Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen

[أرب جمـال]

THE TOP AND BALL



A WHIPPING TOP and a little ball lay together in a box,
among other toys, and the top said to the ball, "Shall we be
married, as we live in the same box?"

But the ball, which wore a dress of morocco leather, and
thought as much of herself as any other young lady, would not
even condescend to reply.

The next day came the little boy to whom the playthings
belonged, and he painted the top red and yellow, and drove a
brass-headed nail into the middle, so that while the top was
spinning round it looked splendid.

"Look at me," said the top to the ball. "What do you say
now? Shall we be engaged to each other? We should suit so
well; you spring, and I dance. No one could be happier than we
should be."

"Indeed! do you think so? Perhaps you do not know that my
father and mother were morocco slippers, and that I have a
Spanish cork in my body."

"Yes; but I am made of mahogany," said the top. "The major
himself turned me. He has a turning lathe of his own, and it
is a great amusement to him."

"Can I believe it?" asked the ball.

"May I never be whipped again," said the top, "if I am not
telling you the truth."

"You certainly know how to speak for yourself very well,"
said the ball; "but I cannot accept your proposal. I am almost
engaged to a swallow. Every time I fly up in the air, he puts
his head out of the nest, and says, 'Will you?' and I have
said, 'Yes,' to myself silently, and that is as good as being
half engaged; but I will promise never to forget you."

"Much good that will be to me," said the top; and they
spoke to each other no more.

Next day the ball was taken out by the boy. The top saw it
flying high in the air, like a bird, till it would go quite
out of sight. Each time it came back, as it touched the earth,
it gave a higher leap than before, either because it longed to
fly upwards, or from having a Spanish cork in its body. But
the ninth time it rose in the air, it remained away, and did
not return. The boy searched everywhere for it, but he
searched in vain, for it could not be found; it was gone.

"I know very well where she is," sighed the top; "she is
in the swallow's nest, and has married the swallow."

The more the top thought of this, the more he longed for
the ball. His love increased the more, just because he could
not get her; and that she should have been won by another, was
the worst of all. The top still twirled about and hummed, but
he continued to think of the ball; and the more he thought of
her, the more beautiful she seemed to his fancy.

Thus several years passed by, and his love became quite
old. The top, also, was no longer young; but there came a day
when he looked handsomer than ever; for he was gilded all
over. He was now a golden top, and whirled and danced about
till he hummed quite loud, and was something worth looking at;
but one day he leaped too high, and then he, also, was gone.
They searched everywhere, even in the cellar, but he was
nowhere to be found. Where could he be? He had jumped into the
dust-bin, where all sorts of rubbish were lying:
cabbage-stalks, dust, and rain-droppings that had fallen down
from the gutter under the roof.

"Now I am in a nice place," said he; "my gilding will soon
be washed off here. Oh dear, what a set of rabble I have got
amongst!" And then he glanced at a curious round thing like an
old apple, which lay near a long, leafless cabbage-stalk. It
was, however, not an apple, but an old ball, which had lain
for years in the gutter, and was soaked through with water.

"Thank goodness, here comes one of my own class, with whom
I can talk," said the ball, examining the gilded top. "I am
made of morocco," she said. "I was sewn together by a young
lady, and I have a Spanish cork in my body; but no one would
think it, to look at me now. I was once engaged to a swallow;
but I fell in here from the gutter under the roof, and I have
lain here more than five years, and have been thoroughly
drenched. Believe me, it is a long time for a young maiden."

The top said nothing, but he thought of his old love; and
the more she said, the more clear it became to him that this
was the same ball.

The servant then came to clean out the dust-bin.

"Ah," she exclaimed, "here is a gilt top." So the top was
brought again to notice and honor, but nothing more was heard
of the little ball. He spoke not a word about his old love;
for that soon died away. When the beloved object has lain for
five years in a gutter, and has been drenched through, no one
cares to know her again on meeting her in a dust-bin.



THE END

[أرب جمـال]

THE TINDER-BOX



A SOLDIER came marching along the high road: "Left, right-
left, right." He had his knapsack on his back, and a sword at
his side; he had been to the wars, and was now returning home.

As he walked on, he met a very frightful-looking old witch
in the road. Her under-lip hung quite down on her breast, and
she stopped and said, "Good evening, soldier; you have a very
fine sword, and a large knapsack, and you are a real soldier;
so you shall have as much money as ever you like."

"Thank you, old witch," said the soldier.

"Do you see that large tree," said the witch, pointing to
a tree which stood beside them. "Well, it is quite hollow
inside, and you must climb to the top, when you will see a
hole, through which you can let yourself down into the tree to
a great depth. I will tie a rope round your body, so that I
can pull you up again when you call out to me."

"But what am I to do, down there in the tree?" asked the
soldier.

"Get money," she replied; "for you must know that when you
reach the ground under the tree, you will find yourself in a
large hall, lighted up by three hundred lamps; you will then
see three doors, which can be easily opened, for the keys are
in all the locks. On entering the first of the chambers, to
which these doors lead, you will see a large chest, standing
in the middle of the floor, and upon it a dog seated, with a
pair of eyes as large as teacups. But you need not be at all
afraid of him; I will give you my blue checked apron, which
you must spread upon the floor, and then boldly seize hold of
the dog, and place him upon it. You can then open the chest,
and take from it as many pence as you please, they are only
copper pence; but if you would rather have silver money, you
must go into the second chamber. Here you will find another
dog, with eyes as big as mill-wheels; but do not let that
trouble you. Place him upon my apron, and then take what money
you please. If, however, you like gold best, enter the third
chamber, where there is another chest full of it. The dog who
sits on this chest is very dreadful; his eyes are as big as a
tower, but do not mind him. If he also is placed upon my
apron, he cannot hurt you, and you may take from the chest
what gold you will."

"This is not a bad story," said the soldier; "but what am
I to give you, you old witch? for, of course, you do not mean
to tell me all this for nothing."

"No," said the witch; "but I do not ask for a single
penny. Only promise to bring me an old tinder-box, which my
grandmother left behind the last time she went down there."

"Very well; I promise. Now tie the rope round my body."

"Here it is," replied the witch; "and here is my blue
checked apron."

As soon as the rope was tied, the soldier climbed up the
tree, and let himself down through the hollow to the ground
beneath; and here he found, as the witch had told him, a large
hall, in which many hundred lamps were all burning. Then he
opened the first door. "Ah!" there sat the dog, with the eyes
as large as teacups, staring at him.

"You're a pretty fellow," said the soldier, seizing him,
and placing him on the witch's apron, while he filled his
pockets from the chest with as many pieces as they would hold.
Then he closed the lid, seated the dog upon it again, and
walked into another chamber, And, sure enough, there sat the
dog with eyes as big as mill-wheels.

"You had better not look at me in that way," said the
soldier; "you will make your eyes water;" and then he seated
him also upon the apron, and opened the chest. But when he saw
what a quantity of silver money it contained, he very quickly
threw away all the coppers he had taken, and filled his
pockets and his knapsack with nothing but silver.

Then he went into the third room, and there the dog was
really hideous; his eyes were, truly, as big as towers, and
they turned round and round in his head like wheels.

"Good morning," said the soldier, touching his cap, for he
had never seen such a dog in his life. But after looking at
him more closely, he thought he had been civil enough, so he
placed him on the floor, and opened the chest. Good gracious,
what a quantity of gold there was! enough to buy all the
sugar-sticks of the sweet-stuff women; all the tin soldiers,
whips, and rocking-horses in the world, or even the whole town
itself There was, indeed, an immense quantity. So the soldier
now threw away all the silver money he had taken, and filled
his pockets and his knapsack with gold instead; and not only
his pockets and his knapsack, but even his cap and boots, so
that he could scarcely walk.

He was really rich now; so he replaced the dog on the
chest, closed the door, and called up through the tree, "Now
pull me out, you old witch."

"Have you got the tinder-box?" asked the witch.

"No; I declare I quite forgot it." So he went back and
fetched the tinderbox, and then the witch drew him up out of
the tree, and he stood again in the high road, with his
pockets, his knapsack, his cap, and his boots full of gold.

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

"That is nothing to you," replied the witch; "you have the
money, now give me the tinder-box."

"I tell you what," said the soldier, "if you don't tell me
what you are going to do with it, I will draw my sword and cut
off your head."

"No," said the witch.

The soldier immediately cut off her head, and there she
lay on the ground. Then he tied up all his money in her apron.
and slung it on his back like a bundle, put the tinderbox in
his pocket, and walked off to the nearest town. It was a very
nice town, and he put up at the best inn, and ordered a dinner
of all his favorite dishes, for now he was rich and had plenty
of money.

The servant, who cleaned his boots, thought they certainly
were a shabby pair to be worn by such a rich gentleman, for he
had not yet bought any new ones. The next day, however, he
procured some good clothes and proper boots, so that our
soldier soon became known as a fine gentleman, and the people
visited him, and told him all the wonders that were to be seen
in the town, and of the king's beautiful daughter, the
princess.

"Where can I see her?" asked the soldier.

"She is not to be seen at all," they said; "she lives in a
large copper castle, surrounded by walls and towers. No one
but the king himself can pass in or out, for there has been a
prophecy that she will marry a common soldier, and the king
cannot bear to think of such a marriage."

"I should like very much to see her," thought the soldier;
but he could not obtain permission to do so. However, he
passed a very pleasant time; went to the theatre, drove in the
king's garden, and gave a great deal of money to the poor,
which was very good of him; he remembered what it had been in
olden times to be without a shilling. Now he was rich, had
fine clothes, and many friends, who all declared he was a fine
fellow and a real gentleman, and all this gratified him
exceedingly. But his money would not last forever; and as he
spent and gave away a great deal daily, and received none, he
found himself at last with only two shillings left. So he was
obliged to leave his elegant rooms, and live in a little
garret under the roof, where he had to clean his own boots,
and even mend them with a large needle. None of his friends
came to see him, there were too many stairs to mount up. One
dark evening, he had not even a penny to buy a candle; then
all at once he remembered that there was a piece of candle
stuck in the tinder-box, which he had brought from the old
tree, into which the witch had helped him.

He found the tinder-box, but no sooner had he struck a few
sparks from the flint and steel, than the door flew open and
the dog with eyes as big as teacups, whom he had seen while
down in the tree, stood before him, and said, "What orders,
master?"

"Hallo," said the soldier; "well this is a pleasant
tinderbox, if it brings me all I wish for."

"Bring me some money," said he to the dog.

He was gone in a moment, and presently returned, carrying
a large bag of coppers in his month. The soldier very soon
discovered after this the value of the tinder-box. If he
struck the flint once, the dog who sat on the chest of copper
money made his appearance; if twice, the dog came from the
chest of silver; and if three times, the dog with eyes like
towers, who watched over the gold. The soldier had now plenty
of money; he returned to his elegant rooms, and reappeared in
his fine clothes, so that his friends knew him again directly,
and made as much of him as before.

After a while he began to think it was very strange that
no one could get a look at the princess. "Every one says she
is very beautiful," thought he to himself; "but what is the
use of that if she is to be shut up in a copper castle
surrounded by so many towers. Can I by any means get to see
her. Stop! where is my tinder-box?" Then he struck a light,
and in a moment the dog, with eyes as big as teacups, stood
before him.

"It is midnight," said the soldier, "yet I should very
much like to see the princess, if only for a moment."

