Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen

[أرب جمـال]

THE NEIGHBOURING FAMILIES


ONE would have thought that something important was going
on in the duck-pond, but it was nothing after all. All the
ducks lying quietly on the water or standing on their heads in
it- for they could do that- at once swarm to the sides; the
traces of their feet were seen in the wet earth, and their
cackling was heard far and wide. The water, which a few
moments before had been as clear and smooth as a mirror,
became very troubled. Before, every tree, every neighbouring
bush, the old farmhouse with the holes in the roof and the
swallows' nest, and especially the great rose-bush full of
flowers, had been reflected in it. The rose-bush covered the
wall and hung out over the water, in which everything was seen
as if in a picture, except that it all stood on its head; but
when the water was troubled everything got mixed up, and the
picture was gone. Two feathers which the fluttering ducks had
lost floated up and down; suddenly they took a rush as if the
wind were coming, but as it did not come they had to lie
still, and the water once more became quiet and smooth. The
roses were again reflected; they were very beautiful, but they
did not know it, for no one had told them. The sun shone among
the delicate leaves; everything breathed forth the loveliest
fragrance, and all felt as we do when we are filled with joy
at the thought of our happiness.

"How beautiful existence is!" said each rose. "The only
thing that I wish for is to be able to kiss the sun, because
it is so warm and bright. I should also like to kiss those
roses down in the water, which are so much like us, and the
pretty little birds down in the nest. There are some up above
too; they put out their heads and pipe softly; they have no
feathers like their father and mother. We have good
neighbours, both below and above. How beautiful existence is!"

The young ones above and below- those below were really
only shadows in the water- were sparrows; their parents were
sparrows too, and had taken possession of the empty swallows'
nest of last year, and now lived in it as if it were their own
property.

"Are those the duck's children swimming here?" asked the
young sparrows when they saw the feathers on the water.

"If you must ask questions, ask sensible ones," said their
mother. "Don't you see that they are feathers, such as I wear
and you will wear too? But ours are finer. Still, I should
like to have them up in the nest, for they keep one warm. I am
very curious to know what the ducks were so startled about;
not about us, certainly, although I did say 'peep' to you
pretty loudly. The thick-headed roses ought to know why, but
they know nothing at all; they only look at themselves and
smell. I am heartily tired of such neighbours."

"Listen to the dear little birds up there," said the
roses; "they begin to want to sing too, but are not able to
manage it yet. But it will soon come. What a pleasure that
must be! It is fine to have such cheerful neighbours."

Suddenly two horses came galloping up to be watered. A
peasant boy rode on one, and he had taken off all his clothes
except his large broad black hat. The boy whistled like a
bird, and rode into the pond where it was deepest, and as he
passed the rose-bush he plucked a rose and stuck it in his
hat. Now he looked dressed, and rode on. The other roses
looked after their sister, and asked each other, "Where can
she be going to?" But none of them knew.

"I should like to go out into the world for once," said
one; "but here at home among our green leaves it is beautiful
too. The whole day long the sun shines bright and warm, and in
the night the sky shines more beautifully still; we can see
that through all the little holes in it."

They meant the stars, but they knew no better.

"We make it lively about the house," said the
sparrow-mother; "and people say that a swallows' nest brings
luck; so they are glad of us. But such neighbours as ours! A
rose-bush on the wall like that causes damp. I daresay it will
be taken away; then we shall, perhaps, have some corn growing
here. The roses are good for nothing but to be looked at and
to be smelt, or at most to be stuck in a hat. Every year, as I
have been told by my mother, they fall off. The farmer's wife
preserves them and strews salt among them; then they get a
French name which I neither can pronounce nor care to, and are
put into the fire to make a nice smell. You see, that's their
life; they exist only for the eye and the nose. Now you know."

In the evening, when the gnats were playing about in the
warm air and in the red clouds, the nightingale came and sang
to the roses that the beautiful was like sunshine to the
world, and that the beautiful lived for ever. The roses
thought that the nightingale was singing about itself, and
that one might easily have believed; they had no idea that the
song was about them. But they were very pleased with it, and
wondered whether all the little sparrows could become
nightingales.

"I understand the song of that bird very well," said the
young sparrows. "There was only one word that was not clear to
me. What does 'the beautiful' mean?"

"Nothing at all," answered their mother; "that's only
something external. Up at the Hall, where the pigeons have
their own house, and corn and peas are strewn before them
every day- I have dined with them myself, and that you shall
do in time, too; for tell me what company you keep and I'll
tell you who you are- up at the Hall they have two birds with
green necks and a crest upon their heads; they can spread out
their tails like a great wheel, and these are so bright with
various colours that it makes one's eyes ache. These birds are
called peacocks, and that is 'the beautiful.' If they were
only plucked a little they would look no better than the rest
of us. I would have plucked them already if they had not been
so big."

"I'll pluck them," piped the young sparrow, who had no
feathers yet.

In the farmhouse lived a young married couple; they loved
each other dearly, were industrious and active, and everything
in their home looked very nice. On Sundays the young wife came
down early, plucked a handful of the most beautiful roses, and
put them into a glass of water, which she placed upon the
cupboard.

"Now I see that it is Sunday," said the husband, kissing
his little wife. They sat down, read their hymn-book, and held
each other by the hand, while the sun shone down upon the
fresh roses and upon them.

"This sight is really too tedious," said the
sparrow-mother, who could see into the room from her nest; and
she flew away.

The same thing happened on the following Sunday, for every
Sunday fresh roses were put into the glass; but the rose-bush
bloomed as beautifully as ever. The young sparrows now had
feathers, and wanted very much to fly with their mother; but
she would not allow it, and so they had to stay at home. In
one of her flights, however it may have happened, she was
caught, before she was aware of it, in a horse-hair net which
some boys had attached to a tree. The horse-hair was drawn
tightly round her leg- as tightly as if the latter were to be
cut off; she was in great pain and terror. The boys came
running up and seized her, and in no gentle way either.

"It's only a sparrow," they said; they did not, however,
let her go, but took her home with them, and every time she
cried they hit her on the beak.

In the farmhouse was an old man who understood making soap
into cakes and balls, both for shaving and washing. He was a
merry old man, always wandering about. On seeing the sparrow
which the boys had brought, and which they said they did not
want, he asked, "Shall we make it look very pretty?"

At these words an icy shudder ran through the
sparrow-mother.

Out of his box, in which were the most beautiful colours,
the old man took a quantity of shining leaf-gold, while the
boys had to go and fetch some white of egg, with which the
sparrow was to be smeared all over; the gold was stuck on to
this, and the sparrow-mother was now gilded all over. But she,
trembling in every limb, did not think of the adornment. Then
the soap-man tore off a small piece from the red lining of his
old jacket, and cutting it so as to make it look like a cock's
comb, he stuck it to the bird's head.

"Now you will see the gold-jacket fly," said the old man,
letting the sparrow go, which flew away in deadly fear, with
the sun shining upon her. How she glittered! All the sparrows,
and even a crow- and an old boy he was too- were startled at
the sight; but still they flew after her to learn what kind of
strange bird she was.

Driven by fear and horror, she flew homeward; she was
almost sinking fainting to the earth, while the flock of
pursuing birds increased, some even attempting to peck at her.

"Look at her! Look at her!" they all cried.

"Look at her! Look at her" cried her little ones. as she
approached the nest. "That is certainly a young peacock, for
it glitters in all colours; it makes one's eyes ache, as
mother told us. Peep! that's 'the beautiful'." And then they
pecked at the bird with their little beaks so that it was
impossible for her to get into the nest; she was so exhausted
that she couldn't even say "Peep!" much less "I am your own
mother!" The other birds, too, now fell upon the sparrow and
plucked off feather after feather until she fell bleeding into
the rose-bush.

"Poor creature!" said all the roses; "only be still, and
we will hide you. Lean your little head against us.

The sparrow spread out her wings once more, then drew them
closely to her, and lay dead near the neighbouring family, the
beautiful fresh roses.

"Peep!" sounded from the nest. "Where can mother be so
long? It's more than I can understand. It cannot be a trick of
hers, and mean that we are now to take care of ourselves. She
has left us the house as an inheritance; but to which of us is
it to belong when we have families of our own?"

"Yes, it won't do for you to stay with me when I increase
my household with a wife and children,"' said the smallest.

"I daresay I shall have more wives and children than you,"
said the second.

"But I am the eldest!" exclaimed the third. Then they all
got excited; they hit out with their wings, pecked with their
beaks, and flop! one after another was thrown out of the nest.
There they lay with their anger, holding their heads on one
side and blinking the eye that was turned upwards. That was
their way of looking foolish.

They could fly a little; by practice they learned to
improve, and at last they agreed upon a sign by which to
recognise each other if they should meet in the world later
on. It was to be one "Peep!" and three scratches on the ground
with the left foot.

The young one who had remained behind in the nest made
himself as broad as he could, for he was the proprietor. But
this greatness did not last long. In the night the red flames
burst through the window and seized the roof, the dry straw
blazed up high, and the whole house, together with the young
sparrow, was burned. The two others, who wanted to marry, thus
saved their lives by a stroke of luck.

When the sun rose again and everything looked as refreshed
as if it had had a quiet sleep, there only remained of the
farmhouse a few black charred beams leaning against the
chimney, which was now its own master. Thick smoke still rose
from the ruins, but the rose-bush stood yonder, fresh,
blooming, and untouched, every flower and every twig being
reflected in the clear water.

"How beautifully the roses bloom before the ruined house,"
exclaimed a passer-by. "A pleasanter picture cannot be
imagined. I must have that." And the man took out of his
portfolio a little book with white leaves: he was a painter,
and with his pencil he drew the smoking house, the charred
beams and the overhanging chimney, which bent more and more;
in the foreground he put the large, blooming rose-bush, which
presented a charming view. For its sake alone the whole
picture had been drawn.

Later in the day the two sparrows who had been born there
came by. "Where is the house?" they asked. "Where is the nest?
Peep! All is burned and our strong brother too. That's what he
has now for keeping the nest. The roses got off very well;
there they still stand with their red cheeks. They certainly
do not mourn at their neighbours' misfortunes. I don't want to
talk to them, and it looks miserable here- that's my opinion."
And away they went.

On a beautiful sunny autumn day- one could almost have
believed it was still the middle of summer- there hopped about
in the dry clean-swept courtyard before the principal entrance
of the Hall a number of black, white, and gaily-coloured
pigeons, all shining in the sunlight. The pigeon-mothers said
to their young ones: "Stand in groups, stand in groups! for
that looks much better."

"What kind of creatures are those little grey ones that
run about behind us?" asked an old pigeon, with red and green
in her eyes. "Little grey ones! Little grey ones!" she cried.

"They are sparrows, and good creatures. We have always had
the reputation of being pious, so we will allow them to pick
up the corn with us; they don't interrupt our talk, and they
scrape so prettily when they bow."

Indeed they were continually making three foot-scrapings
with the left foot and also said "Peep!" By this means they
recognised each other, for they were the sparrows from the
nest on the burned house.

"Here is excellent fare!" said the sparrow. The pigeons
strutted round one another, puffed out their chests mightily,
and had their own private views and opinions.

"Do you see that pouter pigeon?" said one to the other.
"Do you see how she swallows the peas? She eats too many, and
the best ones too. Curoo! Curoo! How she lifts her crest, the
ugly, spiteful creature! Curoo! Curoo!" And the eyes of all
sparkled with malice. "Stand in groups! Stand in groups!
Little grey ones, little grey ones! Curoo, curoo, curoo!"

So their chatter ran on, and so it will run on for
thousands of years. The sparrows ate lustily; they listened
attentively, and even stood in the ranks with the others, but
it did not suit them at all. They were full, and so they left
the pigeons, exchanging opinions about them, slipped in under
the garden palings, and when they found the door leading into
the house open, one of them, who was more than full, and
therefore felt brave, hopped on to the threshold. "Peep!" said
he; "I may venture that."

"Peep!" said the other; "so may I, and something more
too!" and he hopped into the room. No one was there; the third
sparrow, seeing this, flew still farther into the room,
exclaiming, "All or nothing! It is a curious man's nest all
the same; and what have they put up here? What is it?"

Close to the sparrows the roses were blooming; they were
reflected in the water, and the charred beams leaned against
the overhanging chimney. "Do tell me what this is. How comes
this in a room at the Hall?" And all three sparrows wanted to
fly over the roses and the chimney, but flew against a flat
wall. It was all a picture, a great splendid picture, which
the artist had painted from a sketch.

"Peep!" said the sparrows, "it's nothing. It only looks
like something. Peep! that is 'the beautiful.' Do you
understand it? I don't."

And they flew away, for some people came into the room.

Days and years went by. The pigeons had often cooed, not
to say growled- the spiteful creatures; the sparrows had been
frozen in winter and had lived merrily in summer: they were
all betrothed, or married, or whatever you like to call it.
They had little ones, and of course each one thought his own
the handsomest and cleverest; one flew this way, another that,
and when they met they recognised each other by their "Peep!"
and the three scrapes with the left foot. The eldest had
remained an old maid and had no nest nor young ones. It was
her pet idea to see a great city, so she flew to Copenhagen.

There was a large house painted in many gay colours
standing close to the castle and the canal, upon which latter
were to be seen many ships laden with apples and pottery. The
windows of the house were broader at the bottom than at the
top, and when the sparrows looked through them, every room
appeared to them like a tulip with the brightest colours and
shades. But in the middle of the tulip stood white men, made
of marble; a few were of plaster; still, looked at with
sparrows' eyes, that comes to the same thing. Up on the roof
stood a metal chariot drawn by metal horses, and the goddess
of Victory, also of metal, was driving. It was Thorwaldsen's
Museum.

"How it shines! how it shines!" said the maiden sparrow.
"I suppose that is 'the beautiful.' Peep! But here it is
larger than a peacock." She still remembered what in her
childhood's days her mother had looked upon as the greatest
among the beautiful. She flew down into the courtyard: there
everything was extremely fine. Palms and branches were painted
on the walls, and in the middle of the court stood a great
blooming rose-tree spreading out its fresh boughs, covered
with roses, over a grave. Thither flew the maiden sparrow, for
she saw several of her own kind there. A "peep" and three
foot-scrapings- in this way she had often greeted throughout
the year, and no one here had responded, for those who are
once parted do not meet every day; and so this greeting had
become a habit with her. But to-day two old sparrows and a
young one answered with a "peep" and the thrice-repeated
scrape with the left foot.

"Ah! Good-day! good-day!" They were two old ones from the
nest and a little one of the family. "Do we meet here? It's a
grand place, but there's not much to eat. This is 'the
beautiful.' Peep!"

Many people came out of the side rooms where the beautiful
marble statues stood and approached the grave where lay the
great master who had created these works of art. All stood
with enraptured faces round Thorwaldsen's grave, and a few
picked up the fallen rose-leaves and preserved them. They had
come from afar: one from mighty England, others from Germany
and France. The fairest of the ladies plucked one of the roses
and hid it in her bosom. Then the sparrows thought that the
roses reigned here, and that the house had been built for
their sake. That appeared to them to be really too much, but
since all the people showed their love for the roses, they did
not wish to be behindhand. "Peep!" they said sweeping the
ground with their tails, and blinking with one eye at the
roses, they had not looked at them long before they were
convinced that they were their old neighbours. And so they
really were. The painter who had drawn the rose-bush near the
ruined house, had afterwards obtained permission to dig it up,
and had given it to the architect, for finer roses had never
been seen. The architect had planted it upon Thorwaldsen's
grave, where it bloomed as an emblem of 'the beautiful' and
yielded fragrant red rose-leaves to be carried as mementoes to
distant lands.

