Chap. VL— Flint shows he has not forgotten me.— .My first intro- 
 duction to Ice, of which I am destined to see much more.— A 
 Foundering Ship. 
 
 Chap. Vil.— i claim my Rights but do not get them acknowledged. 
 — Am treated as a Mutineer. — A Friend in Need. — I discover that 
 there are other things to be guarded against besides Rocks, and 
 Shoals, and Icebergs. — A Ship on Fire. 
 
 Chap. Vlll. — Consequences of the Want of Discipline. — Our Cap- 
 tain deserts us.— Many trust themselves on rafts.— Co luage and 
 Coolness of our Second Mate. 
 
 Chap. IX.— I obtain a Proof that the Gentle and Humane are 
 generally brave in the Hour of Daager. — A true Sailor will not 
 desert his Ship till the last. — Silas tempts me to go away on the 
 Raft. — Aid comes when Hope has almost departed. — A few are 
 saved, but a bitter Disappointment awaits the rest. 
 
 Chap. X. — VV^e once more see the Mary. — Our Hopes of Preserv- 
 ation are again disappointed. — The F re is extinguished by its more 
 powerful Rival. 
 
 Chap. XI.— Captain Dean and his Daughter a contrast to Captain 
 Bwulos and Mr. Stovin. — 1 am taken ill, and gently nursed. — VVe 
 reach a Port at last — A Description of Quebec. — A conversation 
 between Mary Dean and me. 
 
 Chaps. XII. and XIIL— Adventures in Canada and the United 
 States. 
 
 Chap. XIV.— Sail for the Havana.— Captain Hawk keeps h* 
 Promise. — A Surprise.— I find that a Romantic Pirate and a Re* 
 Pirate are very different Persoos.— Am taken Prisoner.
 
 Chap. XV. — Life on board the Rover. — Indulge in the pleasing 
 reflection that I may possibly hang as a Pirate. — ! try to escape.— 
 We chase. — ^Ve catch a Tartar. — Alark Antony tries to induce me 
 to liirn Pirate.- We are chased. — A considerable difference in the 
 jensLition. 
 
 Chaps. XVI., XV'II., and XV{I[. — Adventures amon^ the Pirates. 
 
 CiiAF. XIX.— Sail in the Pocahontas Ibrthe North J^eas.— An ac- 
 count of an American Man-of-War. — I become acquainted with 
 Andrew Thompson. — lie describes Labrador to me. — The i*rince3s 
 Pocahontas. — A Man ovor-board. — How to behave in the Water, 
 
 Chap. XX. — Ag-ain Terence lalJs from aloft, and is saved. — We 
 reach the North Sea. — The Birds of those Regions. — I am at the 
 Helm. — The Ship strikes an Iceberg.— Goes down. — Tlie Marines 
 firing on the Crew. — A few alone escape. 
 
 Chaps. XXI. and XXII. — Nights and Days on an Iceberg. 
 
 Chap. XXfll.— The Whale Ship. — I Join her. — Description of a 
 Whaler.— Her Boats. Harpoons, and other Gear.— The Crow's-Nest. 
 — All ready for I'ishing. — Reach a Field of Ice.— Narrow Escape. 
 
 Chap. XXIV. — A Visit Irora Father Neptune.— 1 am made free 
 of the Arctic Regions.— "• A Fall, a Fall I'"— Our First Fish.— Tom 
 thinks the Ship is sinking, — Tow our Prize alongside. 
 
 Chap. XXV. — We secure our Fish.— How to carvo a Whale. — 
 A Greenland Shark. — Arctic Birds. — A South-Sea Whaler. — A 
 Bear in a Boat. 
 
 Chap. XXV'I. — Joined by other Ships, — Land seen. — Cape Fly- 
 away.- -Danish Colonies. —Visited by Esquimaux. — We land.— 
 Begin to struggle with the Ice. — Fishing on the Ice. — Made fast to 
 an Iceberg. — Cut through a Field of Ice. — Preparations for a Nip. 
 
 Chap. XXVIi. — The Nip come.— A Ship nipped. — Go to her aid. 
 —Rescue our Countrymen.— Forecastle Varus about Shipwrecks 
 and Whale-Catching. — The Nip takes off and we are free.— A Beau 
 tiful Scene. 
 
 Chap. XXVIII. — Pond's Ray. — A run of Whales.— More Fishing. 
 — Sea Unict)rns. — A fast Fish. — Leave the Bay. — An Account of 
 some Arctic Expeditions, sent in search of Sir John Franklin and 
 his brave Companions. 
 