The dog disappeared instantly, and before the soldier
could even look round, he returned with the princess. She was
lying on the dog's back asleep, and looked so lovely, that
every one who saw her would know she was a real princess. The
soldier could not help kissing her, true soldier as he was.
Then the dog ran back with the princess; but in the morning,
while at breakfast with the king and queen, she told them what
a singular dream she had had during the night, of a dog and a
soldier, that she had ridden on the dog's back, and been
kissed by the soldier.

"That is a very pretty story, indeed," said the queen. So
the next night one of the old ladies of the court was set to
watch by the princess's bed, to discover whether it really was
a dream, or what else it might be.

The soldier longed very much to see the princess once
more, so he sent for the dog again in the night to fetch her,
and to run with her as fast as ever he could. But the old lady
put on water boots, and ran after him as quickly as he did,
and found that he carried the princess into a large house. She
thought it would help her to remember the place if she made a
large cross on the door with a piece of chalk. Then she went
home to bed, and the dog presently returned with the princess.
But when he saw that a cross had been made on the door of the
house, where the soldier lived, he took another piece of chalk
and made crosses on all the doors in the town, so that the
lady-in-waiting might not be able to find out the right door.

Early the next morning the king and queen accompanied the
lady and all the officers of the household, to see where the
princess had been.

"Here it is," said the king, when they came to the first
door with a cross on it.

No, my dear husband, it must be that one," said the queen,
pointing to a second door having a cross also.

"And here is one, and there is another!" they all
exclaimed; for there were crosses on all the doors in every
direction.

So they felt it would be useless to search any farther.
But the queen was a very clever woman; she could do a great
deal more than merely ride in a carriage. She took her large
gold scissors, cut a piece of silk into squares, and made a
neat little bag. This bag she filled with buckwheat flour, and
tied it round the princess's neck; and then she cut a small
hole in the bag, so that the flour might be scattered on the
ground as the princess went along. During the night, the dog
came again and carried the princess on his back, and ran with
her to the soldier, who loved her very much, and wished that
he had been a prince, so that he might have her for a wife.
The dog did not observe how the flour ran out of the bag all
the way from the castle wall to the soldier's house, and even
up to the window, where he had climbed with the princess.
Therefore in the morning the king and queen found out where
their daughter had been, and the soldier was taken up and put
in prison. Oh, how dark and disagreeable it was as he sat
there, and the people said to him, "To-morrow you will be
hanged." It was not very pleasant news, and besides, he had
left the tinder-box at the inn. In the morning he could see
through the iron grating of the little window how the people
were hastening out of the town to see him hanged; he heard the
drums beating, and saw the soldiers marching. Every one ran
out to look at them. and a shoemaker's boy, with a leather
apron and slippers on, galloped by so fast, that one of his
slippers flew off and struck against the wall where the
soldier sat looking through the iron grating. "Hallo, you
shoemaker's boy, you need not be in such a hurry," cried the
soldier to him. "There will be nothing to see till I come; but
if you will run to the house where I have been living, and
bring me my tinder-box, you shall have four shillings, but you
must put your best foot foremost."

The shoemaker's boy liked the idea of getting the four
shillings, so he ran very fast and fetched the tinder-box, and
gave it to the soldier. And now we shall see what happened.
Outside the town a large gibbet had been erected, round which
stood the soldiers and several thousands of people. The king
and the queen sat on splendid thrones opposite to the judges
and the whole council. The soldier already stood on the
ladder; but as they were about to place the rope around his
neck, he said that an innocent request was often granted to a
poor criminal before he suffered death. He wished very much to
smoke a pipe, as it would be the last pipe he should ever
smoke in the world. The king could not refuse this request, so
the soldier took his tinder-box, and struck fire, once, twice,
thrice,- and there in a moment stood all the dogs;- the one
with eyes as big as teacups, the one with eyes as large as
mill-wheels, and the third, whose eyes were like towers. "Help
me now, that I may not be hanged," cried the soldier.

And the dogs fell upon the judges and all the councillors;
seized one by the legs, and another by the nose, and tossed
them many feet high in the air, so that they fell down and
were dashed to pieces.

"I will not be touched," said the king. But the largest
dog seized him, as well as the queen, and threw them after the
others. Then the soldiers and all the people were afraid, and
cried, "Good soldier, you shall be our king, and you shall
marry the beautiful princess."

So they placed the soldier in the king's carriage, and the
three dogs ran on in front and cried "Hurrah!" and the little
boys whistled through their fingers, and the soldiers
presented arms. The princess came out of the copper castle,
and became queen, which was very pleasing to her. The wedding
festivities lasted a whole week, and the dogs sat at the
table, and stared with all their eyes.



THE END

[أرب جمـال]

THE THISTLE'S EXPERIENCES


BELONGING to the lordly manor-house was beautiful,
well-kept garden, with rare trees and flowers; the guests of
the proprietor declared their admiration of it; the people of
the neighborhood, from town and country, came on Sundays and
holidays, and asked permission to see the garden; indeed,
whole schools used to pay visits to it.

Outside the garden, by the palings at the road-side, stood
a great mighty Thistle, which spread out in many directions
from the root, so that it might have been called a thistle
bush. Nobody looked at it, except the old Ass which drew the
milk-maid's cart. This Ass used to stretch out his neck
towards the Thistle, and say, "You are beautiful; I should
like to eat you!" But his halter was not long enough to let
him reach it and eat it.

There was great company at the manor-house- some very
noble people from the capital; young pretty girls, and among
them a young lady who came from a long distance. She had come
from Scotland, and was of high birth, and was rich in land and
in gold- a bride worth winning, said more than one of the
young gentlemen; and their lady mothers said the same thing.

The young people amused themselves on the lawn, and played
at ball; they wandered among the flowers, and each of the
young girls broke off a flower, and fastened it in a young
gentleman's buttonhole. But the young Scotch lady looked
round, for a long time, in an undecided way. None of the
flowers seemed to suit her taste. Then her eye glanced across
the paling- outside stood the great thistle bush, with the
reddish-blue, sturdy flowers; she saw them, she smiled, and
asked the son of the house to pluck one for her.

"It is the flower of Scotland," she said. "It blooms in
the scutcheon of my country. Give me yonder flower."

And he brought the fairest blossom, and pricked his
fingers as completely as if it had grown on the sharpest rose
bush.

She placed the thistle-flower in the buttonhole of the
young man, and he felt himself highly honored. Each of the
other young gentlemen would willingly have given his own
beautiful flower to have worn this one, presented by the fair
hand of the Scottish maiden. And if the son of the house felt
himself honored, what were the feelings of the Thistle bush?
It seemed to him as if dew and sunshine were streaming through
him.

"I am something more than I knew of," said the Thistle to
itself. "I suppose my right place is really inside the
palings, and not outside. One is often strangely placed in
this world; but now I have at least managed to get one of my
people within the pale, and indeed into a buttonhole!"

The Thistle told this event to every blossom that unfolded
itself, and not many days had gone by before the Thistle
heard, not from men, not from the twittering of the birds, but
from the air itself, which stores up the sounds, and carries
them far around- out of the most retired walks of the garden,
and out of the rooms of the house, in which doors and windows
stood open, that the young gentleman who had received the
thistle-flower from the hand of the fair Scottish maiden had
also now received the heart and hand of the lady in question.
They were a handsome pair- it was a good match.

"That match I made up!" said the Thistle; and he thought
of the flower he had given for the buttonhole. Every flower
that opened heard of this occurrence.

"I shall certainly be transplanted into the garden,"
thought the Thistle, and perhaps put into a pot, which crowds
one in. That is said to be the greatest of all honors."

And the Thistle pictured this to himself in such a lively
manner, that at last he said, with full conviction, "I am to
be transplanted into a pot."

Then he promised every little thistle flower which
unfolded itself that it also should be put into a pot, and
perhaps into a buttonhole, the highest honor that could be
attained. But not one of them was put into a pot, much less
into a buttonhole. They drank in the sunlight and the air;
lived on the sunlight by day, and on the dew by night;
bloomed- were visited by bees and hornets, who looked after
the honey, the dowry of the flower, and they took the honey,
and left the flower where it was.

"The thievish rabble!" said the Thistle. "If I could only
stab every one of them! But I cannot."

The flowers hung their heads and faded; but after a time
new ones came.

"You come in good time," said the Thistle. "I am expecting
every moment to get across the fence."

A few innocent daisies, and a long thin dandelion, stood
and listened in deep admiration, and believed everything they
heard.

The old Ass of the milk-cart stood at the edge of the
field-road, and glanced across at the blooming thistle bush;
but his halter was too short, and he could not reach it.

And the Thistle thought so long of the thistle of
Scotland, to whose family he said he belonged, that he fancied
at last that he had come from Scotland, and that his parents
had been put into the national escutcheon. That was a great
thought; but, you see, a great thistle has a right to a great
thought.

"One is often of so grand a family, that one may not know
it," said the Nettle, who grew close by. He had a kind of idea
that he might be made into cambric if he were rightly treated.

And the summer went by, and the autumn went by. The leaves
fell from the trees, and the few flowers left had deeper
colors and less scent. The gardener's boy sang in the garden,
across the palings:

"Up the hill, down the dale we wend,
That is life, from beginning to end."

The young fir trees in the forest began to long for
Christmas, but it was a long time to Christmas yet.

"Here I am standing yet!" said the Thistle. "It is as if
nobody thought of me, and yet I managed the match. They were
betrothed, and they have had their wedding; it is now a week
ago. I won't take a single step-because I can't."

A few more weeks went by. The Thistle stood there with his
last single flower large and full. This flower had shot up
from near the roots; the wind blew cold over it, and the
colors vanished, and the flower grew in size, and looked like
a silvered sunflower.

One day the young pair, now man and wife, came into the
garden. They went along by the paling, and the young wife
looked across it.

"There's the great thistle still growing," she said. "It
has no flowers now."

"Oh, yes, the ghost of the last one is there still," said
he. And he pointed to the silvery remains of the flower, which
looked like a flower themselves.

"It is pretty, certainly," she said. "Such an one must be
carved on the frame of our picture."

And the young man had to climb across the palings again,
and to break off the calyx of the thistle. It pricked his
fingers, but then he had called it a ghost. And this
thistle-calyx came into the garden, and into the house, and
into the drawing-room. There stood a picture- "Young Couple."
A thistle-flower was painted in the buttonhole of the
bridegroom. They spoke about this, and also about the
thistle-flower they brought, the last thistle-flower, now
gleaming like silver, whose picture was carved on the frame.

And the breeze carried what was spoken away, far away.

"What one can experience!" said the Thistle Bush. "My
first born was put into a buttonhole, and my youngest has been
put in a frame. Where shall I go?"

And the Ass stood by the road-side, and looked across at
the Thistle.

"Come to me, my nibble darling!" said he. "I can't get
across to you."

But the Thistle did not answer. He became more and more
thoughtful- kept on thinking and thinking till near Christmas,
and then a flower of thought came forth.

"If the children are only good, the parents do not mind
standing outside the garden pale."

"That's an honorable thought," said the Sunbeam. "You
shall also have a good place."

"In a pot or in a frame?" asked the Thistle.

"In a story," replied the Sunbeam.



THE END

[أرب جمـال]

THE THISTLE'S EXPERIENCES


BELONGING to the lordly manor-house was beautiful,
well-kept garden, with rare trees and flowers; the guests of
the proprietor declared their admiration of it; the people of
the neighborhood, from town and country, came on Sundays and
holidays, and asked permission to see the garden; indeed,
whole schools used to pay visits to it.