"Have you obtained an appointment here in the city?" asked
the sparrows. The roses nodded; they recognized their grey
neighbours and were pleased to see them again. "How glorious
it is to live and to bloom, to see old friends again, and
happy faces every day. It is as if every day were a festival."
"Peep!" said the sparrows. "Yes, they are really our old
neighbours; we remember their origin near the pond. Peep! how
they have got on. Yes, some succeed while they are asleep. Ah!
there's a faded leaf; I can see that quite plainly." And they
pecked at it till it fell off. But the tree stood there
fresher and greener than ever; the roses bloomed in the
sunshine on Thorwaldsen's grave and became associated with his
immortal name.


THE END

[أرب جمـال]

THE METAL PIG


IN the city of Florence, not far from the Piazza del
Granduca, runs a little street called Porta Rosa. In this
street, just in front of the market-place where vegetables are
sold, stands a pig, made of brass and curiously formed. The
bright color has been changed by age to dark green; but clear,
fresh water pours from the snout, which shines as if it had
been polished, and so indeed it has, for hundreds of poor
people and children seize it in their hands as they place
their mouths close to the mouth of the animal, to drink. It is
quite a picture to see a half-naked boy clasping the
well-formed creature by the head, as he presses his rosy lips
against its jaws. Every one who visits Florence can very
quickly find the place; he has only to ask the first beggar he
meets for the Metal Pig, and he will be told where it is.

It was late on a winter evening; the mountains were
covered with snow, but the moon shone brightly, and moonlight
in Italy is like a dull winter's day in the north; indeed it
is better, for clear air seems to raise us above the earth,
while in the north a cold, gray, leaden sky appears to press
us down to earth, even as the cold damp earth shall one day
press on us in the grave. In the garden of the grand duke's
palace, under the roof of one of the wings, where a thousand
roses bloom in winter, a little ragged boy had been sitting
the whole day long; a boy, who might serve as a type of Italy,
lovely and smiling, and yet still suffering. He was hungry and
thirsty, yet no one gave him anything; and when it became
dark, and they were about to close the gardens, the porter
turned him out. He stood a long time musing on the bridge
which crosses the Arno, and looking at the glittering stars,
reflected in the water which flowed between him and the
elegant marble bridge Della Trinita. He then walked away
towards the Metal Pig, half knelt down, clasped it with his
arms, and then put his mouth to the shining snout and drank
deep draughts of the fresh water. Close by, lay a few
salad-leaves and two chestnuts, which were to serve for his
supper. No one was in the street but himself; it belonged only
to him, so he boldly seated himself on the pig's back, leaned
forward so that his curly head could rest on the head of the
animal, and, before he was aware, he fell asleep.

It was midnight. The Metal Pig raised himself gently, and
the boy heard him say quite distinctly, "Hold tight, little
boy, for I am going to run;" and away he started for a most
wonderful ride. First, they arrived at the Piazza del
Granduca, and the metal horse which bears the duke's statue,
neighed aloud. The painted coats-of-arms on the old
council-house shone like transparent pictures, and Michael
Angelo's David tossed his sling; it was as if everything had
life. The metallic groups of figures, among which were Perseus
and the Rape of the Sabines, looked like living persons, and
cries of terror sounded from them all across the noble square.
By the Palazzo degli Uffizi, in the arcade, where the nobility
assemble for the carnival, the Metal Pig stopped. "Hold fast,"
said the animal; "hold fast, for I am going up stairs."

The little boy said not a word; he was half pleased and
half afraid. They entered a long gallery, where the boy had
been before. The walls were resplendent with paintings; here
stood statues and busts, all in a clear light as if it were
day. But the grandest appeared when the door of a side room
opened; the little boy could remember what beautiful things he
had seen there, but to-night everything shone in its brightest
colors. Here stood the figure of a beautiful woman, as
beautifully sculptured as possible by one of the great
masters. Her graceful limbs appeared to move; dolphins sprang
at her feet, and immortality shone from her eyes. The world
called her the Venus de' Medici. By her side were statues, in
which the spirit of life breathed in stone; figures of men,
one of whom whetted his sword, and was named the Grinder;
wrestling gladiators formed another group, the sword had been
sharpened for them, and they strove for the goddess of beauty.
The boy was dazzled by so much glitter; for the walls were
gleaming with bright colors, all appeared living reality.

As they passed from hall to hall, beauty everywhere showed
itself; and as the Metal Pig went step by step from one
picture to the other, the little boy could see it all plainly.
One glory eclipsed another; yet there was one picture that
fixed itself on the little boy's memory, more especially
because of the happy children it represented, for these the
little boy had seen in daylight. Many pass this picture by
with indifference, and yet it contains a treasure of poetic
feeling; it represents Christ descending into Hades. They are
not the lost whom the spectator sees, but the heathen of olden
times. The Florentine, Angiolo Bronzino, painted this picture;
most beautiful is the expression on the face of the two
children, who appear to have full confidence that they shall
reach heaven at last. They are embracing each other, and one
little one stretches out his hand towards another who stands
below him, and points to himself, as if he were saying, "I am
going to heaven." The older people stand as if uncertain, yet
hopeful, and they bow in humble adoration to the Lord Jesus.
On this picture the boy's eyes rested longer than on any
other: the Metal Pig stood still before it. A low sigh was
heard. Did it come from the picture or from the animal? The
boy raised his hands towards the smiling children, and then
the Pig ran off with him through the open vestibule.

"Thank you, thank you, you beautiful animal," said the
little boy, caressing the Metal Pig as it ran down the steps.

"Thanks to yourself also," replied the Metal Pig; "I have
helped you and you have helped me, for it is only when I have
an innocent child on my back that I receive the power to run.
Yes; as you see, I can even venture under the rays of the
lamp, in front of the picture of the Madonna, but I may not
enter the church; still from without, and while you are upon
my back, I may look in through the open door. Do not get down
yet, for if you do, then I shall be lifeless, as you have seen
me in the Porta Rosa."

"I will stay with you, my dear creature," said the little
boy. So then they went on at a rapid pace through the streets
of Florence, till they came to the square before the church of
Santa Croce. The folding-doors flew open, and light streamed
from the altar through the church into the deserted square. A
wonderful blaze of light streamed from one of the monuments in
the left-side aisle, and a thousand moving stars seemed to
form a glory round it; even the coat-of-arms on the tomb-stone
shone, and a red ladder on a blue field gleamed like fire. It
was the grave of Galileo. The monument is unadorned, but the
red ladder is an emblem of art, signifying that the way to
glory leads up a shining ladder, on which the prophets of mind
rise to heaven, like Elias of old. In the right aisle of the
church every statue on the richly carved sarcophagi seemed
endowed with life. Here stood Michael Angelo; there Dante,
with the laurel wreath round his brow; Alfieri and
Machiavelli; for here side by side rest the great men- the
pride of Italy. The church itself is very beautiful, even more
beautiful than the marble cathedral at Florence, though not so
large. It seemed as if the carved vestments stirred, and as if
the marble figures they covered raised their heads higher, to
gaze upon the brightly colored glowing altar where the
white-robed boys swung the golden censers, amid music and
song, while the strong fragrance of incense filled the church,
and streamed forth into the square. The boy stretched forth
his hands towards the light, and at the same moment the Metal
Pig started again so rapidly that he was obliged to cling
tightly to him. The wind whistled in his ears, he heard the
church door creak on its hinges as it closed, and it seemed to
him as if he had lost his senses- then a cold shudder passed
over him, and he awoke.

It was morning; the Metal Pig stood in its old place on
the Porta Rosa, and the boy found he had slipped nearly off
its back. Fear and trembling came upon him as he thought of
his mother; she had sent him out the day before to get some
money, he had not done so, and now he was hungry and thirsty.
Once more he clasped the neck of his metal horse, kissed its
nose, and nodded farewell to it. Then he wandered away into
one of the narrowest streets, where there was scarcely room
for a loaded donkey to pass. A great iron-bound door stood
ajar; he passed through, and climbed up a brick staircase,
with dirty walls and a rope for a balustrade, till he came to
an open gallery hung with rags. From here a flight of steps
led down to a court, where from a well water was drawn up by
iron rollers to the different stories of the house, and where
the water-buckets hung side by side. Sometimes the roller and
the bucket danced in the air, splashing the water all over the
court. Another broken-down staircase led from the gallery, and
two Russian sailors running down it almost upset the poor boy.
They were coming from their nightly carousal. A woman not very
young, with an unpleasant face and a quantity of black hair,
followed them. "What have you brought home?" she asked. when
she saw the boy.

"Don't be angry," he pleaded; "I received nothing, I have
nothing at all;" and he seized his mother's dress and would
have kissed it. Then they went into a little room. I need not
describe it, but only say that there stood in it an earthen
pot with handles, made for holding fire, which in Italy is
called a marito. This pot she took in her lap, warmed her
fingers, and pushed the boy with her elbow.

"Certainly you must have some money," she said. The boy
began to cry, and then she struck him with her foot till he
cried out louder.

"Will you be quiet? or I'll break your screaming head;"
and she swung about the fire-pot which she held in her hand,
while the boy crouched to the earth and screamed.

Then a neighbor came in, and she had also a marito under
her arm. "Felicita," she said, "what are you doing to the
child?"

"The child is mine," she answered; "I can murder him if I
like, and you too, Giannina." And then she swung about the
fire-pot. The other woman lifted up hers to defend herself,
and the two pots clashed together so violently that they were
dashed to pieces, and fire and ashes flew about the room. The
boy rushed out at the sight, sped across the courtyard, and
fled from the house. The poor child ran till he was quite out
of breath; at last he stopped at the church, the doors of
which were opened to him the night before, and went in. Here
everything was bright, and the boy knelt down by the first
tomb on his right, the grave of Michael Angelo, and sobbed as
if his heart would break. People came and went, mass was
performed, but no one noticed the boy, excepting an elderly
citizen, who stood still and looked at him for a moment, and
then went away like the rest. Hunger and thirst overpowered
the child, and he became quite faint and ill. At last he crept
into a corner behind the marble monuments, and went to sleep.
Towards evening he was awakened by a pull at his sleeve; he
started up, and the same old citizen stood before him.

"Are you ill? where do you live? have you been here all
day?" were some of the questions asked by the old man. After
hearing his answers, the old man took him home to a small
house close by, in a back street. They entered a glovemaker's
shop, where a woman sat sewing busily. A little white poodle,
so closely shaven that his pink skin could plainly be seen,
frisked about the room, and gambolled upon the boy.

"Innocent souls are soon intimate," said the woman, as she
caressed both the boy and the dog. These good people gave the
child food and drink, and said he should stay with them all
night, and that the next day the old man, who was called
Giuseppe, would go and speak to his mother. A little homely
bed was prepared for him, but to him who had so often slept on
the hard stones it was a royal couch, and he slept sweetly and
dreamed of the splendid pictures and of the Metal Pig.
Giuseppe went out the next morning, and the poor child was not
glad to see him go, for he knew that the old man was gone to
his mother, and that, perhaps, he would have to go back. He
wept at the thought, and then he played with the little,
lively dog, and kissed it, while the old woman looked kindly
at him to encourage him. And what news did Giuseppe bring
back? At first the boy could not hear, for he talked a great
deal to his wife, and she nodded and stroked the boy's cheek.

Then she said, "He is a good lad, he shall stay with us,
he may become a clever glovemaker, like you. Look what
delicate fingers he has got; Madonna intended him for a
glovemaker." So the boy stayed with them, and the woman
herself taught him to sew; and he ate well, and slept well,
and became very merry. But at last he began to tease
Bellissima, as the little dog was called. This made the woman
angry, and she scolded him and threatened him, which made him
very unhappy, and he went and sat in his own room full of sad
thoughts. This chamber looked upon the street, in which hung
skins to dry, and there were thick iron bars across his
window. That night he lay awake, thinking of the Metal Pig;
indeed, it was always in his thoughts. Suddenly he fancied he
heard feet outside going pit-a-pat. He sprung out of bed and
went to the window. Could it be the Metal Pig? But there was
nothing to be seen; whatever he had heard had passed already.
Next morning, their neighbor, the artist, passed by, carrying
a paint-box and a large roll of canvas.

"Help the gentleman to carry his box of colors," said the
woman to the boy; and he obeyed instantly, took the box, and
followed the painter. They walked on till they reached the
picture gallery, and mounted the same staircase up which he
had ridden that night on the Metal Pig. He remembered all the
statues and pictures, the beautiful marble Venus, and again he
looked at the Madonna with the Saviour and St. John. They
stopped before the picture by Bronzino, in which Christ is
represented as standing in the lower world, with the children
smiling before Him, in the sweet expectation of entering
heaven; and the poor boy smiled, too, for here was his heaven.

"You may go home now," said the painter, while the boy
stood watching him, till he had set up his easel.

"May I see you paint?" asked the boy; "may I see you put
the picture on this white canvas?"

"I am not going to paint yet," replied the artist; then he
brought out a piece of chalk. His hand moved quickly, and his
eye measured the great picture; and though nothing appeared
but a faint line, the figure of the Saviour was as clearly
visible as in the colored picture.

"Why don't you go?" said the painter. Then the boy
wandered home silently, and seated himself on the table, and
learned to sew gloves. But all day long his thoughts were in
the picture gallery; and so he pricked his fingers and was
awkward. But he did not tease Bellissima. When evening came,
and the house door stood open, he slipped out. It was a
bright, beautiful, starlight evening, but rather cold. Away he
went through the already-deserted streets, and soon came to
the Metal Pig; he stooped down and kissed its shining nose,
and then seated himself on its back.

"You happy creature," he said; "how I have longed for you!
we must take a ride to-night."

But the Metal Pig lay motionless, while the fresh stream
gushed forth from its mouth. The little boy still sat astride
on its back, when he felt something pulling at his clothes. He
looked down, and there was Bellissima, little smooth-shaven
Bellissima, barking as if she would have said, "Here I am too;
why are you sitting there?"

A fiery dragon could not have frightened the little boy so
much as did the little dog in this place. "Bellissima in the
street, and not dressed!" as the old lady called it; "what
would be the end of this?"

The dog never went out in winter, unless she was attired
in a little lambskin coat which had been made for her; it was
fastened round the little dog's neck and body with red
ribbons, and was decorated with rosettes and little bells. The
dog looked almost like a little kid when she was allowed to go
out in winter, and trot after her mistress. And now here she
was in the cold, and not dressed. Oh, how would it end? All
his fancies were quickly put to flight; yet he kissed the
Metal Pig once more, and then took Bellissima in his arms. The
poor little thing trembled so with cold, that the boy ran
homeward as fast as he could.

"What are you running away with there?" asked two of the
police whom he met, and at whom the dog barked. "Where have
you stolen that pretty dog?" they asked; and they took it away
from him.

"Oh, I have not stolen it; do give it to me back again,"
cried the boy, despairingly.

"If you have not stolen it, you may say at home that they
can send to the watch-house for the dog." Then they told him
where the watch-house was, and went away with Bellissima.