 Chaps. XXIX. and XXX. Adventures in the Northern Regions. 
 
 CuAP. XXXI. — Our Join-ney continued.— A VVreck discovered. — 
 We find Treasures on board. — Look out for a Spot to land. — Fix 
 on a Spot, and build a Hut.— Go back to the Ship, to fetch more 
 Stoies. — Find Visitors on board the Ship. — More Bear's Flesh. 
 
 Chaps. XXXIL, XXXIIL, XXXIV., and XXXV.— Adventuj-efl 
 among the Esquimaux. 
 
 Chap. XXX VI. — We begin our Vessel. — The Esquimaux regiet 
 ►o lose us. — Andrew urges us not to work on a Sunday.- Capa- 
 ♦>ility ot the Esquimaux for receiving thy Truths of Christianity 
 -We complete our Vessel.— Provision and store her.— Our Vessel 
 ttestroyed. — A Ship in the Clouds. — Farewell to the Esquimau.x.— 
 Voyage.— VVreck. — Reach my lather's Home a Beggar. — No one 
 U Home. — Meet Captain Dean. — Return once more to my Family
 
 ffvamis U Co.'s aittle Uilirars. 
 
 f. S. Francis & Co., New York, hetvf published a uniform Seriu 
 of Choice volumes for Young People, by some of the most distiw 
 guished writers for Children. J^eatly bound in cloth, and illus 
 trated by Enffrar^ings. 
 
 L. MARIA CHILD.— Flowers FOR Children: No. l,forCbil- 
 dren ei^ht or nine years old. 
 
 Flowers for Children: No. 2, for Children tUreo or foui 
 
 years old. 
 Flowers for Children : No. 3, for Children eleven or 
 
 twelve years old. 
 MARY HOWITT.— Fireside Tales. 
 
 The Christmas Tree: A Book of Stories. 
 
 The Ti'RTLE Dove of Carmel; and other Stories. 
 
 The Favorite Scholar ; Little Chatterbox ; Perse- 
 verance, and other Tales. By Mary Howitt, Mra. S. 
 C. Hall, and others. 
 
 MRS. TRIMMER.— The Robbins; or Domestic Life among 
 the Birds. Itesitrned for the Instruction of Children 
 respecting their Treatment of Animals. 
 
 MISS LESLIE. — KussEL and Sidney and Chase Lorinq 
 Taltjs of the American Revolution. 
 
 MRS. CAROLINE OILMAN.- The Little Wreath oi 
 Stories and Poems for Children. 
 
 Stories and Poems for Children. 
 
 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.— A Christmas Greet 
 iNo: Thirteen New Stories from tlie Danish of Ham 
 Christian Andersen. 
 
 A Picture Book without Pictures ; ana v^mer Stories 
 
 by Hans Christian Andersen. Translated by Mau7 
 Howitt, with a Memoir of the Author. 
 
 A Danish Story Book. 
 
 CLAUDINE ; or Humility the Basis of all the Virtues. 
 A Swiss Tale. By a Mother; author of "Always Hap- 
 py," " True Stories from History," &c. 
 
 FACTS TO CORRECT FANCIES; or Short Narratives 
 compiled fiom the Memoirs of Remarkable Women. 
 Bv a Mother. 
 
 HOLIDAY STORIES. Containing five Moral Tales. 
 
 MRS HOFLAND.— The History of an Officer's Widow 
 and her ^'oung Family. 
 
 The Clkruyman's Widow, and her Young Family. 
 
 The Mkr( hant's Widow, and her Young Family. 
 
 MISS ABBOT,— Kate and Lizzie; or Six Months out or 
 
 School. 
 MISS ELIZA ROBBINS.— Classic Tales. Designed for tbo 
 
 Instruction and Amusement of Young Persons. By the 
 
 author of "American Popular Lessons," &c. 
 MRS. S. C. HALL.— Turns of Fortune; All is not Oolp 
 
 that (Jlitteps, &c. 
 '*'"■ Private Purse; Ci.kvernkss. a/id other Tales.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book Is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 'MO PHONE 
 
 '>k. 
 
 mm 1 8 1988 
 
 REC'D LD-URL 
 ION JUL^'e'SS 
 
 i\ feYn7199{ 
 JUN23'97 REC 
 
 RENEWALS 
 
 4WKAPR2 8 1991 
 
 012000 
 
 R I3 REC'D :OOAIVI
 
 / 
 
 3 1158 00455 7285