Outside the garden, by the palings at the road-side, stood
a great mighty Thistle, which spread out in many directions
from the root, so that it might have been called a thistle
bush. Nobody looked at it, except the old Ass which drew the
milk-maid's cart. This Ass used to stretch out his neck
towards the Thistle, and say, "You are beautiful; I should
like to eat you!" But his halter was not long enough to let
him reach it and eat it.

There was great company at the manor-house- some very
noble people from the capital; young pretty girls, and among
them a young lady who came from a long distance. She had come
from Scotland, and was of high birth, and was rich in land and
in gold- a bride worth winning, said more than one of the
young gentlemen; and their lady mothers said the same thing.

The young people amused themselves on the lawn, and played
at ball; they wandered among the flowers, and each of the
young girls broke off a flower, and fastened it in a young
gentleman's buttonhole. But the young Scotch lady looked
round, for a long time, in an undecided way. None of the
flowers seemed to suit her taste. Then her eye glanced across
the paling- outside stood the great thistle bush, with the
reddish-blue, sturdy flowers; she saw them, she smiled, and
asked the son of the house to pluck one for her.

"It is the flower of Scotland," she said. "It blooms in
the scutcheon of my country. Give me yonder flower."

And he brought the fairest blossom, and pricked his
fingers as completely as if it had grown on the sharpest rose
bush.

She placed the thistle-flower in the buttonhole of the
young man, and he felt himself highly honored. Each of the
other young gentlemen would willingly have given his own
beautiful flower to have worn this one, presented by the fair
hand of the Scottish maiden. And if the son of the house felt
himself honored, what were the feelings of the Thistle bush?
It seemed to him as if dew and sunshine were streaming through
him.

"I am something more than I knew of," said the Thistle to
itself. "I suppose my right place is really inside the
palings, and not outside. One is often strangely placed in
this world; but now I have at least managed to get one of my
people within the pale, and indeed into a buttonhole!"

The Thistle told this event to every blossom that unfolded
itself, and not many days had gone by before the Thistle
heard, not from men, not from the twittering of the birds, but
from the air itself, which stores up the sounds, and carries
them far around- out of the most retired walks of the garden,
and out of the rooms of the house, in which doors and windows
stood open, that the young gentleman who had received the
thistle-flower from the hand of the fair Scottish maiden had
also now received the heart and hand of the lady in question.
They were a handsome pair- it was a good match.

"That match I made up!" said the Thistle; and he thought
of the flower he had given for the buttonhole. Every flower
that opened heard of this occurrence.

"I shall certainly be transplanted into the garden,"
thought the Thistle, and perhaps put into a pot, which crowds
one in. That is said to be the greatest of all honors."

And the Thistle pictured this to himself in such a lively
manner, that at last he said, with full conviction, "I am to
be transplanted into a pot."

Then he promised every little thistle flower which
unfolded itself that it also should be put into a pot, and
perhaps into a buttonhole, the highest honor that could be
attained. But not one of them was put into a pot, much less
into a buttonhole. They drank in the sunlight and the air;
lived on the sunlight by day, and on the dew by night;
bloomed- were visited by bees and hornets, who looked after
the honey, the dowry of the flower, and they took the honey,
and left the flower where it was.

"The thievish rabble!" said the Thistle. "If I could only
stab every one of them! But I cannot."

The flowers hung their heads and faded; but after a time
new ones came.

"You come in good time," said the Thistle. "I am expecting
every moment to get across the fence."

A few innocent daisies, and a long thin dandelion, stood
and listened in deep admiration, and believed everything they
heard.

The old Ass of the milk-cart stood at the edge of the
field-road, and glanced across at the blooming thistle bush;
but his halter was too short, and he could not reach it.

And the Thistle thought so long of the thistle of
Scotland, to whose family he said he belonged, that he fancied
at last that he had come from Scotland, and that his parents
had been put into the national escutcheon. That was a great
thought; but, you see, a great thistle has a right to a great
thought.

"One is often of so grand a family, that one may not know
it," said the Nettle, who grew close by. He had a kind of idea
that he might be made into cambric if he were rightly treated.

And the summer went by, and the autumn went by. The leaves
fell from the trees, and the few flowers left had deeper
colors and less scent. The gardener's boy sang in the garden,
across the palings:

"Up the hill, down the dale we wend,
That is life, from beginning to end."

The young fir trees in the forest began to long for
Christmas, but it was a long time to Christmas yet.

"Here I am standing yet!" said the Thistle. "It is as if
nobody thought of me, and yet I managed the match. They were
betrothed, and they have had their wedding; it is now a week
ago. I won't take a single step-because I can't."

A few more weeks went by. The Thistle stood there with his
last single flower large and full. This flower had shot up
from near the roots; the wind blew cold over it, and the
colors vanished, and the flower grew in size, and looked like
a silvered sunflower.

One day the young pair, now man and wife, came into the
garden. They went along by the paling, and the young wife
looked across it.

"There's the great thistle still growing," she said. "It
has no flowers now."

"Oh, yes, the ghost of the last one is there still," said
he. And he pointed to the silvery remains of the flower, which
looked like a flower themselves.

"It is pretty, certainly," she said. "Such an one must be
carved on the frame of our picture."

And the young man had to climb across the palings again,
and to break off the calyx of the thistle. It pricked his
fingers, but then he had called it a ghost. And this
thistle-calyx came into the garden, and into the house, and
into the drawing-room. There stood a picture- "Young Couple."
A thistle-flower was painted in the buttonhole of the
bridegroom. They spoke about this, and also about the
thistle-flower they brought, the last thistle-flower, now
gleaming like silver, whose picture was carved on the frame.

And the breeze carried what was spoken away, far away.

"What one can experience!" said the Thistle Bush. "My
first born was put into a buttonhole, and my youngest has been
put in a frame. Where shall I go?"

And the Ass stood by the road-side, and looked across at
the Thistle.

"Come to me, my nibble darling!" said he. "I can't get
across to you."

But the Thistle did not answer. He became more and more
thoughtful- kept on thinking and thinking till near Christmas,
and then a flower of thought came forth.

"If the children are only good, the parents do not mind
standing outside the garden pale."

"That's an honorable thought," said the Sunbeam. "You
shall also have a good place."

"In a pot or in a frame?" asked the Thistle.

"In a story," replied the Sunbeam.


THE END

[أرب جمـال]

THE STORY OF THE YEAR


IT was near the end of January, and a terrible fall of
snow was pelting down, and whirling through the streets and
lanes; the windows were plastered with snow on the outside,
snow fell in masses from the roofs. Every one seemed in a
great hurry; they ran, they flew, fell into each other's arms,
holding fast for a moment as long as they could stand safely.
Coaches and horses looked as if they had been frosted with
sugar. The footmen stood with their backs against the
carriages, so as to turn their faces from the wind. The foot
passengers kept within the shelter of the carriages, which
could only move slowly on in the deep snow. At last the storm
abated, and a narrow path was swept clean in front of the
houses; when two persons met in this path they stood still,
for neither liked to take the first step on one side into the
deep snow to let the other pass him. There they stood silent
and motionless, till at last, as if by tacit consent, they
each sacrificed a leg and buried it in the deep snow. Towards
evening, the weather became calm. The sky, cleared from the
snow, looked more lofty and transparent, while the stars shone
with new brightness and purity. The frozen snow crackled under
foot, and was quite firm enough to bear the sparrows, who
hopped upon it in the morning dawn. They searched for food in
the path which had been swept, but there was very little for
them, and they were terribly cold. "Tweet, tweet," said one to
another; they call this a new year, but I think it is worse
than the last. We might just as well have kept the old year;
I'm quite unhappy, and I have a right to be so."

"Yes, you have; and yet the people ran about and fired off
guns, to usher in the new year," said a little shivering
sparrow. "They threw things against the doors, and were quite
beside themselves with joy, because the old year had
disappeared. I was glad too, for I expected we should have
some warm days, but my hopes have come to nothing. It freezes
harder than ever; I think mankind have made a mistake in
reckoning time."

"That they have," said a third, an old sparrow with a
white poll; "they have something they call a calendar; it's an
invention of their own, and everything must be arranged
according to it, but it won't do. When spring comes, then the
year begins. It is the voice of nature, and I reckon by that."

"But when will spring come?" asked the others.

"It will come when the stork returns, but he is very
uncertain, and here in the town no one knows anything about
it. In the country they have more knowledge; shall we fly away
there and wait? we shall be nearer to spring then, certainly."

"That may be all very well," said another sparrow, who had
been hopping about for a long time, chirping, but not saying
anything of consequence, "but I have found a few comforts here
in town which, I'm afraid, I should miss out in the country.
Here in this neighborhood, there lives a family of people who
have been so sensible as to place three or four flower-pots
against the wall in the court-yard, so that the openings are
all turned inward, and the bottom of each points outward. In
the latter a hole has been cut large enough for me to fly in
and out. I and my husband have built a nest in one of these
pots, and all our young ones, who have now flown away, were
brought up there. The people who live there of course made the
whole arrangement that they might have the pleasure of seeing
us, or they would not have done it. It pleased them also to
strew bread-crumbs for us, and so we have food, and may
consider ourselves provided for. So I think my husband and I
will stay where we are; although we are not very happy, but we
shall stay."

"And we will fly into the country," said the others, "to
see if spring is coming." And away they flew.

In the country it was really winter, a few degrees colder
than in the town. The sharp winds blew over the snow-covered
fields. The farmer, wrapped in warm clothing, sat in his
sleigh, and beat his arms across his chest to keep off the
cold. The whip lay on his lap. The horses ran till they
smoked. The snow crackled, the sparrows hopped about in the
wheel-ruts, and shivered, crying, "Tweet, tweet; when will
spring come? It is very long in coming."

"Very long indeed," sounded over the field, from the
nearest snow-covered hill. It might have been the echo which
people heard, or perhaps the words of that wonderful old man,
who sat high on a heap of snow, regardless of wind or weather.
He was all in white; he had on a peasant's coarse white coat
of frieze. He had long white hair, a pale face, and large
clear blue eyes. "Who is that old man?" asked the sparrows.

"I know who he is," said an old raven, who sat on the
fence, and was condescending enough to acknowledge that we are
all equal in the sight of Heaven, even as little birds, and
therefore he talked with the sparrows, and gave them the
information they wanted. "I know who the old man is," he said.
"It is Winter, the old man of last year; he is not dead yet,
as the calendar says, but acts as guardian to little Prince
Spring who is coming. Winter rules here still. Ugh! the cold
makes you shiver, little ones, does it not?"

"There! Did I not tell you so?" said the smallest of the
sparrows. "The calendar is only an invention of man, and is
not arranged according to nature. They should leave these
things to us; we are created so much more clever than they
are."

One week passed, and then another. The forest looked dark,
the hard-frozen lake lay like a sheet of lead. The mountains
had disappeared, for over the land hung damp, icy mists. Large
black crows flew about in silence; it was as if nature slept.
At length a sunbeam glided over the lake, and it shone like
burnished silver. But the snow on the fields and the hills did
not glitter as before. The white form of Winter sat there
still, with his un-wandering gaze fixed on the south. He did
not perceive that the snowy carpet seemed to sink as it were
into the earth; that here and there a little green patch of
grass appeared, and that these patches were covered with
sparrows.

"Tee-wit, tee-wit; is spring coming at last?"