Here was a dreadful trouble. The boy did not know whether
he had better jump into the Arno, or go home and confess
everything. They would certainly kill him, he thought.

"Well, I would gladly be killed," he reasoned; "for then I
shall die, and go to heaven:" and so he went home, almost
hoping for death.

The door was locked, and he could not reach the knocker.
No one was in the street; so he took up a stone, and with it
made a tremendous noise at the door.

"Who is there?" asked somebody from within.

"It is I," said he. "Bellissima is gone. Open the door,
and then kill me."

Then indeed there was a great panic. Madame was so very
fond of Bellissima. She immediately looked at the wall where
the dog's dress usually hung; and there was the little
lambskin.

"Bellissima in the watch-house!" she cried. "You bad boy!
how did you entice her out? Poor little delicate thing, with
those rough policemen! and she'll be frozen with cold."

Giuseppe went off at once, while his wife lamented, and
the boy wept. Several of the neighbors came in, and amongst
them the painter. He took the boy between his knees, and
questioned him; and, in broken sentences, he soon heard the
whole story, and also about the Metal Pig, and the wonderful
ride to the picture-gallery, which was certainly rather
incomprehensible. The painter, however, consoled the little
fellow, and tried to soften the lady's anger; but she would
not be pacified till her husband returned with Bellissima, who
had been with the police. Then there was great rejoicing, and
the painter caressed the boy, and gave him a number of
pictures. Oh, what beautiful pictures these were!- figures
with funny heads; and, above all, the Metal Pig was there too.
Oh, nothing could be more delightful. By means of a few
strokes, it was made to appear on the paper; and even the
house that stood behind it had been sketched in. Oh, if he
could only draw and paint! He who could do this could conjure
all the world before him. The first leisure moment during the
next day, the boy got a pencil, and on the back of one of the
other drawings he attempted to copy the drawing of the Metal
Pig, and he succeeded. Certainly it was rather crooked, rather
up and down, one leg thick, and another thin; still it was
like the copy, and he was overjoyed at what he had done. The
pencil would not go quite as it ought,- he had found that out;
but the next day he tried again. A second pig was drawn by the
side of the first, and this looked a hundred times better; and
the third attempt was so good, that everybody might know what
it was meant to represent.

And now the glovemaking went on but slowly. The orders
given by the shops in the town were not finished quickly; for
the Metal Pig had taught the boy that all objects may be drawn
upon paper; and Florence is a picture-book in itself for any
one who chooses to turn over its pages. On the Piazza dell
Trinita stands a slender pillar, and upon it is the goddess of
Justice, blindfolded, with her scales in her hand. She was
soon represented on paper, and it was the glovemaker's boy who
placed her there. His collection of pictures increased; but as
yet they were only copies of lifeless objects, when one day
Bellissima came gambolling before him: "Stand still," cried
he, "and I will draw you beautifully, to put amongst my
collection."

But Bellissima would not stand still, so she must be bound
fast in one position. He tied her head and tail; but she
barked and jumped, and so pulled and tightened the string,
that she was nearly strangled; and just then her mistress
walked in.

"You wicked boy! the poor little creature!" was all she
could utter.

She pushed the boy from her, thrust him away with her
foot, called him a most ungrateful, good-for-nothing, wicked
boy, and forbade him to enter the house again. Then she wept,
and kissed her little half-strangled Bellissima. At this
moment the painter entered the room.

* * * * * *

In the year 1834 there was an exhibition in the Academy of
Arts at Florence. Two pictures, placed side by side, attracted
a large number of spectators. The smaller of the two
represented a little boy sitting at a table, drawing; before
him was a little white poodle, curiously shaven; but as the
animal would not stand still, it had been fastened with a
string to its head and tail, to keep it in one position. The
truthfulness and life in this picture interested every one.
The painter was said to be a young Florentine, who had been
found in the streets, when a child, by an old glovemaker, who
had brought him up. The boy had taught himself to draw: it was
also said that a young artist, now famous, had discovered
talent in the child just as he was about to be sent away for
having tied up madame's favorite little dog, and using it as a
model. The glovemaker's boy had also become a great painter,
as the picture proved; but the larger picture by its side was
a still greater proof of his talent. It represented a handsome
boy, clothed in rags, lying asleep, and leaning against the
Metal Pig in the street of the Porta Rosa. All the spectators
knew the spot well. The child's arms were round the neck of
the Pig, and he was in a deep sleep. The lamp before the
picture of the Madonna threw a strong, effective light on the
pale, delicate face of the child. It was a beautiful picture.
A large gilt frame surrounded it, and on one corner of the
frame a laurel wreath had been hung; but a black band, twined
unseen among the green leaves, and a streamer of crape, hung
down from it; for within the last few days the young artist
had- died.


THE END

[أرب جمـال]

THE MAIL-COACH PASSENGERS


IT was bitterly cold, the sky glittered with stars, and
not a breeze stirred. "Bump"- an old pot was thrown at a
neighbor's door; and "bang, bang," went the guns; for they
were greeting the New Year. It was New Year's Eve, and the
church clock was striking twelve. "Tan-ta-ra-ra,
tan-ta-ra-ra," sounded the horn, and the mail-coach came
lumbering up. The clumsy vehicle stopped at the gate of the
town; all the places had been taken, for there were twelve
passengers in the coach.

"Hurrah! hurrah!" cried the people in the town; for in
every house the New Year was being welcomed; and as the clock
struck, they stood up, the full glasses in their hands, to
drink success to the new comer. "A happy New Year," was the
cry; "a pretty wife, plenty of money, and no sorrow or care."

The wish passed round, and the glasses clashed together
till they rang again; while before the town-gate the mail
coach stopped with the twelve strange passengers. And who were
these strangers? Each of them had his passport and his luggage
with him; they even brought presents for me, and for you, and
for all the people in the town. "Who were they? what did they
want? and what did they bring with them?"

"Good-morning," they cried to the sentry at the town-gate.

"Good-morning," replied the sentry; for the clock had
struck twelve. "Your name and profession?" asked the sentry of
the one who alighted first from the carriage.

"See for yourself in the passport," he replied. "I am
myself;" and a famous fellow he looked, arrayed in bear-skin
and fur boots. "I am the man on whom many persons fix their
hopes. Come to me to-morrow, and I'll give you a New Year's
present. I throw shillings and pence among the people; I give
balls, no less than thirty-one; indeed, that is the highest
number I can spare for balls. My ships are often frozen in,
but in my offices it is warm and comfortable. My name is
JANUARY. I'm a merchant, and I generally bring my accounts
with me."

Then the second alighted. He seemed a merry fellow. He was
a director of a theatre, a manager of masked balls, and a
leader of all the amusements we can imagine. His luggage
consisted of a great cask.

"We'll dance the bung out of the cask at carnival time,"
said he; "I'll prepare a merry tune for you and for myself
too. Unfortunately I have not long to live- the shortest time,
in fact, of my whole family- only twenty-eight days. Sometimes
they pop me in a day extra; but I trouble myself very little
about that. Hurrah!"

"You must not shout so," said the sentry.

"Certainly I may shout," retorted the man; "I'm Prince
Carnival, travelling under the name of FEBRUARY."

The third now got out. He looked a personification of
fasting; but he carried his nose very high, for he was related
to the "forty (k)nights," and was a weather prophet. But that
is not a very lucrative office, and therefore he praised
fasting. In his button-hole he carried a little bunch of
violets, but they were very small.

"MARCH, March," the fourth called after him, slapping him
on the shoulder, "don't you smell something? Make haste into
the guard room; they're drinking punch there; that's your
favorite drink. I can smell it out here already. Forward,
Master March." But it was not true; the speaker only wanted to
remind him of his name, and to make an APRIL fool of him; for
with that fun the fourth generally began his career. He looked
very jovial, did little work, and had the more holidays. "If
the world were only a little more settled," said he: "but
sometimes I'm obliged to be in a good humor, and sometimes a
bad one, according to circumstances; now rain, now sunshine.
I'm kind of a house agent, also a manager of funerals. I can
laugh or cry, according to circumstances. I have my summer
wardrobe in this box here, but it would be very foolish to put
it on now. Here I am. On Sundays I go out walking in shoes and
white silk stockings, and a muff."

After him, a lady stepped out of the coach. She called
herself Miss MAY. She wore a summer dress and overshoes; her
dress was a light green, and she wore anemones in her hair.
She was so scented with wild-thyme, that it made the sentry
sneeze.

"Your health, and God bless you," was her salutation to
him.

How pretty she was! and such a singer! not a theatre
singer, nor a ballad singer; no, but a singer of the woods;
for she wandered through the gay green forest, and had a
concert there for her own amusement.

"Now comes the young lady," said those in the carriage;
and out stepped a young dame, delicate, proud, and pretty. It
was Mistress JUNE, in whose service people become lazy and
fond of sleeping for hours. She gives a feast on the longest
day of the year, that there may be time for her guests to
partake of the numerous dishes at her table. Indeed, she keeps
her own carriage; but still she travelled by the mail, with
the rest, because she wished to show that she was not
high-minded. But she was not without a protector; her younger
brother, JULY, was with her. He was a plump young fellow, clad
in summer garments and wearing a straw hat. He had but very
little luggage with him, because it was so cumbersome in the
great heat; he had, however, swimming-trousers with him, which
are nothing to carry. Then came the mother herself, in
crinoline, Madame AUGUST, a wholesale dealer in fruit,
proprietress of a large number of fish ponds and a land
cultivator. She was fat and heated, yet she could use her
hands well, and would herself carry out beer to the laborers
in the field. "In the sweat of the face shalt thou eat bread,"
said she; "it is written in the Bible." After work, came the
recreations, dancing and playing in the greenwood, and the
"harvest homes." She was a thorough housewife.

After her a man came out of the coach, who is a painter;
he is the great master of colors, and is named SEPTEMBER. The
forest, on his arrival, had to change its colors when he
wished it; and how beautiful are the colors he chooses! The
woods glow with hues of red and gold and brown. This great
master painter could whistle like a blackbird. He was quick in
his work, and soon entwined the tendrils of the hop plant
around his beer jug. This was an ornament to the jug, and he
has a great love for ornament. There he stood with his color
pot in his hand, and that was the whole of his luggage. A
land-owner followed, who in the month for sowing seed attended
to the ploughing and was fond of field sports. Squire OCTOBER
brought his dog and his gun with him, and had nuts in his game
bag. "Crack, crack." He had a great deal of luggage, even an
English plough. He spoke of farming, but what he said could
scarcely be heard for the coughing and gasping of his
neighbor. It was NOVEMBER, who coughed violently as he got
out. He had a cold, which caused him to use his
pocket-handkerchief continually; and yet he said he was
obliged to accompany servant girls to their new places, and
initiate them into their winter service. He said he thought
his cold would never leave him when he went out woodcutting,
for he was a master sawyer, and had to supply wood to the
whole parish. He spent his evenings preparing wooden soles for
skates, for he knew, he said, that in a few weeks these shoes
would be wanted for the amusement of skating. At length the
last passenger made her appearance,- old Mother DECEMBER, with
her fire-stool. The dame was very old, but her eyes glistened
like two stars. She carried on her arm a flower-pot, in which
a little fir-tree was growing. "This tree I shall guard and
cherish," she said, "that it may grow large by Christmas Eve,
and reach from the ground to the ceiling, to be covered and
adorned with flaming candles, golden apples, and little
figures. The fire-stool will be as warm as a stove, and I
shall then bring a story book out of my pocket, and read aloud
till all the children in the room are quite quiet. Then the
little figures on the tree will become lively, and the little
waxen angel at the top spread out his wings of gold-leaf, and
fly down from his green perch. He will kiss every one in the
room, great and small; yes, even the poor children who stand
in the passage, or out in the street singing a carol about the
'Star of Bethlehem.'"

"Well, now the coach may drive away," said the sentry; "we
have the whole twelve. Let the horses be put up."

"First, let all the twelve come to me," said the captain
on duty, "one after another. The passports I will keep here.
Each of them is available for one month; when that has passed,
I shall write the behavior of each on his passport. Mr.
JANUARY, have the goodness to come here." And Mr. January
stepped forward.

When a year has passed, I think I shall be able to tell
you what the twelve passengers have brought to you, to me, and
to all of us. Now I do not know, and probably even they don't
know themselves, for we live in strange times.


THE END

[أرب جمـال]

LITTLE TUK


YES, they called him Little Tuk, but it was not his real
name; he had called himself so before he could speak plainly,
and he meant it for Charles. It was all very well for those
who knew him, but not for strangers.

Little Tuk was left at home to take care of his little
sister, Gustava, who was much younger than himself, and he had
to learn his lessons at the same time, and the two things
could not very well be performed together. The poor boy sat
there with his sister on his lap, and sung to her all the
songs he knew, and now and then he looked into his geography
lesson that lay open before him. By the next morning he had to
learn by heart all the towns in Zealand, and all that could be
described of them.

His mother came home at last, and took little Gustava in
her arms. Then Tuk ran to the window, and read so eagerly that
he nearly read his eyes out; for it had become darker and
darker every minute, and his mother had no money to buy a
light.

"There goes the old washerwoman up the lane," said the
mother, as she looked out of the window; "the poor woman can
hardly drag herself along, and now she had to drag a pail of
water from the well. Be a good boy, Tuk, and run across and
help the old woman, won't you?"

So Tuk ran across quickly, and helped her, but when he
came back into the room it was quite dark, and there was not a
word said about a light, so he was obliged to go to bed on his
little truckle bedstead, and there he lay and thought of his
geography lesson, and of Zealand, and of all the master had
told him. He ought really to have read it over again, but he
could not for want of light. So he put the geography book
under his pillow, for he had heard that this was a great help
towards learning a lesson, but not always to be depended upon.
He still lay thinking and thinking, when all at once it seemed
as if some one kissed him on his eyes and mouth. He slept and
yet he did not sleep; and it appeared as if the old
washerwoman looked at him with kind eyes and said, "It would
be a great pity if you did not know your lesson to-morrow
morning; you helped me, and now I will help you, and
Providence will always keep those who help themselves;" and at
the same time the book under Tuk's pillow began to move about.
"Cluck, cluck, cluck," cried a hen as she crept towards him.
"I am a hen from Kjoge," and then she told him how many
inhabitants the town contained, and about a battle that had
been fought there, which really was not worth speaking of.

"Crack, crack," down fell something. It was a wooden bird,
the parrot which is used as a target as Prastoe. He said there
were as many inhabitants in that town as he had nails in his
body. He was very proud, and said, "Thorwalsden lived close to
me, and here I am now, quite comfortable."

But now little Tuk was no longer in bed; all in a moment
he found himself on horseback. Gallop, gallop, away he went,
seated in front of a richly-attired knight, with a waving
plume, who held him on the saddle, and so they rode through
the wood by the old town of Wordingburg, which was very large
and busy. The king's castle was surrounded by lofty towers,
and radiant light streamed from all the windows. Within there
were songs and dancing; King Waldemar and the young
gayly-dressed ladies of the court were dancing together.
Morning dawned, and as the sun rose, the whole city and the
king's castle sank suddenly down together. One tower after
another fell, till at last only one remained standing on the
hill where the castle had formerly been.

The town now appeared small and poor, and the school-boys
read in their books, which they carried under their arms, that
it contained two thousand inhabitants; but this was a mere
boast, for it did not contain so many.

And again little Tuk lay in his bed, scarcely knowing
whether he was dreaming or not, for some one stood by him.

"Tuk! little Tuk!" said a voice. It was a very little
person who spoke. He was dressed as a sailor, and looked small
enough to be a middy, but he was not one. "I bring you many
greetings from Corsor. It is a rising town, full of life. It
has steamships and mail-coaches. In times past they used to
call it ugly, but that is no longer true. I lie on the
sea-shore," said Corsor; "I have high-roads and
pleasure-gardens; I have given birth to a poet who was witty
and entertaining, which they are not all. I once wanted to fit
out a ship to sail round the world, but I did not accomplish
it, though most likely I might have done so. But I am fragrant
with perfume, for close to my gates most lovely roses bloom."

Then before the eyes of little Tuk appeared a confusion of
colors, red and green; but it cleared off, and he could
distinguish a cliff close to the bay, the slopes of which were
quite overgrown with verdure, and on its summit stood a fine
old church with pointed towers. Springs of water flowed out of
the cliff in thick waterspouts, so that there was a continual
splashing. Close by sat an old king with a golden crown on his
white head. This was King Hroar of the Springs and near the
springs stood the town of Roeskilde, as it is called. Then all
the kings and queens of Denmark went up the ascent to the old
church, hand in hand, with golden crowns on their heads, while
the organ played and the fountains sent forth jets of water.

Little Tuk saw and heard it all. "Don't forget the names
of these towns," said King Hroar.

All at once everything vanished; but where! It seemed to
him like turning over the leaves of a book. And now there
stood before him an old peasant woman, who had come from Soroe
where the grass grows in the market-place. She had a green
linen apron thrown over her head and shoulders, and it was
quite wet, as if it had been raining heavily. "Yes, that it
has," said she, and then, just as she was going to tell him a
great many pretty stories from Holberg's comedies, and about
Waldemar and Absalom, she suddenly shrunk up together, and
wagged her head as if she were a frog about to spring.
"Croak," she cried; "it is always wet, and as quiet as death
in Soroe." Then little Tuk saw she was changed into a frog.
"Croak," and again she was an old woman. "One must dress
according to the weather," said she. "It is wet, and my town
is just like a bottle. By the cork we must go in, and by the
cork we must come out again. In olden times I had beautiful
fish, and now I have fresh, rosy-cheeked boys in the bottom of
the bottle, and they learn wisdom, Hebrew and Greek."

"Croak." How it sounded like the cry of the frogs on the
moor, or like the creaking of great boots when some one is
marching,- always the same tone, so monotonous and wearing,
that little Tuk at length fell fast asleep, and then the sound
could not annoy him. But even in this sleep came a dream or
something like it. His little sister Gustava, with her blue
eyes, and fair curly hair, had grown up a beautiful maiden all
at once, and without having wings she could fly. And they flew
together over Zealand, over green forests and blue lakes.

"Hark, so you hear the cock crow, little Tuk.
'Cock-a-doodle-doo.' The fowls are flying out of Kjoge. You
shall have a large farm-yard. You shall never suffer hunger or
want. The bird of good omen shall be yours, and you shall
become a rich and happy man; your house shall rise up like
King Waldemar's towers, and shall be richly adorned with
marble statues, like those at Prastoe. Understand me well;
your name shall travel with fame round the world like the ship
that was to sail from Corsor, and at Roeskilde,- Don't forget
the names of the towns, as King Hroar said,- you shall speak
well and clearly little Tuk, and when at last you lie in your
grave you shall sleep peacefully, as-"

"As if I lay in Soroe," said little Tuk awaking. It was
bright daylight, and he could not remember his dream, but that
was not necessary, for we are not to know what will happen to
us in the future. Then he sprang out of bed quickly, and read
over his lesson in the book, and knew it all at once quite
correctly. The old washerwoman put her head in at the door,
and nodded to him quite kindly, and said, "Many thanks, you
good child, for your help yesterday. I hope all your beautiful
dreams will come true."

Little Tuk did not at all know what he had dreamt, but One
above did.


THE END

[أرب جمـال]

THE LITTLE MERMAID


FAR out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the
prettiest cornflower, and as clear as crystal, it is very,
very deep; so deep, indeed, that no cable could fathom it:
many church steeples, piled one upon another, would not reach
from the ground beneath to the surface of the water above.
There dwell the Sea King and his subjects. We must not imagine
that there is nothing at the bottom of the sea but bare yellow
sand. No, indeed; the most singular flowers and plants grow
there; the leaves and stems of which are so pliant, that the
slightest agitation of the water causes them to stir as if
they had life. Fishes, both large and small, glide between the
branches, as birds fly among the trees here upon land. In the
deepest spot of all, stands the castle of the Sea King. Its
walls are built of coral, and the long, gothic windows are of
the clearest amber. The roof is formed of shells, that open
and close as the water flows over them. Their appearance is
very beautiful, for in each lies a glittering pearl, which
would be fit for the diadem of a queen.

The Sea King had been a widower for many years, and his
aged mother kept house for him. She was a very wise woman, and
exceedingly proud of her high birth; on that account she wore
twelve oysters on her tail; while others, also of high rank,
were only allowed to wear six. She was, however, deserving of
very great praise, especially for her care of the little
sea-princesses, her grand-daughters. They were six beautiful
children; but the youngest was the prettiest of them all; her
skin was as clear and delicate as a rose-leaf, and her eyes as
blue as the deepest sea; but, like all the others, she had no
feet, and her body ended in a fish's tail. All day long they
played in the great halls of the castle, or among the living
flowers that grew out of the walls. The large amber windows
were open, and the fish swam in, just as the swallows fly into
our houses when we open the windows, excepting that the fishes
swam up to the princesses, ate out of their hands, and allowed
themselves to be stroked. Outside the castle there was a
beautiful garden, in which grew bright red and dark blue
flowers, and blossoms like flames of fire; the fruit glittered
like gold, and the leaves and stems waved to and fro
continually. The earth itself was the finest sand, but blue as
the flame of burning sulphur. Over everything lay a peculiar
blue radiance, as if it were surrounded by the air from above,
through which the blue sky shone, instead of the dark depths
of the sea. In calm weather the sun could be seen, looking
like a purple flower, with the light streaming from the calyx.
Each of the young princesses had a little plot of ground in
the garden, where she might dig and plant as she pleased. One
arranged her flower-bed into the form of a whale; another
thought it better to make hers like the figure of a little
mermaid; but that of the youngest was round like the sun, and
contained flowers as red as his rays at sunset. She was a
strange child, quiet and thoughtful; and while her sisters
would be delighted with the wonderful things which they
obtained from the wrecks of vessels, she cared for nothing but
her pretty red flowers, like the sun, excepting a beautiful
marble statue. It was the representation of a handsome boy,
carved out of pure white stone, which had fallen to the bottom
of the sea from a wreck. She planted by the statue a
rose-colored weeping willow. It grew splendidly, and very soon
hung its fresh branches over the statue, almost down to the
blue sands. The shadow had a violet tint, and waved to and fro
like the branches; it seemed as if the crown of the tree and
the root were at play, and trying to kiss each other. Nothing
gave her so much pleasure as to hear about the world above the
sea. She made her old grandmother tell her all she knew of the
ships and of the towns, the people and the animals. To her it
seemed most wonderful and beautiful to hear that the flowers
of the land should have fragrance, and not those below the
sea; that the trees of the forest should be green; and that
the fishes among the trees could sing so sweetly, that it was
quite a pleasure to hear them. Her grandmother called the
little birds fishes, or she would not have understood her; for
she had never seen birds.

"When you have reached your fifteenth year," said the
grand-mother, "you will have permission to rise up out of the
sea, to sit on the rocks in the moonlight, while the great
ships are sailing by; and then you will see both forests and
towns."

In the following year, one of the sisters would be
fifteen: but as each was a year younger than the other, the
youngest would have to wait five years before her turn came to
rise up from the bottom of the ocean, and see the earth as we
do. However, each promised to tell the others what she saw on
her first visit, and what she thought the most beautiful; for
their grandmother could not tell them enough; there were so
many things on which they wanted information. None of them
longed so much for her turn to come as the youngest, she who
had the longest time to wait, and who was so quiet and
thoughtful. Many nights she stood by the open window, looking
up through the dark blue water, and watching the fish as they
splashed about with their fins and tails. She could see the
moon and stars shining faintly; but through the water they
looked larger than they do to our eyes. When something like a
black cloud passed between her and them, she knew that it was
either a whale swimming over her head, or a ship full of human
beings, who never imagined that a pretty little mermaid was
standing beneath them, holding out her white hands towards the
keel of their ship.

As soon as the eldest was fifteen, she was allowed to rise
to the surface of the ocean. When she came back, she had
hundreds of things to talk about; but the most beautiful, she
said, was to lie in the moonlight, on a sandbank, in the quiet
sea, near the coast, and to gaze on a large town nearby, where
the lights were twinkling like hundreds of stars; to listen to
the sounds of the music, the noise of carriages, and the
voices of human beings, and then to hear the merry bells peal
out from the church steeples; and because she could not go
near to all those wonderful things, she longed for them more
than ever. Oh, did not the youngest sister listen eagerly to
all these descriptions? and afterwards, when she stood at the
open window looking up through the dark blue water, she
thought of the great city, with all its bustle and noise, and
even fancied she could hear the sound of the church bells,
down in the depths of the sea.

In another year the second sister received permission to
rise to the surface of the water, and to swim about where she
pleased. She rose just as the sun was setting, and this, she
said, was the most beautiful sight of all. The whole sky
looked like gold, while violet and rose-colored clouds, which
she could not describe, floated over her; and, still more
rapidly than the clouds, flew a large flock of wild swans
towards the setting sun, looking like a long white veil across
the sea. She also swam towards the sun; but it sunk into the
waves, and the rosy tints faded from the clouds and from the
sea.

The third sister's turn followed; she was the boldest of
them all, and she swam up a broad river that emptied itself
into the sea. On the banks she saw green hills covered with
beautiful vines; palaces and castles peeped out from amid the
proud trees of the forest; she heard the birds singing, and
the rays of the sun were so powerful that she was obliged
often to dive down under the water to cool her burning face.
In a narrow creek she found a whole troop of little human
children, quite naked, and sporting about in the water; she
wanted to play with them, but they fled in a great fright; and
then a little black animal came to the water; it was a dog,
but she did not know that, for she had never before seen one.
This animal barked at her so terribly that she became
frightened, and rushed back to the open sea. But she said she
should never forget the beautiful forest, the green hills, and
the pretty little children who could swim in the water,
although they had not fish's tails.

The fourth sister was more timid; she remained in the
midst of the sea, but she said it was quite as beautiful there
as nearer the land. She could see for so many miles around
her, and the sky above looked like a bell of glass. She had
seen the ships, but at such a great distance that they looked
like sea-gulls. The dolphins sported in the waves, and the
great whales spouted water from their nostrils till it seemed
as if a hundred fountains were playing in every direction.

The fifth sister's birthday occurred in the winter; so
when her turn came, she saw what the others had not seen the
first time they went up. The sea looked quite green, and large
icebergs were floating about, each like a pearl, she said, but
larger and loftier than the churches built by men. They were
of the most singular shapes, and glittered like diamonds. She
had seated herself upon one of the largest, and let the wind
play with her long hair, and she remarked that all the ships
sailed by rapidly, and steered as far away as they could from
the iceberg, as if they were afraid of it. Towards evening, as
the sun went down, dark clouds covered the sky, the thunder
rolled and the lightning flashed, and the red light glowed on
the icebergs as they rocked and tossed on the heaving sea. On
all the ships the sails were reefed with fear and trembling,
while she sat calmly on the floating iceberg, watching the
blue lightning, as it darted its forked flashes into the sea.

When first the sisters had permission to rise to the
surface, they were each delighted with the new and beautiful
sights they saw; but now, as grown-up girls, they could go
when they pleased, and they had become indifferent about it.
They wished themselves back again in the water, and after a
month had passed they said it was much more beautiful down
below, and pleasanter to be at home. Yet often, in the evening
hours, the five sisters would twine their arms round each
other, and rise to the surface, in a row. They had more
beautiful voices than any human being could have; and before
the approach of a storm, and when they expected a ship would
be lost, they swam before the vessel, and sang sweetly of the
delights to be found in the depths of the sea, and begging the
sailors not to fear if they sank to the bottom. But the
sailors could not understand the song, they took it for the
howling of the storm. And these things were never to be
beautiful for them; for if the ship sank, the men were
drowned, and their dead bodies alone reached the palace of the
Sea King.

When the sisters rose, arm-in-arm, through the water in
this way, their youngest sister would stand quite alone,
looking after them, ready to cry, only that the mermaids have
no tears, and therefore they suffer more. "Oh, were I but
fifteen years old," said she: "I know that I shall love the
world up there, and all the people who live in it."

At last she reached her fifteenth year. "Well, now, you
are grown up," said the old dowager, her grandmother; "so you
must let me adorn you like your other sisters;" and she placed
a wreath of white lilies in her hair, and every flower leaf
was half a pearl. Then the old lady ordered eight great
oysters to attach themselves to the tail of the princess to
show her high rank.

"But they hurt me so," said the little mermaid.

"Pride must suffer pain," replied the old lady. Oh, how
gladly she would have shaken off all this grandeur, and laid
aside the heavy wreath! The red flowers in her own garden
would have suited her much better, but she could not help
herself: so she said, "Farewell," and rose as lightly as a
bubble to the surface of the water. The sun had just set as
she raised her head above the waves; but the clouds were
tinted with crimson and gold, and through the glimmering
twilight beamed the evening star in all its beauty. The sea
was calm, and the air mild and fresh. A large ship, with three
masts, lay becalmed on the water, with only one sail set; for
not a breeze stiffed, and the sailors sat idle on deck or
amongst the rigging. There was music and song on board; and,
as darkness came on, a hundred colored lanterns were lighted,
as if the flags of all nations waved in the air. The little
mermaid swam close to the cabin windows; and now and then, as
the waves lifted her up, she could look in through clear glass
window-panes, and see a number of well-dressed people within.
Among them was a young prince, the most beautiful of all, with
large black eyes; he was sixteen years of age, and his
birthday was being kept with much rejoicing. The sailors were
dancing on deck, but when the prince came out of the cabin,
more than a hundred rockets rose in the air, making it as
bright as day. The little mermaid was so startled that she
dived under water; and when she again stretched out her head,
it appeared as if all the stars of heaven were falling around
her, she had never seen such fireworks before. Great suns
spurted fire about, splendid fireflies flew into the blue air,
and everything was reflected in the clear, calm sea beneath.
The ship itself was so brightly illuminated that all the
people, and even the smallest rope, could be distinctly and
plainly seen. And how handsome the young prince looked, as he
pressed the hands of all present and smiled at them, while the
music resounded through the clear night air.