Spring! How the cry resounded over field and meadow, and
through the dark-brown woods, where the fresh green moss still
gleamed on the trunks of the trees, and from the south came
the two first storks flying through the air, and on the back
of each sat a lovely little child, a boy and a girl. They
greeted the earth with a kiss, and wherever they placed their
feet white flowers sprung up from beneath the snow. Hand in
hand they approached the old ice-man, Winter, embraced him and
clung to his breast; and as they did so, in a moment all three
were enveloped in a thick, damp mist, dark and heavy, that
closed over them like a veil. The wind arose with mighty
rustling tone, and cleared away the mist. Then the sun shone
out warmly. Winter had vanished away, and the beautiful
children of Spring sat on the throne of the year.

"This is really a new year," cried all the sparrows, "now
we shall get our rights, and have some return for what we
suffered in winter."

Wherever the two children wandered, green buds burst forth
on bush and tree, the grass grew higher, and the corn-fields
became lovely in delicate green.

The little maiden strewed flowers in her path. She held
her apron before her: it was full of flowers; it was as if
they sprung into life there, for the more she scattered around
her, the more flowers did her apron contain. Eagerly she
showered snowy blossoms over apple and peach-trees, so that
they stood in full beauty before even their green leaves had
burst from the bud. Then the boy and the girl clapped their
hands, and troops of birds came flying by, no one knew from
whence, and they all twittered and chirped, singing "Spring
has come!" How beautiful everything was! Many an old dame came
forth from her door into the sunshine, and shuffled about with
great delight, glancing at the golden flowers which glittered
everywhere in the fields, as they used to do in her young
days. The world grew young again to her, as she said, "It is a
blessed time out here to-day." The forest already wore its
dress of dark-green buds. The thyme blossomed in fresh
fragrance. Primroses and anemones sprung forth, and violets
bloomed in the shade, while every blade of grass was full of
strength and sap. Who could resist sitting down on such a
beautiful carpet? and then the young children of Spring seated
themselves, holding each other's hands, and sang, and laughed,
and grew. A gentle rain fell upon them from the sky, but they
did not notice it, for the rain-drops were their own tears of
joy. They kissed each other, and were betrothed; and in the
same moment the buds of the trees unfolded, and when the sun
rose, the forest was green. Hand in hand the two wandered
beneath the fresh pendant canopy of foliage, while the sun's
rays gleamed through the opening of the shade, in changing and
varied colors. The delicate young leaves filled the air with
refreshing odor. Merrily rippled the clear brooks and rivulets
between the green, velvety rushes, and over the many-colored
pebbles beneath. All nature spoke of abundance and plenty. The
cuckoo sang, and the lark carolled, for it was now beautiful
spring. The careful willows had, however, covered their
blossoms with woolly gloves; and this carefulness is rather
tedious. Days and weeks went by, and the heat increased. Warm
air waved the corn as it grew golden in the sun. The white
northern lily spread its large green leaves over the glossy
mirror of the woodland lake, and the fishes sought the shadows
beneath them. In a sheltered part of the wood, the sun shone
upon the walls of a farm-house, brightening the blooming
roses, and ripening the black juicy berries, which hung on the
loaded cherry-trees, with his hot beams. Here sat the lovely
wife of Summer, the same whom we have seen as a child and a
bride; her eyes were fixed on dark gathering clouds, which in
wavy outlines of black and indigo were piling themselves up
like mountains, higher and higher. They came from every side,
always increasing like a rising, rolling sea. Then they
swooped towards the forest, where every sound had been
silenced as if by magic, every breath hushed, every bird mute.
All nature stood still in grave suspense. But in the lanes and
the highways, passengers on foot or in carriages were hurrying
to find a place of shelter. Then came a flash of light, as if
the sun had rushed forth from the sky, flaming, burning,
all-devouring, and darkness returned amid a rolling crash of
thunder. The rain poured down in streams,- now there was
darkness, then blinding light,- now thrilling silence, then
deafening din. The young brown reeds on the moor waved to and
fro in feathery billows; the forest boughs were hidden in a
watery mist, and still light and darkness followed each other,
still came the silence after the roar, while the corn and the
blades of grass lay beaten down and swamped, so that it seemed
impossible they could ever raise themselves again. But after a
while the rain began to fall gently, the sun's rays pierced
the clouds, and the water-drops glittered like pearls on leaf
and stem. The birds sang, the fishes leaped up to the surface
of the water, the gnats danced in the sunshine, and yonder, on
a rock by the heaving salt sea, sat Summer himself, a strong
man with sturdy limbs and long, dripping hair. Strengthened by
the cool bath, he sat in the warm sunshine, while all around
him renewed nature bloomed strong, luxuriant, and beautiful:
it was summer, warm, lovely summer. Sweet and pleasant was the
fragrance wafted from the clover-field, where the bees swarmed
round the ruined tower, the bramble twined itself over the old
altar, which, washed by the rain, glittered in the sunshine;
and thither flew the queen bee with her swarm, and prepared
wax and honey. But Summer and his bosom-wife saw it with
different eyes, to them the altar-table was covered with the
offerings of nature. The evening sky shone like gold, no
church dome could ever gleam so brightly, and between the
golden evening and the blushing morning there was moonlight.
It was indeed summer. And days and weeks passed, the bright
scythes of the reapers glittered in the corn-fields, the
branches of the apple-trees bent low, heavy with the red and
golden fruit. The hop, hanging in clusters, filled the air
with sweet fragrance, and beneath the hazel-bushes, where the
nuts hung in great bunches, rested a man and a woman- Summer
and his grave consort.

"See," she exclaimed, "what wealth, what blessings
surround us. Everything is home-like and good, and yet, I know
not why, I long for rest and peace; I can scarcely express
what I feel. They are already ploughing the fields again; more
and more the people wish for gain. See, the storks are
flocking together, and following the plough at a short
distance. They are the birds from Egypt, who carried us
through the air. Do you remember how we came as children to
this land of the north; we brought with us flowers and bright
sunshine, and green to the forests, but the wind has been
rough with them, and they are now become dark and brown, like
the trees of the south, but they do not, like them, bear
golden fruit."

"Do you wish to see golden fruit?" said the man, "then
rejoice," and he lifted his arm. The leaves of the forest put
on colors of red and gold, and bright tints covered the
woodlands. The rose-bushes gleamed with scarlet hips, and the
branches of the elder-trees hung down with the weight of the
full, dark berries. The wild chestnuts fell ripe from their
dark, green shells, and in the forests the violets bloomed for
the second time. But the queen of the year became more and
more silent and pale.

"It blows cold," she said, "and night brings the damp
mist; I long for the land of my childhood." Then she saw the
storks fly away every one, and she stretched out her hands
towards them. She looked at the empty nests; in one of them
grew a long-stalked corn flower, in another the yellow mustard
seed, as if the nest had been placed there only for its
comfort and protection, and the sparrows were flying round
them all.

"Tweet, where has the master of the nest gone?" cried one,
"I suppose he could not bear it when the wind blew, and
therefore he has left this country. I wish him a pleasant
journey."

The forest leaves became more and more yellow, leaf after
leaf fell, and the stormy winds of Autumn howled. The year was
now far advanced, and upon the fallen, yellow leaves, lay the
queen of the year, looking up with mild eyes at a gleaming
star, and her husband stood by her. A gust of wind swept
through the foliage, and the leaves fell in a shower. The
summer queen was gone, but a butterfly, the last of the year,
flew through the cold air. Damp fogs came, icy winds blew, and
the long, dark nights of winter approached. The ruler of the
year appeared with hair white as snow, but he knew it not; he
thought snow-flakes falling from the sky covered his head, as
they decked the green fields with a thin, white covering of
snow. And then the church bells rang out for Christmas time.

"The bells are ringing for the new-born year," said the
ruler, "soon will a new ruler and his bride be born, and. I
shall go to rest with my wife in yonder light-giving star."

In the fresh, green fir-wood, where the snow lay all
around, stood the angel of Christmas, and consecrated the
young trees that were to adorn his feast.

"May there be joy in the rooms, and under the green
boughs," said the old ruler of the year. In a few weeks he had
become a very old man, with hair as white as snow. "My
resting-time draws near; the young pair of the year will soon
claim my crown and sceptre."

"But the night is still thine," said the angel of
Christmas, "for power, but not for rest. Let the snow lie
warmly upon the tender seed. Learn to endure the thought that
another is worshipped whilst thou art still lord. Learn to
endure being forgotten while yet thou livest. The hour of thy
freedom will come when Spring appears."

"And when will Spring come?" asked Winter.

"It will come when the stork returns."

And with white locks and snowy beard, cold, bent, and
hoary, but strong as the wintry storm, and firm as the ice,
old Winter sat on the snowdrift-covered hill, looking towards
the south, where Winter had sat before, and gazed. The ice
glittered, the snow crackled, the skaters skimmed over the
polished surface of the lakes; ravens and crows formed a
pleasing contrast to the white ground, and not a breath of
wind stirred, and in the still air old Winter clenched his
fists, and the ice lay fathoms deep between the lands. Then
came the sparrows again out of the town, and asked, "Who is
that old man?" The raven sat there still, or it might be his
son, which is the same thing, and he said to them,-

"It is Winter, the old man of the former year; he is not
dead, as the calendar says, but he is guardian to the spring,
which is coming."

"When will Spring come?" asked the sparrows, "for we shall
have better times then, and a better rule. The old times are
worth nothing."

And in quiet thought old Winter looked at the leafless
forest, where the graceful form and bends of each tree and
branch could be seen; and while Winter slept, icy mists came
from the clouds, and the ruler dreamt of his youthful days and
of his manhood, and in the morning dawn the whole forest
glittered with hoar frost, which the sun shook from the
branches,- and this was the summer dream of Winter.

"When will Spring come?" asked the sparrows. "Spring!"
Again the echo sounded from the hills on which the snow lay.
The sunshine became warmer, the snow melted, and the birds
twittered, "Spring is coming!" And high in the air flew the
first stork, and the second followed; a lovely child sat on
the back of each, and they sank down on the open field, kissed
the earth, and kissed the quiet old man; and, as the mist from
the mountain top, he vanished away and disappeared. And the
story of the year was finished.

"This is all very fine, no doubt," said the sparrows, "and
it is very beautiful; but it is not according to the calendar,
therefore, it must be all wrong."


THE END

[أرب جمـال]

THE STORY OF A MOTHER


A MOTHER sat by her little child; she was very sad, for
she feared it would die. It was quite pale, and its little
eyes were closed, and sometimes it drew a heavy deep breath,
almost like a sigh; and then the mother gazed more sadly than
ever on the poor little creature. Some one knocked at the
door, and a poor old man walked in. He was wrapped in
something that looked like a great horse-cloth; and he
required it truly to keep him warm, for it was cold winter;
the country everywhere lay covered with snow and ice, and the
wind blew so sharply that it cut one's face. The little child
had dozed off to sleep for a moment, and the mother, seeing
that the old man shivered with the cold, rose and placed a
small mug of beer on the stove to warm for him. The old man
sat and rocked the cradle; and the mother seated herself on a
chair near him, and looked at her sick child who still
breathed heavily, and took hold of its little hand.

"You think I shall keep him, do you not?" she said. "Our
all-merciful God will surely not take him away from me."

The old man, who was indeed Death himself, nodded his head
in a peculiar manner, which might have signified either Yes,
or No; and the mother cast down her eyes, while the tears
rolled down her cheeks. Then her head became heavy, for she
had not closed her eyes for three days and nights, and she
slept, but only for a moment. Shivering with cold, she started
up and looked round the room. The old man was gone, and her
child- it was gone too!- the old man had taken it with him. In
the corner of the room the old clock began to strike; "whirr"
went the chains, the heavy weight sank to the ground, and the
clock stopped; and the poor mother rushed out of the house
calling for her child. Out in the snow sat a woman in long
black garments, and she said to the mother, "Death has been
with you in your room. I saw him hastening away with your
little child; he strides faster than the wind, and never
brings back what he has taken away."