It was very late; yet the little mermaid could not take
her eyes from the ship, or from the beautiful prince. The
colored lanterns had been extinguished, no more rockets rose
in the air, and the cannon had ceased firing; but the sea
became restless, and a moaning, grumbling sound could be heard
beneath the waves: still the little mermaid remained by the
cabin window, rocking up and down on the water, which enabled
her to look in. After a while, the sails were quickly
unfurled, and the noble ship continued her passage; but soon
the waves rose higher, heavy clouds darkened the sky, and
lightning appeared in the distance. A dreadful storm was
approaching; once more the sails were reefed, and the great
ship pursued her flying course over the raging sea. The waves
rose mountains high, as if they would have overtopped the
mast; but the ship dived like a swan between them, and then
rose again on their lofty, foaming crests. To the little
mermaid this appeared pleasant sport; not so to the sailors.
At length the ship groaned and creaked; the thick planks gave
way under the lashing of the sea as it broke over the deck;
the mainmast snapped asunder like a reed; the ship lay over on
her side; and the water rushed in. The little mermaid now
perceived that the crew were in danger; even she herself was
obliged to be careful to avoid the beams and planks of the
wreck which lay scattered on the water. At one moment it was
so pitch dark that she could not see a single object, but a
flash of lightning revealed the whole scene; she could see
every one who had been on board excepting the prince; when the
ship parted, she had seen him sink into the deep waves, and
she was glad, for she thought he would now be with her; and
then she remembered that human beings could not live in the
water, so that when he got down to her father's palace he
would be quite dead. But he must not die. So she swam about
among the beams and planks which strewed the surface of the
sea, forgetting that they could crush her to pieces. Then she
dived deeply under the dark waters, rising and falling with
the waves, till at length she managed to reach the young
prince, who was fast losing the power of swimming in that
stormy sea. His limbs were failing him, his beautiful eyes
were closed, and he would have died had not the little mermaid
come to his assistance. She held his head above the water, and
let the waves drift them where they would.

In the morning the storm had ceased; but of the ship not a
single fragment could be seen. The sun rose up red and glowing
from the water, and its beams brought back the hue of health
to the prince's cheeks; but his eyes remained closed. The
mermaid kissed his high, smooth forehead, and stroked back his
wet hair; he seemed to her like the marble statue in her
little garden, and she kissed him again, and wished that he
might live. Presently they came in sight of land; she saw
lofty blue mountains, on which the white snow rested as if a
flock of swans were lying upon them. Near the coast were
beautiful green forests, and close by stood a large building,
whether a church or a convent she could not tell. Orange and
citron trees grew in the garden, and before the door stood
lofty palms. The sea here formed a little bay, in which the
water was quite still, but very deep; so she swam with the
handsome prince to the beach, which was covered with fine,
white sand, and there she laid him in the warm sunshine,
taking care to raise his head higher than his body. Then bells
sounded in the large white building, and a number of young
girls came into the garden. The little mermaid swam out
farther from the shore and placed herself between some high
rocks that rose out of the water; then she covered her head
and neck with the foam of the sea so that her little face
might not be seen, and watched to see what would become of the
poor prince. She did not wait long before she saw a young girl
approach the spot where he lay. She seemed frightened at
first, but only for a moment; then she fetched a number of
people, and the mermaid saw that the prince came to life
again, and smiled upon those who stood round him. But to her
he sent no smile; he knew not that she had saved him. This
made her very unhappy, and when he was led away into the great
building, she dived down sorrowfully into the water, and
returned to her father's castle. She had always been silent
and thoughtful, and now she was more so than ever. Her sisters
asked her what she had seen during her first visit to the
surface of the water; but she would tell them nothing. Many an
evening and morning did she rise to the place where she had
left the prince. She saw the fruits in the garden ripen till
they were gathered, the snow on the tops of the mountains melt
away; but she never saw the prince, and therefore she returned
home, always more sorrowful than before. It was her only
comfort to sit in her own little garden, and fling her arm
round the beautiful marble statue which was like the prince;
but she gave up tending her flowers, and they grew in wild
confusion over the paths, twining their long leaves and stems
round the branches of the trees, so that the whole place
became dark and gloomy. At length she could bear it no longer,
and told one of her sisters all about it. Then the others
heard the secret, and very soon it became known to two
mermaids whose intimate friend happened to know who the prince
was. She had also seen the festival on board ship, and she
told them where the prince came from, and where his palace
stood.

"Come, little sister," said the other princesses; then
they entwined their arms and rose up in a long row to the
surface of the water, close by the spot where they knew the
prince's palace stood. It was built of bright yellow shining
stone, with long flights of marble steps, one of which reached
quite down to the sea. Splendid gilded cupolas rose over the
roof, and between the pillars that surrounded the whole
building stood life-like statues of marble. Through the clear
crystal of the lofty windows could be seen noble rooms, with
costly silk curtains and hangings of tapestry; while the walls
were covered with beautiful paintings which were a pleasure to
look at. In the centre of the largest saloon a fountain threw
its sparkling jets high up into the glass cupola of the
ceiling, through which the sun shone down upon the water and
upon the beautiful plants growing round the basin of the
fountain. Now that she knew where he lived, she spent many an
evening and many a night on the water near the palace. She
would swim much nearer the shore than any of the others
ventured to do; indeed once she went quite up the narrow
channel under the marble balcony, which threw a broad shadow
on the water. Here she would sit and watch the young prince,
who thought himself quite alone in the bright moonlight. She
saw him many times of an evening sailing in a pleasant boat,
with music playing and flags waving. She peeped out from among
the green rushes, and if the wind caught her long
silvery-white veil, those who saw it believed it to be a swan,
spreading out its wings. On many a night, too, when the
fishermen, with their torches, were out at sea, she heard them
relate so many good things about the doings of the young
prince, that she was glad she had saved his life when he had
been tossed about half-dead on the waves. And she remembered
that his head had rested on her bosom, and how heartily she
had kissed him; but he knew nothing of all this, and could not
even dream of her. She grew more and more fond of human
beings, and wished more and more to be able to wander about
with those whose world seemed to be so much larger than her
own. They could fly over the sea in ships, and mount the high
hills which were far above the clouds; and the lands they
possessed, their woods and their fields, stretched far away
beyond the reach of her sight. There was so much that she
wished to know, and her sisters were unable to answer all her
questions. Then she applied to her old grandmother, who knew
all about the upper world, which she very rightly called the
lands above the sea.

"If human beings are not drowned," asked the little
mermaid, "can they live forever? do they never die as we do
here in the sea?"

"Yes," replied the old lady, "they must also die, and
their term of life is even shorter than ours. We sometimes
live to three hundred years, but when we cease to exist here
we only become the foam on the surface of the water, and we
have not even a grave down here of those we love. We have not
immortal souls, we shall never live again; but, like the green
sea-weed, when once it has been cut off, we can never flourish
more. Human beings, on the contrary, have a soul which lives
forever, lives after the body has been turned to dust. It
rises up through the clear, pure air beyond the glittering
stars. As we rise out of the water, and behold all the land of
the earth, so do they rise to unknown and glorious regions
which we shall never see."

"Why have not we an immortal soul?" asked the little
mermaid mournfully; "I would give gladly all the hundreds of
years that I have to live, to be a human being only for one
day, and to have the hope of knowing the happiness of that
glorious world above the stars."

"You must not think of that," said the old woman; "we feel
ourselves to be much happier and much better off than human
beings."

"So I shall die," said the little mermaid, "and as the
foam of the sea I shall be driven about never again to hear
the music of the waves, or to see the pretty flowers nor the
red sun. Is there anything I can do to win an immortal soul?"

"No," said the old woman, "unless a man were to love you
so much that you were more to him than his father or mother;
and if all his thoughts and all his love were fixed upon you,
and the priest placed his right hand in yours, and he promised
to be true to you here and hereafter, then his soul would
glide into your body and you would obtain a share in the
future happiness of mankind. He would give a soul to you and
retain his own as well; but this can never happen. Your fish's
tail, which amongst us is considered so beautiful, is thought
on earth to be quite ugly; they do not know any better, and
they think it necessary to have two stout props, which they
call legs, in order to be handsome."

Then the little mermaid sighed, and looked sorrowfully at
her fish's tail. "Let us be happy," said the old lady, "and
dart and spring about during the three hundred years that we
have to live, which is really quite long enough; after that we
can rest ourselves all the better. This evening we are going
to have a court ball."

It is one of those splendid sights which we can never see
on earth. The walls and the ceiling of the large ball-room
were of thick, but transparent crystal. May hundreds of
colossal shells, some of a deep red, others of a grass green,
stood on each side in rows, with blue fire in them, which
lighted up the whole saloon, and shone through the walls, so
that the sea was also illuminated. Innumerable fishes, great
and small, swam past the crystal walls; on some of them the
scales glowed with a purple brilliancy, and on others they
shone like silver and gold. Through the halls flowed a broad
stream, and in it danced the mermen and the mermaids to the
music of their own sweet singing. No one on earth has such a
lovely voice as theirs. The little mermaid sang more sweetly
than them all. The whole court applauded her with hands and
tails; and for a moment her heart felt quite gay, for she knew
she had the loveliest voice of any on earth or in the sea. But
she soon thought again of the world above her, for she could
not forget the charming prince, nor her sorrow that she had
not an immortal soul like his; therefore she crept away
silently out of her father's palace, and while everything
within was gladness and song, she sat in her own little garden
sorrowful and alone. Then she heard the bugle sounding through
the water, and thought- "He is certainly sailing above, he on
whom my wishes depend, and in whose hands I should like to
place the happiness of my life. I will venture all for him,
and to win an immortal soul, while my sisters are dancing in
my father's palace, I will go to the sea witch, of whom I have
always been so much afraid, but she can give me counsel and
help."

And then the little mermaid went out from her garden, and
took the road to the foaming whirlpools, behind which the
sorceress lived. She had never been that way before: neither
flowers nor grass grew there; nothing but bare, gray, sandy
ground stretched out to the whirlpool, where the water, like
foaming mill-wheels, whirled round everything that it seized,
and cast it into the fathomless deep. Through the midst of
these crushing whirlpools the little mermaid was obliged to
pass, to reach the dominions of the sea witch; and also for a
long distance the only road lay right across a quantity of
warm, bubbling mire, called by the witch her turfmoor. Beyond
this stood her house, in the centre of a strange forest, in
which all the trees and flowers were polypi, half animals and
half plants; they looked like serpents with a hundred heads
growing out of the ground. The branches were long slimy arms,
with fingers like flexible worms, moving limb after limb from
the root to the top. All that could be reached in the sea they
seized upon, and held fast, so that it never escaped from
their clutches. The little mermaid was so alarmed at what she
saw, that she stood still, and her heart beat with fear, and
she was very nearly turning back; but she thought of the
prince, and of the human soul for which she longed, and her
courage returned. She fastened her long flowing hair round her
head, so that the polypi might not seize hold of it. She laid
her hands together across her bosom, and then she darted
forward as a fish shoots through the water, between the supple
arms and fingers of the ugly polypi, which were stretched out
on each side of her. She saw that each held in its grasp
something it had seized with its numerous little arms, as if
they were iron bands. The white skeletons of human beings who
had perished at sea, and had sunk down into the deep waters,
skeletons of land animals, oars, rudders, and chests of ships
were lying tightly grasped by their clinging arms; even a
little mermaid, whom they had caught and strangled; and this
seemed the most shocking of all to the little princess.

She now came to a space of marshy ground in the wood,
where large, fat water-snakes were rolling in the mire, and
showing their ugly, drab-colored bodies. In the midst of this
spot stood a house, built with the bones of shipwrecked human
beings. There sat the sea witch, allowing a toad to eat from
her mouth, just as people sometimes feed a canary with a piece
of sugar. She called the ugly water-snakes her little
chickens, and allowed them to crawl all over her bosom.

"I know what you want," said the sea witch; "it is very
stupid of you, but you shall have your way, and it will bring
you to sorrow, my pretty princess. You want to get rid of your
fish's tail, and to have two supports instead of it, like
human beings on earth, so that the young prince may fall in
love with you, and that you may have an immortal soul." And
then the witch laughed so loud and disgustingly, that the toad
and the snakes fell to the ground, and lay there wriggling
about. "You are but just in time," said the witch; "for after
sunrise to-morrow I should not be able to help you till the
end of another year. I will prepare a draught for you, with
which you must swim to land tomorrow before sunrise, and sit
down on the shore and drink it. Your tail will then disappear,
and shrink up into what mankind calls legs, and you will feel
great pain, as if a sword were passing through you. But all
who see you will say that you are the prettiest little human
being they ever saw. You will still have the same floating
gracefulness of movement, and no dancer will ever tread so
lightly; but at every step you take it will feel as if you
were treading upon sharp knives, and that the blood must flow.
If you will bear all this, I will help you."

"Yes, I will," said the little princess in a trembling
voice, as she thought of the prince and the immortal soul.

"But think again," said the witch; "for when once your
shape has become like a human being, you can no more be a
mermaid. You will never return through the water to your
sisters, or to your father's palace again; and if you do not
win the love of the prince, so that he is willing to forget
his father and mother for your sake, and to love you with his
whole soul, and allow the priest to join your hands that you
may be man and wife, then you will never have an immortal
soul. The first morning after he marries another your heart
will break, and you will become foam on the crest of the
waves."

"I will do it," said the little mermaid, and she became
pale as death.

"But I must be paid also," said the witch, "and it is not
a trifle that I ask. You have the sweetest voice of any who
dwell here in the depths of the sea, and you believe that you
will be able to charm the prince with it also, but this voice
you must give to me; the best thing you possess will I have
for the price of my draught. My own blood must be mixed with
it, that it may be as sharp as a two-edged sword."

"But if you take away my voice," said the little mermaid,
"what is left for me?"

"Your beautiful form, your graceful walk, and your
expressive eyes; surely with these you can enchain a man's
heart. Well, have you lost your courage? Put out your little
tongue that I may cut it off as my payment; then you shall
have the powerful draught."

"It shall be," said the little mermaid.

Then the witch placed her cauldron on the fire, to prepare
the magic draught.

"Cleanliness is a good thing," said she, scouring the
vessel with snakes, which she had tied together in a large
knot; then she pricked herself in the breast, and let the
black blood drop into it. The steam that rose formed itself
into such horrible shapes that no one could look at them
without fear. Every moment the witch threw something else into
the vessel, and when it began to boil, the sound was like the
weeping of a crocodile. When at last the magic draught was
ready, it looked like the clearest water. "There it is for
you," said the witch. Then she cut off the mermaid's tongue,
so that she became dumb, and would never again speak or sing.
"If the polypi should seize hold of you as you return through
the wood," said the witch, "throw over them a few drops of the
potion, and their fingers will be torn into a thousand
pieces." But the little mermaid had no occasion to do this,
for the polypi sprang back in terror when they caught sight of
the glittering draught, which shone in her hand like a
twinkling star.
<<<

[أرب جمـال]

So she passed quickly through the wood and the marsh, and
between the rushing whirlpools. She saw that in her father's
palace the torches in the ballroom were extinguished, and all
within asleep; but she did not venture to go in to them, for
now she was dumb and going to leave them forever, she felt as
if her heart would break. She stole into the garden, took a
flower from the flower-beds of each of her sisters, kissed her
hand a thousand times towards the palace, and then rose up
through the dark blue waters. The sun had not risen when she
came in sight of the prince's palace, and approached the
beautiful marble steps, but the moon shone clear and bright.
Then the little mermaid drank the magic draught, and it seemed
as if a two-edged sword went through her delicate body: she
fell into a swoon, and lay like one dead. When the sun arose
and shone over the sea, she recovered, and felt a sharp pain;
but just before her stood the handsome young prince. He fixed
his coal-black eyes upon her so earnestly that she cast down
her own, and then became aware that her fish's tail was gone,
and that she had as pretty a pair of white legs and tiny feet
as any little maiden could have; but she had no clothes, so
she wrapped herself in her long, thick hair. The prince asked
her who she was, and where she came from, and she looked at
him mildly and sorrowfully with her deep blue eyes; but she
could not speak. Every step she took was as the witch had said
it would be, she felt as if treading upon the points of
needles or sharp knives; but she bore it willingly, and
stepped as lightly by the prince's side as a soap-bubble, so
that he and all who saw her wondered at her graceful-swaying
movements. She was very soon arrayed in costly robes of silk
and muslin, and was the most beautiful creature in the palace;
but she was dumb, and could neither speak nor sing.

Beautiful female slaves, dressed in silk and gold, stepped
forward and sang before the prince and his royal parents: one
sang better than all the others, and the prince clapped his
hands and smiled at her. This was great sorrow to the little
mermaid; she knew how much more sweetly she herself could sing
once, and she thought, "Oh if he could only know that! I have
given away my voice forever, to be with him."

The slaves next performed some pretty fairy-like dances,
to the sound of beautiful music. Then the little mermaid
raised her lovely white arms, stood on the tips of her toes,
and glided over the floor, and danced as no one yet had been
able to dance. At each moment her beauty became more revealed,
and her expressive eyes appealed more directly to the heart
than the songs of the slaves. Every one was enchanted,
especially the prince, who called her his little foundling;
and she danced again quite readily, to please him, though each
time her foot touched the floor it seemed as if she trod on
sharp knives."

The prince said she should remain with him always, and she
received permission to sleep at his door, on a velvet cushion.
He had a page's dress made for her, that she might accompany
him on horseback. They rode together through the sweet-scented
woods, where the green boughs touched their shoulders, and the
little birds sang among the fresh leaves. She climbed with the
prince to the tops of high mountains; and although her tender
feet bled so that even her steps were marked, she only
laughed, and followed him till they could see the clouds
beneath them looking like a flock of birds travelling to
distant lands. While at the prince's palace, and when all the
household were asleep, she would go and sit on the broad
marble steps; for it eased her burning feet to bathe them in
the cold sea-water; and then she thought of all those below in
the deep.

Once during the night her sisters came up arm-in-arm,
singing sorrowfully, as they floated on the water. She
beckoned to them, and then they recognized her, and told her
how she had grieved them. After that, they came to the same
place every night; and once she saw in the distance her old
grandmother, who had not been to the surface of the sea for
many years, and the old Sea King, her father, with his crown
on his head. They stretched out their hands towards her, but
they did not venture so near the land as her sisters did.

As the days passed, she loved the prince more fondly, and
he loved her as he would love a little child, but it never
came into his head to make her his wife; yet, unless he
married her, she could not receive an immortal soul; and, on
the morning after his marriage with another, she would
dissolve into the foam of the sea.

"Do you not love me the best of them all?" the eyes of the
little mermaid seemed to say, when he took her in his arms,
and kissed her fair forehead.

"Yes, you are dear to me," said the prince; "for you have
the best heart, and you are the most devoted to me; you are
like a young maiden whom I once saw, but whom I shall never
meet again. I was in a ship that was wrecked, and the waves
cast me ashore near a holy temple, where several young maidens
performed the service. The youngest of them found me on the
shore, and saved my life. I saw her but twice, and she is the
only one in the world whom I could love; but you are like her,
and you have almost driven her image out of my mind. She
belongs to the holy temple, and my good fortune has sent you
to me instead of her; and we will never part."

"Ah, he knows not that it was I who saved his life,"
thought the little mermaid. "I carried him over the sea to the
wood where the temple stands: I sat beneath the foam, and
watched till the human beings came to help him. I saw the
pretty maiden that he loves better than he loves me;" and the
mermaid sighed deeply, but she could not shed tears. "He says
the maiden belongs to the holy temple, therefore she will
never return to the world. They will meet no more: while I am
by his side, and see him every day. I will take care of him,
and love him, and give up my life for his sake."

Very soon it was said that the prince must marry, and that
the beautiful daughter of a neighboring king would be his
wife, for a fine ship was being fitted out. Although the
prince gave out that he merely intended to pay a visit to the
king, it was generally supposed that he really went to see his
daughter. A great company were to go with him. The little
mermaid smiled, and shook her head. She knew the prince's
thoughts better than any of the others.

"I must travel," he had said to her; "I must see this
beautiful princess; my parents desire it; but they will not
oblige me to bring her home as my bride. I cannot love her;
she is not like the beautiful maiden in the temple, whom you
resemble. If I were forced to choose a bride, I would rather
choose you, my dumb foundling, with those expressive eyes."
And then he kissed her rosy mouth, played with her long waving
hair, and laid his head on her heart, while she dreamed of
human happiness and an immortal soul. "You are not afraid of
the sea, my dumb child," said he, as they stood on the deck of
the noble ship which was to carry them to the country of the
neighboring king. And then he told her of storm and of calm,
of strange fishes in the deep beneath them, and of what the
divers had seen there; and she smiled at his descriptions, for
she knew better than any one what wonders were at the bottom
of the sea.

In the moonlight, when all on board were asleep, excepting
the man at the helm, who was steering, she sat on the deck,
gazing down through the clear water. She thought she could
distinguish her father's castle, and upon it her aged
grandmother, with the silver crown on her head, looking
through the rushing tide at the keel of the vessel. Then her
sisters came up on the waves, and gazed at her mournfully,
wringing their white hands. She beckoned to them, and smiled,
and wanted to tell them how happy and well off she was; but
the cabin-boy approached, and when her sisters dived down he
thought it was only the foam of the sea which he saw.

The next morning the ship sailed into the harbor of a
beautiful town belonging to the king whom the prince was going
to visit. The church bells were ringing, and from the high
towers sounded a flourish of trumpets; and soldiers, with
flying colors and glittering bayonets, lined the rocks through
which they passed. Every day was a festival; balls and
entertainments followed one another.

But the princess had not yet appeared. People said that
she was being brought up and educated in a religious house,
where she was learning every royal virtue. At last she came.
Then the little mermaid, who was very anxious to see whether
she was really beautiful, was obliged to acknowledge that she
had never seen a more perfect vision of beauty. Her skin was
delicately fair, and beneath her long dark eye-lashes her
laughing blue eyes shone with truth and purity.

"It was you," said the prince, "who saved my life when I
lay dead on the beach," and he folded his blushing bride in
his arms. "Oh, I am too happy," said he to the little mermaid;
"my fondest hopes are all fulfilled. You will rejoice at my
happiness; for your devotion to me is great and sincere."

The little mermaid kissed his hand, and felt as if her
heart were already broken. His wedding morning would bring
death to her, and she would change into the foam of the sea.
All the church bells rung, and the heralds rode about the town
proclaiming the betrothal. Perfumed oil was burning in costly
silver lamps on every altar. The priests waved the censers,
while the bride and bridegroom joined their hands and received
the blessing of the bishop. The little mermaid, dressed in
silk and gold, held up the bride's train; but her ears heard
nothing of the festive music, and her eyes saw not the holy
ceremony; she thought of the night of death which was coming
to her, and of all she had lost in the world. On the same
evening the bride and bridegroom went on board ship; cannons
were roaring, flags waving, and in the centre of the ship a
costly tent of purple and gold had been erected. It contained
elegant couches, for the reception of the bridal pair during
the night. The ship, with swelling sails and a favorable wind,
glided away smoothly and lightly over the calm sea. When it
grew dark a number of colored lamps were lit, and the sailors
danced merrily on the deck. The little mermaid could not help
thinking of her first rising out of the sea, when she had seen
similar festivities and joys; and she joined in the dance,
poised herself in the air as a swallow when he pursues his
prey, and all present cheered her with wonder. She had never
danced so elegantly before. Her tender feet felt as if cut
with sharp knives, but she cared not for it; a sharper pang
had pierced through her heart. She knew this was the last
evening she should ever see the prince, for whom she had
forsaken her kindred and her home; she had given up her
beautiful voice, and suffered unheard-of pain daily for him,
while he knew nothing of it. This was the last evening that
she would breathe the same air with him, or gaze on the starry
sky and the deep sea; an eternal night, without a thought or a
dream, awaited her: she had no soul and now she could never
win one. All was joy and gayety on board ship till long after
midnight; she laughed and danced with the rest, while the
thoughts of death were in her heart. The prince kissed his
beautiful bride, while she played with his raven hair, till
they went arm-in-arm to rest in the splendid tent. Then all
became still on board the ship; the helmsman, alone awake,
stood at the helm. The little mermaid leaned her white arms on
the edge of the vessel, and looked towards the east for the
first blush of morning, for that first ray of dawn that would
bring her death. She saw her sisters rising out of the flood:
they were as pale as herself; but their long beautiful hair
waved no more in the wind, and had been cut off.

"We have given our hair to the witch," said they, "to
obtain help for you, that you may not die to-night. She has
given us a knife: here it is, see it is very sharp. Before the
sun rises you must plunge it into the heart of the prince;
when the warm blood falls upon your feet they will grow
together again, and form into a fish's tail, and you will be
once more a mermaid, and return to us to live out your three
hundred years before you die and change into the salt sea
foam. Haste, then; he or you must die before sunrise. Our old
grandmother moans so for you, that her white hair is falling
off from sorrow, as ours fell under the witch's scissors. Kill
the prince and come back; hasten: do you not see the first red
streaks in the sky? In a few minutes the sun will rise, and
you must die." And then they sighed deeply and mournfully, and
sank down beneath the waves.

The little mermaid drew back the crimson curtain of the
tent, and beheld the fair bride with her head resting on the
prince's breast. She bent down and kissed his fair brow, then
looked at the sky on which the rosy dawn grew brighter and
brighter; then she glanced at the sharp knife, and again fixed
her eyes on the prince, who whispered the name of his bride in
his dreams. She was in his thoughts, and the knife trembled in
the hand of the little mermaid: then she flung it far away
from her into the waves; the water turned red where it fell,
and the drops that spurted up looked like blood. She cast one
more lingering, half-fainting glance at the prince, and then
threw herself from the ship into the sea, and thought her body
was dissolving into foam. The sun rose above the waves, and
his warm rays fell on the cold foam of the little mermaid, who
did not feel as if she were dying. She saw the bright sun, and
all around her floated hundreds of transparent beautiful
beings; she could see through them the white sails of the
ship, and the red clouds in the sky; their speech was
melodious, but too ethereal to be heard by mortal ears, as
they were also unseen by mortal eyes. The little mermaid
perceived that she had a body like theirs, and that she
continued to rise higher and higher out of the foam. "Where am
I?" asked she, and her voice sounded ethereal, as the voice of
those who were with her; no earthly music could imitate it.

"Among the daughters of the air," answered one of them. "A
mermaid has not an immortal soul, nor can she obtain one
unless she wins the love of a human being. On the power of
another hangs her eternal destiny. But the daughters of the
air, although they do not possess an immortal soul, can, by
their good deeds, procure one for themselves. We fly to warm
countries, and cool the sultry air that destroys mankind with
the pestilence. We carry the perfume of the flowers to spread
health and restoration. After we have striven for three
hundred years to all the good in our power, we receive an
immortal soul and take part in the happiness of mankind. You,
poor little mermaid, have tried with your whole heart to do as
we are doing; you have suffered and endured and raised
yourself to the spirit-world by your good deeds; and now, by
striving for three hundred years in the same way, you may
obtain an immortal soul."

The little mermaid lifted her glorified eyes towards the
sun, and felt them, for the first time, filling with tears. On
the ship, in which she had left the prince, there were life
and noise; she saw him and his beautiful bride searching for
her; sorrowfully they gazed at the pearly foam, as if they
knew she had thrown herself into the waves. Unseen she kissed
the forehead of her bride, and fanned the prince, and then
mounted with the other children of the air to a rosy cloud
that floated through the aether.

"After three hundred years, thus shall we float into the
kingdom of heaven," said she. "And we may even get there
sooner," whispered one of her companions. "Unseen we can enter
the houses of men, where there are children, and for every day
on which we find a good child, who is the joy of his parents
and deserves their love, our time of probation is shortened.
The child does not know, when we fly through the room, that we
smile with joy at his good conduct, for we can count one year
less of our three hundred years. But when we see a naughty or
a wicked child, we shed tears of sorrow, and for every tear a
day is added to our time of trial!"


THE END

[أرب جمـال]

LITTLE IDA'S FLOWERS


"My poor flowers are quite dead," said little Ida, "they
were so pretty yesterday evening, and now all the leaves are
hanging down quite withered. What do they do that for," she
asked, of the student who sat on the sofa; she liked him very
much, he could tell the most amusing stories, and cut out the
prettiest pictures; hearts, and ladies dancing, castles with
doors that opened, as well as flowers; he was a delightful
student. "Why do the flowers look so faded to-day?" she asked
again, and pointed to her nosegay, which was quite withered.

"Don't you know what is the matter with them?" said the
student. "The flowers were at a ball last night, and
therefore, it is no wonder they hang their heads."

"But flowers cannot dance?" cried little Ida.

"Yes indeed, they can," replied the student. "When it
grows dark, and everybody is asleep, they jump about quite
merrily. They have a ball almost every night."

"Can children go to these balls?"

"Yes," said the student, "little daisies and lilies of the
valley."

"Where do the beautiful flowers dance?" asked little Ida.

"Have you not often seen the large castle outside the
gates of the town, where the king lives in summer, and where
the beautiful garden is full of flowers? And have you not fed
the swans with bread when they swam towards you? Well, the
flowers have capital balls there, believe me."

"I was in the garden out there yesterday with my mother,"
said Ida, "but all the leaves were off the trees, and there
was not a single flower left. Where are they? I used to see so
many in the summer."

"They are in the castle," replied the student. "You must
know that as soon as the king and all the court are gone into
the town, the flowers run out of the garden into the castle,
and you should see how merry they are. The two most beautiful
roses seat themselves on the throne, and are called the king
and queen, then all the red cockscombs range themselves on
each side, and bow, these are the lords-in-waiting. After that
the pretty flowers come in, and there is a grand ball. The
blue violets represent little naval cadets, and dance with
hyacinths and crocuses which they call young ladies. The
tulips and tiger-lilies are the old ladies who sit and watch
the dancing, so that everything may be conducted with order
and propriety."

"But," said little Ida, "is there no one there to hurt the
flowers for dancing in the king's castle?"

"No one knows anything about it," said the student. "The
old steward of the castle, who has to watch there at night,
sometimes comes in; but he carries a great bunch of keys, and
as soon as the flowers hear the keys rattle, they run and hide
themselves behind the long curtains, and stand quite still,
just peeping their heads out. Then the old steward says, 'I
smell flowers here,' but he cannot see them."

"Oh how capital," said little Ida, clapping her hands.
"Should I be able to see these flowers?"

"Yes," said the student, "mind you think of it the next
time you go out, no doubt you will see them, if you peep
through the window. I did so to-day, and I saw a long yellow
lily lying stretched out on the sofa. She was a court lady."

"Can the flowers from the Botanical Gardens go to these
balls?" asked Ida. "It is such a distance!"