"Only tell me which way he has gone," said the mother;
tell me the way, I will find him."

"I know the way," said the woman in the black garments;
"but before I tell you, you must sing to me all the songs that
you have sung to your child; I love these songs, I have heard
them before. I am Night, and I saw your tears flow as you
sang."

"I will sing them all to you," said the mother; "but do
not detain me now. I must overtake him, and find my child."

But Night sat silent and still. Then the mother wept and
sang, and wrung her hands. And there were many songs, and yet
even more tears; till at length Night said, "Go to the right,
into the dark forest of fir-trees; for I saw Death take that
road with your little child."

Within the wood the mother came to cross roads, and she
knew not which to take. Just by stood a thorn-bush; it had
neither leaf nor flower, for it was the cold winter time, and
icicles hung on the branches. "Have you not seen Death go by,
with my little child?" she asked.

"Yes," replied the thorn-bush; "but I will not tell you
which way he has taken until you have warmed me in your bosom.
I am freezing to death here, and turning to ice."

Then she pressed the bramble to her bosom quite close, so
that it might be thawed, and the thorns pierced her flesh, and
great drops of blood flowed; but the bramble shot forth fresh
green leaves, and they became flowers on the cold winter's
night, so warm is the heart of a sorrowing mother. Then the
bramble-bush told her the path she must take. She came at
length to a great lake, on which there was neither ship nor
boat to be seen. The lake was not frozen sufficiently for her
to pass over on the ice, nor was it open enough for her to
wade through; and yet she must cross it, if she wished to find
her child. Then she laid herself down to drink up the water of
the lake, which was of course impossible for any human being
to do; but the bereaved mother thought that perhaps a miracle
might take place to help her. "You will never succeed in
this," said the lake; let us make an agreement together which
will be better. I love to collect pearls, and your eyes are
the purest I have ever seen. If you will weep those eyes away
in tears into my waters, then I will take you to the large
hothouse where Death dwells and rears flowers and trees, every
one of which is a human life."

"Oh, what would I not give to reach my child!" said the
weeping mother; and as she still continued to weep, her eyes
fell into the depths of the lake, and became two costly
pearls.

Then the lake lifted her up, and wafted her across to the
opposite shore as if she were on a swing, where stood a
wonderful building many miles in length. No one could tell
whether it was a mountain covered with forests and full of
caves, or whether it had been built. But the poor mother could
not see, for she had wept her eyes into the lake. "Where shall
I find Death, who went away with my little child?" she asked.

"He has not arrived here yet," said an old gray-haired
woman, who was walking about, and watering Death's hothouse.
"How have you found your way here? and who helped you?"

"God has helped me," she replied. "He is merciful; will
you not be merciful too? Where shall I find my little child?"

"I did not know the child," said the old woman; "and you
are blind. Many flowers and trees have faded to-night, and
Death will soon come to transplant them. You know already that
every human being has a life-tree or a life-flower, just as
may be ordained for him. They look like other plants; but they
have hearts that beat. Children's hearts also beat: from that
you may perhaps be able to recognize your child. But what will
you give me, if I tell you what more you will have to do?

"I have nothing to give," said the afflicted mother; "but
I would go to the ends of the earth for you."

"I can give you nothing to do for me there," said the old
woman; "but you can give me your long black hair. You know
yourself that it is beautiful, and it pleases me. You can take
my white hair in exchange, which will be something in return."

"Do you ask nothing more than that?" said she. "I will
give it to you with pleasure."

And she gave up her beautiful hair, and received in return
the white locks of the old woman. Then they went into Death's
vast hothouse, where flowers and trees grew together in
wonderful profusion. Blooming hyacinths, under glass bells,
and peonies, like strong trees. There grew water-plants, some
quite fresh, and others looking sickly, which had water-snakes
twining round them, and black crabs clinging to their stems.
There stood noble palm-trees, oaks, and plantains, and beneath
them bloomed thyme and parsley. Each tree and flower had a
name; each represented a human life, and belonged to men still
living, some in China, others in Greenland, and in all parts
of the world. Some large trees had been planted in little
pots, so that they were cramped for room, and seemed about to
burst the pot to pieces; while many weak little flowers were
growing in rich soil, with moss all around them, carefully
tended and cared for. The sorrowing mother bent over the
little plants, and heard the human heart beating in each, and
recognized the beatings of her child's heart among millions of
others.

"That is it," she cried, stretching out her hand towards a
little crocus-flower which hung down its sickly head.

"Do not touch the flower," exclaimed the old woman; "but
place yourself here; and when Death comes- I expect him every
minute- do not let him pull up that plant, but threaten him
that if he does you will serve the other flowers in the same
manner. This will make him afraid; for he must account to God
for each of them. None can be uprooted, unless he receives
permission to do so."

There rushed through the hothouse a chill of icy coldness,
and the blind mother felt that Death had arrived.

"How did you find your way hither?" asked he; "how could
you come here faster than I have?"

"I am a mother," she answered.

And Death stretched out his hand towards the delicate
little flower; but she held her hands tightly round it, and
held it fast at same time, with the most anxious care, lest
she should touch one of the leaves. Then Death breathed upon
her hands, and she felt his breath colder than the icy wind,
and her hands sank down powerless.

"You cannot prevail against me," said Death.

"But a God of mercy can," said she.

"I only do His will," replied Death. "I am his gardener. I
take all His flowers and trees, and transplant them into the
gardens of Paradise in an unknown land. How they flourish
there, and what that garden resembles, I may not tell you."

"Give me back my child," said the mother, weeping and
imploring; and she seized two beautiful flowers in her hands,
and cried to Death, "I will tear up all your flowers, for I am
in despair."

"Do not touch them," said Death. "You say you are unhappy;
and would you make another mother as unhappy as yourself?"

"Another mother!" cried the poor woman, setting the
flowers free from her hands.

"There are your eyes," said Death. "I fished them up out
of the lake for you. They were shining brightly; but I knew
not they were yours. Take them back- they are clearer now than
before- and then look into the deep well which is close by
here. I will tell you the names of the two flowers which you
wished to pull up; and you will see the whole future of the
human beings they represent, and what you were about to
frustrate and destroy."

Then she looked into the well; and it was a glorious sight
to behold how one of them became a blessing to the world, and
how much happiness and joy it spread around. But she saw that
the life of the other was full of care and poverty, misery and
woe.

"Both are the will of God," said Death.

"Which is the unhappy flower, and which is the blessed
one?" she said.

"That I may not tell you," said Death; "but thus far you
may learn, that one of the two flowers represents your own
child. It was the fate of your child that you saw,- the future
of your own child."

Then the mother screamed aloud with terror, "Which of them
belongs to my child? Tell me that. Deliver the unhappy child.
Release it from so much misery. Rather take it away. Take it
to the kingdom of God. Forget my tears and my entreaties;
forget all that I have said or done."

"I do not understand you," said Death. "Will you have your
child back? or shall I carry him away to a place that you do
not know?"

Then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and
prayed to God, "Grant not my prayers, when they are contrary
to Thy will, which at all times must be the best. Oh, hear
them not;" and her head sank on her bosom.

Then Death carried away her child to the unknown land.


THE END

[أرب جمـال]

A STORY


IN the garden all the apple-trees were in blossom. They
had hastened to bring forth flowers before they got green
leaves, and in the yard all the ducklings walked up and down,
and the cat too: it basked in the sun and licked the sunshine
from its own paws. And when one looked at the fields, how
beautifully the corn stood and how green it shone, without
comparison! and there was a twittering and a fluttering of all
the little birds, as if the day were a great festival; and so
it was, for it was Sunday. All the bells were ringing, and all
the people went to church, looking cheerful, and dressed in
their best clothes. There was a look of cheerfulness on
everything. The day was so warm and beautiful that one might
well have said: "God's kindness to us men is beyond all
limits." But inside the church the pastor stood in the pulpit,
and spoke very loudly and angrily. He said that all men were
wicked, and God would punish them for their sins, and that the
wicked, when they died, would be cast into hell, to burn for
ever and ever. He spoke very excitedly, saying that their evil
propensities would not be destroyed, nor would the fire be
extinguished, and they should never find rest. That was
terrible to hear, and he said it in such a tone of conviction;
he described hell to them as a miserable hole where all the
refuse of the world gathers. There was no air beside the hot
burning sulphur flame, and there was no ground under their
feet; they, the wicked ones, sank deeper and deeper, while
eternal silence surrounded them! It was dreadful to hear all
that, for the preacher spoke from his heart, and all the
people in the church were terrified. Meanwhile, the birds sang
merrily outside, and the sun was shining so beautifully warm,
it seemed as though every little flower said: "God, Thy
kindness towards us all is without limits." Indeed, outside it
was not at all like the pastor's sermon.

The same evening, upon going to bed, the pastor noticed
his wife sitting there quiet and pensive.

"What is the matter with you?" he asked her.

"Well, the matter with me is," she said, "that I cannot
collect my thoughts, and am unable to grasp the meaning of
what you said to-day in church- that there are so many wicked
people, and that they should burn eternally. Alas! eternally-
how long! I am only a woman and a sinner before God, but I
should not have the heart to let even the worst sinner burn
for ever, and how could our Lord to do so, who is so
infinitely good, and who knows how the wickedness comes from
without and within? No, I am unable to imagine that, although
you say so."


It was autumn; the trees dropped their leaves, the earnest
and severe pastor sat at the bedside of a dying person. A
pious, faithful soul closed her eyes for ever; she was the
pastor's wife.

..."If any one shall find rest in the grave and mercy
before our Lord you shall certainly do so," said the pastor.
He folded her hands and read a psalm over the dead woman.

She was buried; two large tears rolled over the cheeks of
the earnest man, and in the parsonage it was empty and still,
for its sun had set for ever. She had gone home.

It was night. A cold wind swept over the pastor's head; he
opened his eyes, and it seemed to him as if the moon was
shining into his room. It was not so, however; there was a
being standing before his bed, and looking like the ghost of
his deceased wife. She fixed her eyes upon him with such a
kind and sad expression, just as if she wished to say
something to him. The pastor raised himself in bed and
stretched his arms towards her, saying, "Not even you can find
eternal rest! You suffer, you best and most pious woman?"

The dead woman nodded her head as if to say "Yes," and put
her hand on her breast.

"And can I not obtain rest in the grave for you?"

"Yes," was the answer.

"And how?"

"Give me one hair- only one single hair- from the head of
the sinner for whom the fire shall never be extinguished, of
the sinner whom God will condemn to eternal punishment in
hell."

"Yes, one ought to be able to redeem you so easily, you
pure, pious woman," he said.

"Follow me," said the dead woman. "It is thus granted to
us. By my side you will be able to fly wherever your thoughts
wish to go. Invisible to men, we shall penetrate into their
most secret chambers; but with sure hand you must find out him
who is destined to eternal torture, and before the cock crows
he must be found!" As quickly as if carried by the winged
thoughts they were in the great city, and from the walls the
names of the deadly sins shone in flaming letters: pride,
avarice, drunkenness, wantonness- in short, the whole
seven-coloured bow of sin.

"Yes, therein, as I believed, as I knew it," said the
pastor, "are living those who are abandoned to the eternal
fire." And they were standing before the magnificently
illuminated gate; the broad steps were adorned with carpets
and flowers, and dance music was sounding through the festive
halls. A footman dressed in silk and velvet stood with a large
silver-mounted rod near the entrance.

"Our ball can compare favourably with the king's," he
said, and turned with contempt towards the gazing crowd in the
street. What he thought was sufficiently expressed in his
features and movements: "Miserable beggars, who are looking
in, you are nothing in comparison to me."

"Pride," said the dead woman; "do you see him?"

"The footman?" asked the pastor. "He is but a poor fool,
and not doomed to be tortured eternally by fire!"

"Only a fool!" It sounded through the whole house of
pride: they were all fools there.

Then they flew within the four naked walls of the miser.
Lean as a skeleton, trembling with cold, and hunger, the old
man was clinging with all his thoughts to his money. They saw
him jump up feverishly from his miserable couch and take a
loose stone out of the wall; there lay gold coins in an old
stocking. They saw him anxiously feeling over an old ragged
coat in which pieces of gold were sewn, and his clammy fingers
trembled.

"He is ill! That is madness- a joyless madness- besieged
by fear and dreadful dreams!"

They quickly went away and came before the beds of the
criminals; these unfortunate people slept side by side, in
long rows. Like a ferocious animal, one of them rose out of
his sleep and uttered a horrible cry, and gave his comrade a
violent dig in the ribs with his pointed elbow, and this one
turned round in his sleep:

"Be quiet, monster- sleep! This happens every night!"

"Every night!" repeated the other. "Yes, every night he
comes and tortures me! In my violence I have done this and
that. I was born with an evil mind, which has brought me
hither for the second time; but if I have done wrong I suffer
punishment for it. One thing, however, I have not yet
confessed. When I came out a little while ago, and passed by
the yard of my former master, evil thoughts rose within me
when I remembered this and that. I struck a match a little bit
on the wall; probably it came a little too close to the
thatched roof. All burnt down- a great heat rose, such as
sometimes overcomes me. I myself helped to rescue cattle and
things, nothing alive burnt, except a flight of pigeons, which
flew into the fire, and the yard dog, of which I had not
thought; one could hear him howl out of the fire, and this
howling I still hear when I wish to sleep; and when I have
fallen asleep, the great rough dog comes and places himself
upon me, and howls, presses, and tortures me. Now listen to
what I tell you! You can snore; you are snoring the whole
night, and I hardly a quarter of an hour!" And the blood rose
to the head of the excited criminal; he threw himself upon his
comrade, and beat him with his clenced fist in the face.

"Wicked Matz has become mad again!" they said amongst
themselves. The other criminals seized him, wrestled with him,
and bent him double, so that his head rested between his
knees, and they tied him, so that the blood almost came out of
his eyes and out of all his pores.

"You are killing the unfortunate man," said the pastor,
and as he stretched out his hand to protect him who already
suffered too much, the scene changed. They flew through rich
halls and wretched hovels; wantonness and envy, all the deadly
sins, passed before them. An angel of justice read their
crimes and their defence; the latter was not a brilliant one,
but it was read before God, Who reads the heart, Who knows
everything, the wickedness that comes from within and from
without, Who is mercy and love personified. The pastor's hand
trembled; he dared not stretch it out, he did not venture to
pull a hair out of the sinner's head. And tears gushed from
his eyes like a stream of mercy and love, the cooling waters
of which extinguished the eternal fire of hell.

Just then the cock crowed.

"Father of all mercy, grant Thou to her the peace that I
was unable to procure for her!"

"I have it now!" said the dead woman. "It was your hard
words, your despair of mankind, your gloomy belief in God and
His creation, which drove me to you. Learn to know mankind!
Even in the wicked one lives a part of God- and this
extinguishes and conquers the flame of hell!"


The pastor felt a kiss on his lips; a gleam of light
surrounded him- God's bright sun shone into the room, and his
wife, alive, sweet and full of love, awoke him from a dream
which God had sent him!


THE END

[أرب جمـال]

THE STORKS


ON the last house in a little village the storks had built
a nest, and the mother stork sat in it with her four young
ones, who stretched out their necks and pointed their black
beaks, which had not yet turned red like those of the parent
birds. A little way off, on the edge of the roof, stood the
father stork, quite upright and stiff; not liking to be quite
idle, he drew up one leg, and stood on the other, so still
that it seemed almost as if he were carved in wood. "It must
look very grand," thought he, "for my wife to have a sentry
guarding her nest. They do not know that I am her husband;
they will think I have been commanded to stand here, which is
quite aristocratic;" and so he continued standing on one leg.

In the street below were a number of children at play, and
when they caught sight of the storks, one of the boldest
amongst the boys began to sing a song about them, and very
soon he was joined by the rest. These are the words of the
song, but each only sang what he could remember of them in his
own way.

"Stork, stork, fly away,
Stand not on one leg, I pray,
See your wife is in her nest,
With her little ones at rest.
They will hang one,
And fry another;
They will shoot a third,
And roast his brother."

"Just hear what those boys are singing," said the young
storks; "they say we shall be hanged and roasted."

"Never mind what they say; you need not listen," said the
mother. "They can do no harm."

But the boys went on singing and pointing at the storks,
and mocking at them, excepting one of the boys whose name was
Peter; he said it was a shame to make fun of animals, and
would not join with them at all. The mother stork comforted
her young ones, and told them not to mind. "See," she said,
"How quiet your father stands, although he is only on one
leg."

"But we are very much frightened," said the young storks,
and they drew back their heads into the nests.

The next day when the children were playing together, and
saw the storks, they sang the song again-

"They will hang one,
And roast another."

"Shall we be hanged and roasted?" asked the young storks.

"No, certainly not," said the mother. "I will teach you to
fly, and when you have learnt, we will fly into the meadows,
and pay a visit to the frogs, who will bow themselves to us in
the water, and cry 'Croak, croak,' and then we shall eat them
up; that will be fun."

"And what next?" asked the young storks.

"Then," replied the mother, "all the storks in the country
will assemble together, and go through their autumn
manoeuvres, so that it is very important for every one to know
how to fly properly. If they do not, the general will thrust
them through with his beak, and kill them. Therefore you must
take pains and learn, so as to be ready when the drilling
begins."

"Then we may be killed after all, as the boys say; and
hark! they are singing again."

"Listen to me, and not to them," said the mother stork.
"After the great review is over, we shall fly away to warm
countries far from hence, where there are mountains and
forests. To Egypt, where we shall see three-cornered houses
built of stone, with pointed tops that reach nearly to the
clouds. They are called Pyramids, and are older than a stork
could imagine; and in that country, there is a river that
overflows its banks, and then goes back, leaving nothing but
mire; there we can walk about, and eat frogs in abundance."

"Oh, o- h!" cried the young storks.

"Yes, it is a delightful place; there is nothing to do all
day long but eat, and while we are so well off out there, in
this country there will not be a single green leaf on the
trees, and the weather will be so cold that the clouds will
freeze, and fall on the earth in little white rags." The stork
meant snow, but she could not explain it in any other way.

"Will the naughty boys freeze and fall in pieces?" asked
the young storks.

"No, they will not freeze and fall into pieces," said the
mother, "but they will be very cold, and be obliged to sit all
day in a dark, gloomy room, while we shall be flying about in
foreign lands, where there are blooming flowers and warm
sunshine."

Time passed on, and the young storks grew so large that
they could stand upright in the nest and look about them. The
father brought them, every day, beautiful frogs, little
snakes, and all kinds of stork-dainties that he could find.
And then, how funny it was to see the tricks he would perform
to amuse them. He would lay his head quite round over his
tail, and clatter with his beak, as if it had been a rattle;
and then he would tell them stories all about the marshes and
fens.

"Come," said the mother one day, "Now you must learn to
fly." And all the four young ones were obliged to come out on
the top of the roof. Oh, how they tottered at first, and were
obliged to balance themselves with their wings, or they would
have fallen to the ground below.

"Look at me," said the mother, "you must hold your heads
in this way, and place your feet so. Once, twice, once, twice-
that is it. Now you will be able to take care of yourselves in
the world."

Then she flew a little distance from them, and the young
ones made a spring to follow her; but down they fell plump,
for their bodies were still too heavy.

"I don't want to fly," said one of the young storks,
creeping back into the nest. "I don't care about going to warm
countries."

"Would you like to stay here and freeze when the winter
comes?" said the mother, "or till the boys comes to hang you,
or to roast you?- Well then, I'll call them."

"Oh no, no," said the young stork, jumping out on the roof
with the others; and now they were all attentive, and by the
third day could fly a little. Then they began to fancy they
could soar, so they tried to do so, resting on their wings,
but they soon found themselves falling, and had to flap their
wings as quickly as possible. The boys came again in the
street singing their song:-

"Stork, stork, fly away."

"Shall we fly down, and pick their eyes out?" asked the
young storks.

"No; leave them alone," said the mother. "Listen to me;
that is much more important. Now then. One-two-three. Now to
the right. One-two-three. Now to the left, round the chimney.
There now, that was very good. That last flap of the wings was
so easy and graceful, that I shall give you permission to fly
with me to-morrow to the marshes. There will be a number of
very superior storks there with their families, and I expect
you to show them that my children are the best brought up of
any who may be present. You must strut about proudly- it will
look well and make you respected."

"But may we not punish those naughty boys?" asked the
young storks.

"No; let them scream away as much as they like. You can
fly from them now up high amid the clouds, and will be in the
land of the pyramids when they are freezing, and have not a
green leaf on the trees or an apple to eat."

"We will revenge ourselves," whispered the young storks to
each other, as they again joined the exercising.

Of all the boys in the street who sang the mocking song
about the storks, not one was so determined to go on with it
as he who first began it. Yet he was a little fellow not more
than six years old. To the young storks he appeared at least a
hundred, for he was so much bigger than their father and
mother. To be sure, storks cannot be expected to know how old
children and grown-up people are. So they determined to have
their revenge on this boy, because he began the song first and
would keep on with it. The young storks were very angry, and
grew worse as they grew older; so at last their mother was
obliged to promise that they should be revenged, but not until
the day of their departure.

"We must see first, how you acquit yourselves at the grand
review," said she. "If you get on badly there, the general
will thrust his beak through you, and you will be killed, as
the boys said, though not exactly in the same manner. So we
must wait and see."

"You shall see," said the young birds, and then they took
such pains and practised so well every day, that at last it
was quite a pleasure to see them fly so lightly and prettily.
As soon as the autumn arrived, all the storks began to
assemble together before taking their departure for warm
countries during the winter. Then the review commenced. They
flew over forests and villages to show what they could do, for
they had a long journey before them. The young storks
performed their part so well that they received a mark of
honor, with frogs and snakes as a present. These presents were
the best part of the affair, for they could eat the frogs and
snakes, which they very quickly did.

"Now let us have our revenge," they cried.

"Yes, certainly," cried the mother stork. "I have thought
upon the best way to be revenged. I know the pond in which all
the little children lie, waiting till the storks come to take
them to their parents. The prettiest little babies lie there
dreaming more sweetly than they will ever dream in the time to
come. All parents are glad to have a little child, and
children are so pleased with a little brother or sister. Now
we will fly to the pond and fetch a little baby for each of
the children who did not sing that naughty song to make game
of the storks."

"But the naughty boy, who began the song first, what shall
we do to him?" cried the young storks.

"There lies in the pond a little dead baby who has dreamed
itself to death," said the mother. "We will take it to the
naughty boy, and he will cry because we have brought him a
little dead brother. But you have not forgotten the good boy
who said it was a shame to laugh at animals: we will take him
a little brother and sister too, because he was good. He is
called Peter, and you shall all be called Peter in future."