"Oh yes," said the student 'whenever they like, for they
can fly. Have you not seen those beautiful red, white. and
yellow butterflies, that look like flowers? They were flowers
once. They have flown off their stalks into the air, and flap
their leaves as if they were little wings to make them fly.
Then, if they behave well, they obtain permission to fly about
during the day, instead of being obliged to sit still on their
stems at home, and so in time their leaves become real wings.
It may be, however, that the flowers in the Botanical Gardens
have never been to the king's palace, and, therefore, they
know nothing of the merry doings at night, which take place
there. I will tell you what to do, and the botanical
professor, who lives close by here, will be so surprised. You
know him very well, do you not? Well, next time you go into
his garden, you must tell one of the flowers that there is
going to be a grand ball at the castle, then that flower will
tell all the others, and they will fly away to the castle as
soon as possible. And when the professor walks into his
garden, there will not be a single flower left. How he will
wonder what has become of them!"

"But how can one flower tell another? Flowers cannot
speak?"

"No, certainly not," replied the student; "but they can
make signs. Have you not often seen that when the wind blows
they nod at one another, and rustle all their green leaves?"

"Can the professor understand the signs?" asked Ida.

"Yes, to be sure he can. He went one morning into his
garden, and saw a stinging nettle making signs with its leaves
to a beautiful red carnation. It was saying, 'You are so
pretty, I like you very much.' But the professor did not
approve of such nonsense, so he clapped his hands on the
nettle to stop it. Then the leaves, which are its fingers,
stung him so sharply that he has never ventured to touch a
nettle since."

"Oh how funny!" said Ida, and she laughed.

"How can anyone put such notions into a child's head?"
said a tiresome lawyer, who had come to pay a visit, and sat
on the sofa. He did not like the student, and would grumble
when he saw him cutting out droll or amusing pictures.
Sometimes it would be a man hanging on a gibbet and holding a
heart in his hand as if he had been stealing hearts. Sometimes
it was an old witch riding through the air on a broom and
carrying her husband on her nose. But the lawyer did not like
such jokes, and he would say as he had just said, "How can
anyone put such nonsense into a child's head! what absurd
fancies there are!"

But to little Ida, all these stories which the student
told her about the flowers, seemed very droll, and she thought
over them a great deal. The flowers did hang their heads,
because they had been dancing all night, and were very tired,
and most likely they were ill. Then she took them into the
room where a number of toys lay on a pretty little table, and
the whole of the table drawer besides was full of beautiful
things. Her doll Sophy lay in the doll's bed asleep, and
little Ida said to her, "You must really get up Sophy, and be
content to lie in the drawer to-night; the poor flowers are
ill, and they must lie in your bed, then perhaps they will get
well again." So she took the doll out, who looked quite cross,
and said not a single word, for she was angry at being turned
out of her bed. Ida placed the flowers in the doll's bed, and
drew the quilt over them. Then she told them to lie quite
still and be good, while she made some tea for them, so that
they might be quite well and able to get up the next morning.
And she drew the curtains close round the little bed, so that
the sun might not shine in their eyes. During the whole
evening she could not help thinking of what the student had
told her. And before she went to bed herself, she was obliged
to peep behind the curtains into the garden where all her
mother's beautiful flowers grew, hyacinths and tulips, and
many others. Then she whispered to them quite softly, "I know
you are going to a ball to-night." But the flowers appeared as
if they did not understand, and not a leaf moved; still Ida
felt quite sure she knew all about it. She lay awake a long
time after she was in bed, thinking how pretty it must be to
see all the beautiful flowers dancing in the king's garden. "I
wonder if my flowers have really been there," she said to
herself, and then she fell asleep. In the night she awoke; she
had been dreaming of the flowers and of the student, as well
as of the tiresome lawyer who found fault with him. It was
quite still in Ida's bedroom; the night-lamp burnt on the
table, and her father and mother were asleep. "I wonder if my
flowers are still lying in Sophy's bed," she thought to
herself; "how much I should like to know." She raised herself
a little, and glanced at the door of the room where all her
flowers and playthings lay; it was partly open, and as she
listened, it seemed as if some one in the room was playing the
piano, but softly and more prettily than she had ever before
heard it. "Now all the flowers are certainly dancing in
there," she thought, "oh how much I should like to see them,"
but she did not dare move for fear of disturbing her father
and mother. "If they would only come in here," she thought;
but they did not come, and the music continued to play so
beautifully, and was so pretty, that she could resist no
longer. She crept out of her little bed, went softly to the
door and looked into the room. Oh what a splendid sight there
was to be sure! There was no night-lamp burning, but the room
appeared quite light, for the moon shone through the window
upon the floor, and made it almost like day. All the hyacinths
and tulips stood in two long rows down the room, not a single
flower remained in the window, and the flower-pots were all
empty. The flowers were dancing gracefully on the floor,
making turns and holding each other by their long green leaves
as they swung round. At the piano sat a large yellow lily
which little Ida was sure she had seen in the summer, for she
remembered the student saying she was very much like Miss
Lina, one of Ida's friends. They all laughed at him then, but
now it seemed to little Ida as if the tall, yellow flower was
really like the young lady. She had just the same manners
while playing, bending her long yellow face from side to side,
and nodding in time to the beautiful music. Then she saw a
large purple crocus jump into the middle of the table where
the playthings stood, go up to the doll's bedstead and draw
back the curtains; there lay the sick flowers, but they got up
directly, and nodded to the others as a sign that they wished
to dance with them. The old rough doll, with the broken mouth,
stood up and bowed to the pretty flowers. They did not look
ill at all now, but jumped about and were very merry, yet none
of them noticed little Ida. Presently it seemed as if
something fell from the table. Ida looked that way, and saw a
slight carnival rod jumping down among the flowers as if it
belonged to them; it was, however, very smooth and neat, and a
little wax doll with a broad brimmed hat on her head, like the
one worn by the lawyer, sat upon it. The carnival rod hopped
about among the flowers on its three red stilted feet, and
stamped quite loud when it danced the Mazurka; the flowers
could not perform this dance, they were too light to stamp in
that manner. All at once the wax doll which rode on the
carnival rod seemed to grow larger and taller, and it turned
round and said to the paper flowers, "How can you put such
things in a child's head? they are all foolish fancies;" and
then the doll was exactly like the lawyer with the broad
brimmed hat, and looked as yellow and as cross as he did; but
the paper dolls struck him on his thin legs, and he shrunk up
again and became quite a little wax doll. This was very
amusing, and Ida could not help laughing. The carnival rod
went on dancing, and the lawyer was obliged to dance also. It
was no use, he might make himself great and tall, or remain a
little wax doll with a large black hat; still he must dance.
Then at last the other flowers interceded for him, especially
those who had lain in the doll's bed, and the carnival rod
gave up his dancing. At the same moment a loud knocking was
heard in the drawer, where Ida's doll Sophy lay with many
other toys. Then the rough doll ran to the end of the table,
laid himself flat down upon it, and began to pull the drawer
out a little way.

Then Sophy raised himself, and looked round quite
astonished, "There must be a ball here to-night," said Sophy.
"Why did not somebody tell me?"

"Will you dance with me?" said the rough doll.

"You are the right sort to dance with, certainly," said
she, turning her back upon him.

Then she seated herself on the edge of the drawer, and
thought that perhaps one of the flowers would ask her to
dance; but none of them came. Then she coughed, "Hem, hem,
a-hem;" but for all that not one came. The shabby doll now
danced quite alone, and not very badly, after all. As none of
the flowers seemed to notice Sophy, she let herself down from
the drawer to the floor, so as to make a very great noise. All
the flowers came round her directly, and asked if she had hurt
herself, especially those who had lain in her bed. But she was
not hurt at all, and Ida's flowers thanked her for the use of
the nice bed, and were very kind to her. They led her into the
middle of the room, where the moon shone, and danced with her,
while all the other flowers formed a circle round them. Then
Sophy was very happy, and said they might keep her bed; she
did not mind lying in the drawer at all. But the flowers
thanked her very much, and said,-

"We cannot live long. To-morrow morning we shall be quite
dead; and you must tell little Ida to bury us in the garden,
near to the grave of the canary; then, in the summer we shall
wake up and be more beautiful than ever."

"No, you must not die," said Sophy, as she kissed the
flowers.

Then the door of the room opened, and a number of
beautiful flowers danced in. Ida could not imagine where they
could come from, unless they were the flowers from the king's
garden. First came two lovely roses, with little golden crowns
on their heads; these were the king and queen. Beautiful
stocks and carnations followed, bowing to every one present.
They had also music with them. Large poppies and peonies had
pea-shells for instruments, and blew into them till they were
quite red in the face. The bunches of blue hyacinths and the
little white snowdrops jingled their bell-like flowers, as if
they were real bells. Then came many more flowers: blue
violets, purple heart's-ease, daisies, and lilies of the
valley, and they all danced together, and kissed each other.
It was very beautiful to behold.

At last the flowers wished each other good-night. Then
little Ida crept back into her bed again, and dreamt of all
she had seen. When she arose the next morning, she went
quickly to the little table, to see if the flowers were still
there. She drew aside the curtains of the little bed. There
they all lay, but quite faded; much more so than the day
before. Sophy was lying in the drawer where Ida had placed
her; but she looked very sleepy.

"Do you remember what the flowers told you to say to me?"
said little Ida. But Sophy looked quite stupid, and said not a
single word.

"You are not kind at all," said Ida; "and yet they all
danced with you."

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

"This shall be your pretty coffin," she said; "and by and
by, when my cousins come to visit me, they shall help me to
bury you out in the garden; so that next summer you may grow
up again more beautiful than ever."

Her cousins were two good-tempered boys, whose names were
James and Adolphus. Their father had given them each a bow and
arrow, and they had brought them to show Ida. She told them
about the poor flowers which were dead; and as soon as they
obtained permission, they went with her to bury them. The two
boys walked first, with their crossbows on their shoulders,
and little Ida followed, carrying the pretty box containing
the dead flowers. They dug a little grave in the garden. Ida
kissed her flowers and then laid them, with the box, in the
earth. James and Adolphus then fired their crossbows over the
grave, as they had neither guns nor cannons.


THE END

[أرب جمـال]

LITTLE CLAUS AND BIG CLAUS


IN a village there once lived two men who had the same
name. They were both called Claus. One of them had four
horses, but the other had only one; so to distinguish them,
people called the owner of the four horses, "Great Claus," and
he who had only one, "Little Claus." Now we shall hear what
happened to them, for this is a true story.

Through the whole week, Little Claus was obliged to plough
for Great Claus, and lend him his one horse; and once a week,
on a Sunday, Great Claus lent him all his four horses. Then
how Little Claus would smack his whip over all five horses,
they were as good as his own on that one day. The sun shone
brightly, and the church bells were ringing merrily as the
people passed by, dressed in their best clothes, with their
prayer-books under their arms. They were going to hear the
clergyman preach. They looked at Little Claus ploughing with
his five horses, and he was so proud that he smacked his whip,
and said, "Gee-up, my five horses."

"You must not say that," said Big Claus; "for only one of
them belongs to you." But Little Claus soon forgot what he
ought to say, and when any one passed he would call out,
"Gee-up, my five horses!"

"Now I must beg you not to say that again," said Big
Claus; "for if you do, I shall hit your horse on the head, so
that he will drop dead on the spot, and there will be an end
of him."

"I promise you I will not say it any more," said the
other; but as soon as people came by, nodding to him, and
wishing him "Good day," he became so pleased, and thought how
grand it looked to have five horses ploughing in his field,
that he cried out again, "Gee-up, all my horses!"

"I'll gee-up your horses for you," said Big Claus; and
seizing a hammer, he struck the one horse of Little Claus on
the head, and he fell dead instantly.

"Oh, now I have no horse at all, said Little Claus,
weeping. But after a while he took off the dead horse's skin,
and hung the hide to dry in the wind. Then he put the dry skin
into a bag, and, placing it over his shoulder, went out into
the next town to sell the horse's skin. He had a very long way
to go, and had to pass through a dark, gloomy forest.
Presently a storm arose, and he lost his way, and before he
discovered the right path, evening came on, and it was still a
long way to the town, and too far to return home before night.
Near the road stood a large farmhouse. The shutters outside
the windows were closed, but lights shone through the crevices
at the top. "I might get permission to stay here for the
night," thought Little Claus; so he went up to the door and
knocked. The farmer's wife opened the door; but when she heard
what he wanted, she told him to go away, as her husband would
not allow her to admit strangers. "Then I shall be obliged to
lie out here," said Little Claus to himself, as the farmer's
wife shut the door in his face. Near to the farmhouse stood a
large haystack, and between it and the house was a small shed,
with a thatched roof. "I can lie up there," said Little Claus,
as he saw the roof; "it will make a famous bed, but I hope the
stork will not fly down and bite my legs;" for on it stood a
living stork, whose nest was in the roof. So Little Claus
climbed to the roof of the shed, and while he turned himself
to get comfortable, he discovered that the wooden shutters,
which were closed, did not reach to the tops of the windows of
the farmhouse, so that he could see into a room, in which a
large table was laid out with wine, roast meat, and a splendid
fish. The farmer's wife and the sexton were sitting at the
table together; and she filled his glass, and helped him
plenteously to fish, which appeared to be his favorite dish.
"If I could only get some, too," thought Little Claus; and
then, as he stretched his neck towards the window he spied a
large, beautiful pie,- indeed they had a glorious feast before
them.

At this moment he heard some one riding down the road,
towards the farmhouse. It was the farmer returning home. He
was a good man, but still he had a very strange prejudice,- he
could not bear the sight of a sexton. If one appeared before
him, he would put himself in a terrible rage. In consequence
of this dislike, the sexton had gone to visit the farmer's
wife during her husband's absence from home, and the good
woman had placed before him the best she had in the house to
eat. When she heard the farmer coming she was frightened, and
begged the sexton to hide himself in a large empty chest that
stood in the room. He did so, for he knew her husband could
not endure the sight of a sexton. The woman then quickly put
away the wine, and hid all the rest of the nice things in the
oven; for if her husband had seen them he would have asked
what they were brought out for.

"Oh, dear," sighed Little Claus from the top of the shed,
as he saw all the good things disappear.

"Is any one up there?" asked the farmer, looking up and
discovering Little Claus. "Why are you lying up there? Come
down, and come into the house with me." So Little Claus came
down and told the farmer how he had lost his way and begged
for a night's lodging.

"All right," said the farmer; "but we must have something
to eat first."

The woman received them both very kindly, laid the cloth
on a large table, and placed before them a dish of porridge.
The farmer was very hungry, and ate his porridge with a good
appetite, but Little Claus could not help thinking of the nice
roast meat, fish and pies, which he knew were in the oven.
Under the table, at his feet, lay the sack containing the
horse's skin, which he intended to sell at the next town. Now
Little Claus did not relish the porridge at all, so he trod
with his foot on the sack under the table, and the dry skin
squeaked quite loud. "Hush!" said Little Claus to his sack, at
the same time treading upon it again, till it squeaked louder
than before.

"Hallo! what have you got in your sack!" asked the farmer.

"Oh, it is a conjuror," said Little Claus; "and he says we
need not eat porridge, for he has conjured the oven full of
roast meat, fish, and pie."

"Wonderful!" cried the farmer, starting up and opening the
oven door; and there lay all the nice things hidden by the
farmer's wife, but which he supposed had been conjured there
by the wizard under the table. The woman dared not say
anything; so she placed the things before them, and they both
ate of the fish, the meat, and the pastry.