So they all did what their mother had arranged, and from
that day, even till now, all the storks have been called
Peter.


THE END

[أرب جمـال]

SOMETHING


"I MEAN to be somebody, and do something useful in the
world," said the eldest of five brothers. "I don't care how
humble my position is, so that I can only do some good, which
will be something. I intend to be a brickmaker; bricks are
always wanted, and I shall be really doing something."

"Your 'something' is not enough for me," said the second
brother; "what you talk of doing is nothing at all, it is
journeyman's work, or might even be done by a machine. No! I
should prefer to be a builder at once, there is something real
in that. A man gains a position, he becomes a citizen, has his
own sign, his own house of call for his workmen: so I shall be
a builder. If all goes well, in time I shall become a master,
and have my own journeymen, and my wife will be treated as a
master's wife. This is what I call something."

"I call it all nothing," said the third; "not in reality
any position. There are many in a town far above a master
builder in position. You may be an upright man, but even as a
master you will only be ranked among common men. I know better
what to do than that. I will be an architect, which will place
me among those who possess riches and intellect, and who
speculate in art. I shall certainly have to rise by my own
endeavors from a bricklayer's laborer, or as a carpenter's
apprentice- a lad wearing a paper cap, although I now wear a
silk hat. I shall have to fetch beer and spirits for the
journeymen, and they will call me 'thou,' which will be an
insult. I shall endure it, however, for I shall look upon it
all as a mere representation, a masquerade, a mummery, which
to-morrow, that is, when I myself as a journeyman, shall have
served my time, will vanish, and I shall go my way, and all
that has passed will be nothing to me. Then I shall enter the
academy, and get instructed in drawing, and be called an
architect. I may even attain to rank, and have something
placed before or after my name, and I shall build as others
have done before me. By this there will be always 'something'
to make me remembered, and is not that worth living for?"

"Not in my opinion," said the fourth; "I will never follow
the lead of others, and only imitate what they have done. I
will be a genius, and become greater than all of you together.
I will create a new style of building, and introduce a plan
for erecting houses suitable to the climate, with material
easily obtained in the country, and thus suit national feeling
and the developments of the age, besides building a storey for
my own genius."

"But supposing the climate and the material are not good
for much," said the fifth brother, "that would be very
unfortunate for you, and have an influence over your
experiments. Nationality may assert itself until it becomes
affectation, and the developments of a century may run wild,
as youth often does. I see clearly that none of you will ever
really be anything worth notice, however you may now fancy it.
But do as you like, I shall not imitate you. I mean to keep
clear of all these things, and criticize what you do. In every
action something imperfect may be discovered, something not
right, which I shall make it my business to find out and
expose; that will be something, I fancy." And he kept his
word, and became a critic.

People said of this fifth brother, "There is something
very precise about him; he has a good head-piece, but he does
nothing." And on that very account they thought he must be
something.

Now, you see, this is a little history which will never
end; as long as the world exists, there will always be men
like these five brothers. And what became of them? Were they
each nothing or something? You shall hear; it is quite a
history.

The eldest brother, he who fabricated bricks, soon
discovered that each brick, when finished, brought him in a
small coin, if only a copper one; and many copper pieces, if
placed one upon another, can be changed into a shining
shilling; and at whatever door a person knocks, who has a
number of these in his hands, whether it be the baker's, the
butcher's, or the tailor's, the door flies open, and he can
get all he wants. So you see the value of bricks. Some of the
bricks, however, crumbled to pieces, or were broken, but the
elder brother found a use for even these.

On the high bank of earth, which formed a dyke on the
sea-coast, a poor woman named Margaret wished to build herself
a house, so all the imperfect bricks were given to her, and a
few whole ones with them; for the eldest brother was a
kind-hearted man, although he never achieved anything higher
than making bricks. The poor woman built herself a little
house- it was small and narrow, and the window was quite
crooked, the door too low, and the straw roof might have been
better thatched. But still it was a shelter, and from within
you could look far over the sea, which dashed wildly against
the sea-wall on which the little house was built. The salt
waves sprinkled their white foam over it, but it stood firm,
and remained long after he who had given the bricks to build
it was dead and buried.

The second brother of course knew better how to build than
poor Margaret, for he served an apprenticeship to learn it.
When his time was up, he packed up his knapsack, and went on
his travels, singing the journeyman's song,-


"While young, I can wander without a care,
And build new houses everywhere;
Fair and bright are my dreams of home,
Always thought of wherever I roam.

Hurrah for a workman's life of glee!
There's a loved one at home who thinks of me;
Home and friends I can ne'er forget,
And I mean to be a master yet."

And that is what he did. On his return home, he became a
master builder,- built one house after another in the town,
till they formed quite a street, which, when finished, became
really an ornament to the town. These houses built a house for
him in return, which was to be his own. But how can houses
build a house? If the houses were asked, they could not
answer; but the people would understand, and say, "Certainly
the street built his house for him." It was not very large,
and the floor was of lime; but when he danced with his bride
on the lime-covered floor, it was to him white and shining,
and from every stone in the wall flowers seemed to spring
forth and decorate the room as with the richest tapestry. It
was really a pretty house, and in it were a happy pair. The
flag of the corporation fluttered before it, and the
journeymen and apprentices shouted "Hurrah." He had gained his
position, he had made himself something, and at last he died,
which was "something" too.

Now we come to the architect, the third brother, who had
been first a carpenter's apprentice, had worn a cap, and
served as an errand boy, but afterwards went to the academy,
and risen to be an architect, a high and noble gentleman. Ah
yes, the houses of the new street, which the brother who was a
master builder erected, may have built his house for him, but
the street received its name from the architect, and the
handsomest house in the street became his property. That was
something, and he was "something," for he had a list of titles
before and after his name. His children were called
"wellborn," and when he died, his widow was treated as a lady
of position, and that was "something." His name remained
always written at the corner of the street, and lived in every
one's mouth as its name. Yes, this also was something."

And what about the genius of the family- the fourth
brother- who wanted to invent something new and original? He
tried to build a lofty storey himself, but it fell to pieces,
and he fell with it and broke his neck. However, he had a
splendid funeral, with the city flags and music in the
procession; flowers were strewn on the pavement, and three
orations were spoken over his grave, each one longer than the
other. He would have liked this very much during his life, as
well as the poems about him in the papers, for he liked
nothing so well as to be talked of. A monument was also
erected over his grave. It was only another storey over him,
but that was "something," Now he was dead, like the three
other brothers.

The youngest- the critic- outlived them all, which was
quite right for him. It gave him the opportunity of having the
last word, which to him was of great importance. People always
said he had a good head-piece. At last his hour came, and he
died, and arrived at the gates of heaven. Souls always enter
these gates in pairs; so he found himself standing and waiting
for admission with another; and who should it be but old dame
Margaret, from the house on the dyke! "It is evidently for the
sake of contrast that I and this wretched soul should arrive
here exactly at the same time," said the critic. "Pray who are
you, my good woman?" said he; "do you want to get in here
too?"

And the old woman curtsied as well as she could; she
thought it must be St. Peter himself who spoke to her. "I am a
poor old woman," she said, "without my family. I am old
Margaret, that lived in the house on the dyke."

"Well, and what have you done- what great deed have you
performed down below?"

"I have done nothing at all in the world that could give
me a claim to have these doors open for me," she said. "It
would be only through mercy that I can be allowed to slip in
through the gate."

"In what manner did you leave the world?" he asked, just
for the sake of saying something; for it made him feel very
weary to stand there and wait.

"How I left the world?" she replied; "why, I can scarcely
tell you. During the last years of my life I was sick and
miserable, and I was unable to bear creeping out of bed
suddenly into the frost and cold. Last winter was a hard
winter, but I have got over it all now. There were a few mild
days, as your honor, no doubt, knows. The ice lay thickly on
the lake, as far one could see. The people came from the town,
and walked upon it, and they say there were dancing and
skating upon it, I believe, and a great feasting. The sound of
beautiful music came into my poor little room where I lay.
Towards evening, when the moon rose beautifully, though not
yet in her full splendor, I glanced from my bed over the wide
sea; and there, just where the sea and sky met, rose a curious
white cloud. I lay looking at the cloud till I observed a
little black spot in the middle of it, which gradually grew
larger and larger, and then I knew what it meant- I am old and
experienced; and although this token is not often seen, I knew
it, and a shuddering seized me. Twice in my life had I seen
this same thing, and I knew that there would be an awful
storm, with a spring tide, which would overwhelm the poor
people who were now out on the ice, drinking, dancing, and
making merry. Young and old, the whole city, were there; who
was to warn them, if no one noticed the sign, or knew what it
meant as I did? I was so alarmed, that I felt more strength
and life than I had done for some time. I got out of bed, and
reached the window; I could not crawl any farther from
weakness and exhaustion; but I managed to open the window. I
saw the people outside running and jumping about on the ice; I
saw the beautiful flags waving in the wind; I heard the boys
shouting, 'Hurrah!' and the lads and lasses singing, and
everything full of merriment and joy. But there was the white
cloud with the black spot hanging over them. I cried out as
loudly as I could, but no one heard me; I was too far off from
the people. Soon would the storm burst, the ice break, and all
who were on it be irretrievably lost. They could not hear me,
and to go to them was quite out of my power. Oh, if I could
only get them safe on land! Then came the thought, as if from
heaven, that I would rather set fire to my bed, and let the
house be burnt down, than that so many people should perish
miserably. I got a light, and in a few moments the red flames
leaped up as a beacon to them. I escaped fortunately as far as
the threshold of the door; but there I fell down and remained:
I could go no farther. The flames rushed out towards me,
flickered on the window, and rose high above the roof. The
people on the ice became aware of the fire, and ran as fast as
possible to help a poor sick woman, who, as they thought, was
being burnt to death. There was not one who did not run. I
heard them coming, and I also at the same time was conscious
of a rush of air and a sound like the roar of heavy artillery.
The spring flood was lifting the ice covering, which brake
into a thousand pieces. But the people had reached the
sea-wall, where the sparks were flying round. I had saved them
all; but I suppose I could not survive the cold and fright; so
I came up here to the gates of paradise. I am told they are
open to poor creatures such as I am, and I have now no house
left on earth; but I do not think that will give me a claim to
be admitted here."

Then the gates were opened, and an angel led the old woman
in. She had dropped one little straw out of her straw bed,
when she set it on fire to save the lives of so many. It had
been changed into the purest gold- into gold that constantly
grew and expanded into flowers and fruit of immortal beauty.

"See," said the angel, pointing to the wonderful straw,
"this is what the poor woman has brought. What dost thou
bring? I know thou hast accomplished nothing, not even made a
single brick. Even if thou couldst return, and at least
produce so much, very likely, when made, the brick would be
useless, unless done with a good will, which is always
something. But thou canst not return to earth, and I can do
nothing for thee."

Then the poor soul, the old mother who had lived in the
house on the dyke, pleaded for him. She said, "His brother
made all the stone and bricks, and sent them to me to build my
poor little dwelling, which was a great deal to do for a poor
woman like me. Could not all these bricks and pieces be as a
wall of stone to prevail for him? It is an act of mercy; he is
wanting it now; and here is the very fountain of mercy."

"Then," said the angel, "thy brother, he who has been
looked upon as the meanest of you all, he whose honest deeds
to thee appeared so humble,- it is he who has sent you this
heavenly gift. Thou shalt not be turned away. Thou shalt have
permission to stand without the gate and reflect, and repent
of thy life on earth; but thou shalt not be admitted here
until thou hast performed one good deed of repentance, which
will indeed for thee be something."

"I could have expressed that better," thought the critic;
but he did not say it aloud, which for him was SOMETHING,
after all.


THE END

[أرب جمـال]

THE SNOW QUEEN
IN SEVEN STORIES

STORY THE FIRST


WHICH describes a looking-glass and the broken fragments.

You must attend to the commencement of this story, for
when we get to the end we shall know more than we do now about
a very wicked hobgoblin; he was one of the very worst, for he
was a real demon. One day, when he was in a merry mood, he
made a looking-glass which had the power of making everything
good or beautiful that was reflected in it almost shrink to
nothing, while everything that was worthless and bad looked
increased in size and worse than ever. The most lovely
landscapes appeared like boiled spinach, and the people became
hideous, and looked as if they stood on their heads and had no
bodies. Their countenances were so distorted that no one could
recognize them, and even one freckle on the face appeared to
spread over the whole of the nose and mouth. The demon said
this was very amusing. When a good or pious thought passed
through the mind of any one it was misrepresented in the
glass; and then how the demon laughed at his cunning
invention. All who went to the demon's school- for he kept a
school- talked everywhere of the wonders they had seen, and
declared that people could now, for the first time, see what
the world and mankind were really like. They carried the glass
about everywhere, till at last there was not a land nor a
people who had not been looked at through this distorted
mirror. They wanted even to fly with it up to heaven to see
the angels, but the higher they flew the more slippery the
glass became, and they could scarcely hold it, till at last it
slipped from their hands, fell to the earth, and was broken
into millions of pieces. But now the looking-glass caused more
unhappiness than ever, for some of the fragments were not so
large as a grain of sand, and they flew about the world into
every country. When one of these tiny atoms flew into a
person's eye, it stuck there unknown to him, and from that
moment he saw everything through a distorted medium, or could
see only the worst side of what he looked at, for even the
smallest fragment retained the same power which had belonged
to the whole mirror. Some few persons even got a fragment of
the looking-glass in their hearts, and this was very terrible,
for their hearts became cold like a lump of ice. A few of the
pieces were so large that they could be used as window-panes;
it would have been a sad thing to look at our friends through
them. Other pieces were made into spectacles; this was
dreadful for those who wore them, for they could see nothing
either rightly or justly. At all this the wicked demon laughed
till his sides shook- it tickled him so to see the mischief he
had done. There were still a number of these little fragments
of glass floating about in the air, and now you shall hear
what happened with one of them.

SECOND STORY
A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL

In a large town, full of houses and people, there is not
room for everybody to have even a little garden, therefore
they are obliged to be satisfied with a few flowers in
flower-pots. In one of these large towns lived two poor
children who had a garden something larger and better than a
few flower-pots. They were not brother and sister, but they
loved each other almost as much as if they had been. Their
parents lived opposite to each other in two garrets, where the
roofs of neighboring houses projected out towards each other
and the water-pipe ran between them. In each house was a
little window, so that any one could step across the gutter
from one window to the other. The parents of these children
had each a large wooden box in which they cultivated kitchen
herbs for their own use, and a little rose-bush in each box,
which grew splendidly. Now after a while the parents decided
to place these two boxes across the water-pipe, so that they
reached from one window to the other and looked like two banks
of flowers. Sweet-peas drooped over the boxes, and the
rose-bushes shot forth long branches, which were trained round
the windows and clustered together almost like a triumphal
arch of leaves and flowers. The boxes were very high, and the
children knew they must not climb upon them, without
permission, but they were often, however, allowed to step out
together and sit upon their little stools under the
rose-bushes, or play quietly. In winter all this pleasure came
to an end, for the windows were sometimes quite frozen over.
But then they would warm copper pennies on the stove, and hold
the warm pennies against the frozen pane; there would be very
soon a little round hole through which they could peep, and
the soft bright eyes of the little boy and girl would beam
through the hole at each window as they looked at each other.
Their names were Kay and Gerda. In summer they could be
together with one jump from the window, but in winter they had
to go up and down the long staircase, and out through the snow
before they could meet.

"See there are the white bees swarming," said Kay's old
grandmother one day when it was snowing.

"Have they a queen bee?" asked the little boy, for he knew
that the real bees had a queen.

"To be sure they have," said the grandmother. "She is
flying there where the swarm is thickest. She is the largest
of them all, and never remains on the earth, but flies up to
the dark clouds. Often at midnight she flies through the
streets of the town, and looks in at the windows, then the ice
freezes on the panes into wonderful shapes, that look like
flowers and castles."

"Yes, I have seen them," said both the children, and they
knew it must be true.

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

"Only let her come," said the boy, "I'll set her on the
stove and then she'll melt."

Then the grandmother smoothed his hair and told him some
more tales. One evening, when little Kay was at home, half
undressed, he climbed on a chair by the window and peeped out
through the little hole. A few flakes of snow were falling,
and one of them, rather larger than the rest, alighted on the
edge of one of the flower boxes. This snow-flake grew larger
and larger, till at last it became the figure of a woman,
dressed in garments of white gauze, which looked like millions
of starry snow-flakes linked together. She was fair and
beautiful, but made of ice- shining and glittering ice. Still
she was alive and her eyes sparkled like bright stars, but
there was neither peace nor rest in their glance. She nodded
towards the window and waved her hand. The little boy was
frightened and sprang from the chair; at the same moment it
seemed as if a large bird flew by the window. On the following
day there was a clear frost, and very soon came the spring.
The sun shone; the young green leaves burst forth; the
swallows built their nests; windows were opened, and the
children sat once more in the garden on the roof, high above
all the other rooms. How beautiful the roses blossomed this
summer. The little girl had learnt a hymn in which roses were
spoken of, and then she thought of their own roses, and she
sang the hymn to the little boy, and he sang too:-

"Roses bloom and cease to be,
But we shall the Christ-child see."

Then the little ones held each other by the hand, and kissed
the roses, and looked at the bright sunshine, and spoke to it
as if the Christ-child were there. Those were splendid summer
days. How beautiful and fresh it was out among the
rose-bushes, which seemed as if they would never leave off
blooming. One day Kay and Gerda sat looking at a book full of
pictures of animals and birds, and then just as the clock in
the church tower struck twelve, Kay said, "Oh, something has
struck my heart!" and soon after, "There is something in my
eye."

The little girl put her arm round his neck, and looked
into his eye, but she could see nothing.

"I think it is gone," he said. But it was not gone; it was
one of those bits of the looking-glass- that magic mirror, of
which we have spoken- the ugly glass which made everything
great and good appear small and ugly, while all that was
wicked and bad became more visible, and every little fault
could be plainly seen. Poor little Kay had also received a
small grain in his heart, which very quickly turned to a lump
of ice. He felt no more pain, but the glass was there still.
"Why do you cry?" said he at last; "it makes you look ugly.
There is nothing the matter with me now. Oh, see!" he cried
suddenly, "that rose is worm-eaten, and this one is quite
crooked. After all they are ugly roses, just like the box in
which they stand," and then he kicked the boxes with his foot,
and pulled off the two roses.

"Kay, what are you doing?" cried the little girl; and
then, when he saw how frightened she was, he tore off another
rose, and jumped through his own window away from little
Gerda.

When she afterwards brought out the picture book, he said,
"It was only fit for babies in long clothes," and when
grandmother told any stories, he would interrupt her with
"but;" or, when he could manage it, he would get behind her
chair, put on a pair of spectacles, and imitate her very
cleverly, to make people laugh. By-and-by he began to mimic
the speech and gait of persons in the street. All that was
peculiar or disagreeable in a person he would imitate
directly, and people said, "That boy will be very clever; he
has a remarkable genius." But it was the piece of glass in his
eye, and the coldness in his heart, that made him act like
this. He would even tease little Gerda, who loved him with all
her heart. His games, too, were quite different; they were not
so childish. One winter's day, when it snowed, he brought out
a burning-glass, then he held out the tail of his blue coat,
and let the snow-flakes fall upon it. "Look in this glass,
Gerda," said he; and she saw how every flake of snow was
magnified, and looked like a beautiful flower or a glittering
star. "Is it not clever?" said Kay, "and much more interesting
than looking at real flowers. There is not a single fault in
it, and the snow-flakes are quite perfect till they begin to
melt."

Soon after Kay made his appearance in large thick gloves,
and with his sledge at his back. He called up stairs to Gerda,
"I've got to leave to go into the great square, where the
other boys play and ride." And away he went.

In the great square, the boldest among the boys would
often tie their sledges to the country people's carts, and go
with them a good way. This was capital. But while they were
all amusing themselves, and Kay with them, a great sledge came
by; it was painted white, and in it sat some one wrapped in a
rough white fur, and wearing a white cap. The sledge drove
twice round the square, and Kay fastened his own little sledge
to it, so that when it went away, he followed with it. It went
faster and faster right through the next street, and then the
person who drove turned round and nodded pleasantly to Kay,
just as if they were acquainted with each other, but whenever
Kay wished to loosen his little sledge the driver nodded
again, so Kay sat still, and they drove out through the town
gate. Then the snow began to fall so heavily that the little
boy could not see a hand's breadth before him, but still they
drove on; then he suddenly loosened the cord so that the large
sled might go on without him, but it was of no use, his little
carriage held fast, and away they went like the wind. Then he
called out loudly, but nobody heard him, while the snow beat
upon him, and the sledge flew onwards. Every now and then it
gave a jump as if it were going over hedges and ditches. The
boy was frightened, and tried to say a prayer, but he could
remember nothing but the multiplication table.

The snow-flakes became larger and larger, till they
appeared like great white chickens. All at once they sprang on
one side, the great sledge stopped, and the person who had
driven it rose up. The fur and the cap, which were made
entirely of snow, fell off, and he saw a lady, tall and white,
it was the Snow Queen.

"We have driven well," said she, "but why do you tremble?
here, creep into my warm fur." Then she seated him beside her
in the sledge, and as she wrapped the fur round him he felt as
if he were sinking into a snow drift.

"Are you still cold," she asked, as she kissed him on the
forehead. The kiss was colder than ice; it went quite through
to his heart, which was already almost a lump of ice; he felt
as if he were going to die, but only for a moment; he soon
seemed quite well again, and did not notice the cold around
him.

"My sledge! don't forget my sledge," was his first
thought, and then he looked and saw that it was bound fast to
one of the white chickens, which flew behind him with the
sledge at its back. The Snow Queen kissed little Kay again,
and by this time he had forgotten little Gerda, his
grandmother, and all at home.

"Now you must have no more kisses," she said, "or I should
kiss you to death."

Kay looked at her, and saw that she was so beautiful, he
could not imagine a more lovely and intelligent face; she did
not now seem to be made of ice, as when he had seen her
through his window, and she had nodded to him. In his eyes she
was perfect, and she did not feel at all afraid. He told her
he could do mental arithmetic, as far as fractions, and that
he knew the number of square miles and the number of
inhabitants in the country. And she always smiled so that he
thought he did not know enough yet, and she looked round the
vast expanse as she flew higher and higher with him upon a
black cloud, while the storm blew and howled as if it were
singing old songs. They flew over woods and lakes, over sea
and land; below them roared the wild wind; the wolves howled
and the snow crackled; over them flew the black screaming
crows, and above all shone the moon, clear and bright,- and so
Kay passed through the long winter's night, and by day he
slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.

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