Then Little Claus trod again upon his sack, and it
squeaked as before. "What does he say now?" asked the farmer.

"He says," replied Little Claus, "that there are three
bottles of wine for us, standing in the corner, by the oven."

So the woman was obliged to bring out the wine also, which
she had hidden, and the farmer drank it till he became quite
merry. He would have liked such a conjuror as Little Claus
carried in his sack. "Could he conjure up the evil one?" asked
the farmer. "I should like to see him now, while I am so
merry."

"Oh, yes!" replied Little Claus, "my conjuror can do
anything I ask him,- can you not?" he asked, treading at the
same time on the sack till it squeaked. "Do you hear? he
answers 'Yes,' but he fears that we shall not like to look at
him."

"Oh, I am not afraid. What will he be like?"

"Well, he is very much like a sexton."

"Ha!" said the farmer, "then he must be ugly. Do you know
I cannot endure the sight of a sexton. However, that doesn't
matter, I shall know who it is; so I shall not mind. Now then,
I have got up my courage, but don't let him come too near me."

"Stop, I must ask the conjuror," said Little Claus; so he
trod on the bag, and stooped his ear down to listen.

"What does he say?"

"He says that you must go and open that large chest which
stands in the corner, and you will see the evil one crouching
down inside; but you must hold the lid firmly, that he may not
slip out."

"Will you come and help me hold it?" said the farmer,
going towards the chest in which his wife had hidden the
sexton, who now lay inside, very much frightened. The farmer
opened the lid a very little way, and peeped in.

"Oh," cried he, springing backwards, "I saw him, and he is
exactly like our sexton. How dreadful it is!" So after that he
was obliged to drink again, and they sat and drank till far
into the night.

"You must sell your conjuror to me," said the farmer; "ask
as much as you like, I will pay it; indeed I would give you
directly a whole bushel of gold."

"No, indeed, I cannot," said Little Claus; "only think how
much profit I could make out of this conjuror."

"But I should like to have him," said the fanner, still
continuing his entreaties.

"Well," said Little Claus at length, "you have been so
good as to give me a night's lodging, I will not refuse you;
you shall have the conjuror for a bushel of money, but I will
have quite full measure."

"So you shall," said the farmer; "but you must take away
the chest as well. I would not have it in the house another
hour; there is no knowing if he may not be still there."

So Little Claus gave the farmer the sack containing the
dried horse's skin, and received in exchange a bushel of
money- full measure. The farmer also gave him a wheelbarrow on
which to carry away the chest and the gold.

"Farewell," said Little Claus, as he went off with his
money and the great chest, in which the sexton lay still
concealed. On one side of the forest was a broad, deep river,
the water flowed so rapidly that very few were able to swim
against the stream. A new bridge had lately been built across
it, and in the middle of this bridge Little Claus stopped, and
said, loud enough to be heard by the sexton, "Now what shall I
do with this stupid chest; it is as heavy as if it were full
of stones: I shall be tired if I roll it any farther, so I may
as well throw it in the river; if it swims after me to my
house, well and good, and if not, it will not much matter."

So he seized the chest in his hand and lifted it up a
little, as if he were going to throw it into the water.

"No, leave it alone," cried the sexton from within the
chest; "let me out first."

"Oh," exclaimed Little Claus, pretending to be frightened,
"he is in there still, is he? I must throw him into the river,
that he may be drowned."

"Oh, no; oh, no," cried the sexton; "I will give you a
whole bushel full of money if you will let me go.

"Why, that is another matter," said Little Claus, opening
the chest. The sexton crept out, pushed the empty chest into
the water, and went to his house, then he measured out a whole
bushel full of gold for Little Claus, who had already received
one from the farmer, so that now he had a barrow full.

"I have been well paid for my horse," said he to himself
when he reached home, entered his own room, and emptied all
his money into a heap on the floor. "How vexed Great Claus
will be when he finds out how rich I have become all through
my one horse; but I shall not tell him exactly how it all
happened." Then he sent a boy to Great Claus to borrow a
bushel measure.

"What can he want it for?" thought Great Claus; so he
smeared the bottom of the measure with tar, that some of
whatever was put into it might stick there and remain. And so
it happened; for when the measure returned, three new silver
florins were sticking to it.

"What does this mean?" said Great Claus; so he ran off
directly to Little Claus, and asked, "Where did you get so
much money?"

"Oh, for my horse's skin, I sold it yesterday."

"It was certainly well paid for then," said Great Claus;
and he ran home to his house, seized a hatchet, and knocked
all his four horses on the head, flayed off their skins, and
took them to the town to sell. "Skins, skins, who'll buy
skins?" he cried, as he went through the streets. All the
shoemakers and tanners came running, and asked how much he
wanted for them.

"A bushel of money, for each," replied Great Claus.

"Are you mad?" they all cried; "do you think we have money
to spend by the bushel?"

"Skins, skins," he cried again, "who'll buy skins?" but to
all who inquired the price, his answer was, "a bushel of
money."

"He is making fools of us," said they all; then the
shoemakers took their straps, and the tanners their leather
aprons, and began to beat Great Claus.

"Skins, skins!" they cried, mocking him; "yes, we'll mark
your skin for you, till it is black and blue."

"Out of the town with him," said they. And Great Claus was
obliged to run as fast as he could, he had never before been
so thoroughly beaten.

"Ah," said he, as he came to his house; "Little Claus
shall pay me for this; I will beat him to death."

Meanwhile the old grandmother of Little Claus died. She
had been cross, unkind, and really spiteful to him; but he was
very sorry, and took the dead woman and laid her in his warm
bed to see if he could bring her to life again. There he
determined that she should lie the whole night, while he
seated himself in a chair in a corner of the room as he had
often done before. During the night, as he sat there, the door
opened, and in came Great Claus with a hatchet. He knew well
where Little Claus's bed stood; so he went right up to it, and
struck the old grandmother on the head. thinking it must be
Little Claus.

"There," cried he, "now you cannot make a fool of me
again;" and then he went home.

"That is a very wicked man," thought Little Claus; "he
meant to kill me. It is a good thing for my old grandmother
that she was already dead, or he would have taken her life."
Then he dressed his old grandmother in her best clothes,
borrowed a horse of his neighbor, and harnessed it to a cart.
Then he placed the old woman on the back seat, so that she
might not fall out as he drove, and rode away through the
wood. By sunrise they reached a large inn, where Little Claus
stopped and went to get something to eat. The landlord was a
rich man, and a good man too; but as passionate as if he had
been made of pepper and snuff.

"Good morning," said he to Little Claus; "you are come
betimes to-day."

"Yes," said Little Claus; "I am going to the town with my
old grandmother; she is sitting at the back of the wagon, but
I cannot bring her into the room. Will you take her a glass of
mead? but you must speak very loud, for she cannot hear well."

"Yes, certainly I will," replied the landlord; and,
pouring out a glass of mead, he carried it out to the dead
grandmother, who sat upright in the cart. "Here is a glass of
mead from your grandson," said the landlord. The dead woman
did not answer a word, but sat quite still. "Do you not hear?"
cried the landlord as loud as he could; "here is a glass of
mead from your grandson."

Again and again he bawled it out, but as she did not stir
he flew into a passion, and threw the glass of mead in her
face; it struck her on the nose, and she fell backwards out of
the cart, for she was only seated there, not tied in.

Hallo!" cried Little Claus, rushing out of the door, and
seizing hold of the landlord by the throat; "you have killed
my grandmother; see, here is a great hole in her forehead."

"Oh, how unfortunate," said the landlord, wringing his
hands. "This all comes of my fiery temper. Dear Little Claus,
I will give you a bushel of money; I will bury your
grandmother as if she were my own; only keep silent, or else
they will cut off my head, and that would be disagreeable."

So it happened that Little Claus received another bushel
of money, and the landlord buried his old grandmother as if
she had been his own. When Little Claus reached home again, he
immediately sent a boy to Great Claus, requesting him to lend
him a bushel measure. "How is this?" thought Great Claus; "did
I not kill him? I must go and see for myself." So he went to
Little Claus, and took the bushel measure with him. "How did
you get all this money?" asked Great Claus, staring with wide
open eyes at his neighbor's treasures.

"You killed my grandmother instead of me," said Little
Claus; "so I have sold her for a bushel of money."

"That is a good price at all events," said Great Claus. So
he went home, took a hatchet, and killed his old grandmother
with one blow. Then he placed her on a cart, and drove into
the town to the apothecary, and asked him if he would buy a
dead body.

"Whose is it, and where did you get it?" asked the
apothecary.

"It is my grandmother," he replied; "I killed her with a
blow, that I might get a bushel of money for her."

"Heaven preserve us!" cried the apothecary, "you are out
of your mind. Don't say such things, or you will lose your
head." And then he talked to him seriously about the wicked
deed he had done, and told him that such a wicked man would
surely be punished. Great Claus got so frightened that he
rushed out of the surgery, jumped into the cart, whipped up
his horses, and drove home quickly. The apothecary and all the
people thought him mad, and let him drive where he liked.

"You shall pay for this," said Great Claus, as soon as he
got into the highroad, "that you shall, Little Claus." So as
soon as he reached home he took the largest sack he could find
and went over to Little Claus. "You have played me another
trick," said he. "First, I killed all my horses, and then my
old grandmother, and it is all your fault; but you shall not
make a fool of me any more." So he laid hold of Little Claus
round the body, and pushed him into the sack, which he took on
his shoulders, saying, "Now I'm going to drown you in the
river.

He had a long way to go before he reached the river, and
Little Claus was not a very light weight to carry. The road
led by the church, and as they passed he could hear the organ
playing and the people singing beautifully. Great Claus put
down the sack close to the church-door, and thought he might
as well go in and hear a psalm before he went any farther.
Little Claus could not possibly get out of the sack, and all
the people were in church; so in he went.

"Oh dear, oh dear," sighed Little Claus in the sack, as he
turned and twisted about; but he found he could not loosen the
string with which it was tied. Presently an old cattle driver,
with snowy hair, passed by, carrying a large staff in his
hand, with which he drove a large herd of cows and oxen before
him. They stumbled against the sack in which lay Little Claus,
and turned it over. "Oh dear," sighed Little Claus, "I am very
young, yet I am soon going to heaven."

"And I, poor fellow," said the drover, "I who am so old
already, cannot get there."

"Open the sack," cried Little Claus; "creep into it
instead of me, and you will soon be there."

"With all my heart," replied the drover, opening the sack,
from which sprung Little Claus as quickly as possible. "Will
you take care of my cattle?" said the old man, as he crept
into the bag.

"Yes," said Little Claus, and he tied up the sack, and
then walked off with all the cows and oxen.

When Great Claus came out of church, he took up the sack,
and placed it on his shoulders. It appeared to have become
lighter, for the old drover was not half so heavy as Little
Claus.

"How light he seems now," said he. "Ah, it is because I
have been to a church." So he walked on to the river, which
was deep and broad, and threw the sack containing the old
drover into the water, believing it to be Little Claus. "There
you may lie!" he exclaimed; "you will play me no more tricks
now." Then he turned to go home, but when he came to a place
where two roads crossed, there was Little Claus driving the
cattle. "How is this?" said Great Claus. "Did I not drown you
just now?"

"Yes," said Little Claus; "you threw me into the river
about half an hour ago."

"But wherever did you get all these fine beasts?" asked
Great Claus.

"These beasts are sea-cattle," replied Little Claus. "I'll
tell you the whole story, and thank you for drowning me; I am
above you now, I am really very rich. I was frightened, to be
sure, while I lay tied up in the sack, and the wind whistled
in my ears when you threw me into the river from the bridge,
and I sank to the bottom immediately; but I did not hurt
myself, for I fell upon beautifully soft grass which grows
down there; and in a moment, the sack opened, and the sweetest
little maiden came towards me. She had snow-white robes, and a
wreath of green leaves on her wet hair. She took me by the
hand, and said, 'So you are come, Little Claus, and here are
some cattle for you to begin with. About a mile farther on the
road, there is another herd for you.' Then I saw that the
river formed a great highway for the people who live in the
sea. They were walking and driving here and there from the sea
to the land at the, spot where the river terminates. The bed
of the river was covered with the loveliest flowers and sweet
fresh grass. The fish swam past me as rapidly as the birds do
here in the air. How handsome all the people were, and what
fine cattle were grazing on the hills and in the valleys!"

"But why did you come up again," said Great Claus, "if it
was all so beautiful down there? I should not have done so?"

"Well," said Little Claus, "it was good policy on my part;
you heard me say just now that I was told by the sea-maiden to
go a mile farther on the road, and I should find a whole herd
of cattle. By the road she meant the river, for she could not
travel any other way; but I knew the winding of the river, and
how it bends, sometimes to the right and sometimes to the
left, and it seemed a long way, so I chose a shorter one; and,
by coming up to the land, and then driving across the fields
back again to the river, I shall save half a mile, and get all
my cattle more quickly."

"What a lucky fellow you are!" exclaimed Great Claus. "Do
you think I should get any sea-cattle if I went down to the
bottom of the river?"

"Yes, I think so," said Little Claus; "but I cannot carry
you there in a sack, you are too heavy. However if you will go
there first, and then creep into a sack, I will throw you in
with the greatest pleasure."

"Thank you," said Great Claus; "but remember, if I do not
get any sea-cattle down there I shall come up again and give
you a good thrashing."

"No, now, don't be too fierce about it!" said Little
Claus, as they walked on towards the river. When they
approached it, the cattle, who were very thirsty, saw the
stream, and ran down to drink.

"See what a hurry they are in," said Little Claus, "they
are longing to get down again,"

"Come, help me, make haste," said Great Claus; "or you'll
get beaten." So he crept into a large sack, which had been
lying across the back of one of the oxen.

"Put in a stone," said Great Claus, "or I may not sink."

"Oh, there's not much fear of that," he replied; still he
put a large stone into the bag, and then tied it tightly, and
gave it a push.

"Plump!" In went Great Claus, and immediately sank to the
bottom of the river.

"I'm afraid he will not find any cattle," said Little
Claus, and
then he drove his own beasts homewards.


THE END

[أرب جمـال]

THE LAST PEARL


WE are in a rich, happy house, where the master, the
servants, the friends of the family are full of joy and
felicity. For on this day a son and heir has been born, and
mother and child are doing well. The lamp in the bed-chamber
had been partly shaded, and the windows were covered with
heavy curtains of some costly silken material. The carpet was
thick and soft, like a covering of moss. Everything invited to
slumber, everything had a charming look of repose; and so the
nurse had discovered, for she slept; and well she might sleep,
while everything around her told of happiness and blessing.
The guardian angel of the house leaned against the head of the
bed; while over the child was spread, as it were, a net of
shining stars, and each star was a pearl of happiness. All the
good stars of life had brought their gifts to the newly born;
here sparkled health, wealth, fortune, and love; in short,
there seemed to be everything for which man could wish on
earth.

"Everything has been bestowed here," said the guardian
angel.

"No, not everything," said a voice near him- the voice of
the good angel of the child; "one fairy has not yet brought
her gift, but she will, even if years should elapse, she will
bring her gift; it is the last pearl that is wanting."

"Wanting!" cried the guardian angel; "nothing must be
wanting here; and if it is so, let us fetch it; let us seek
the powerful fairy; let us go to her."

"She will come, she will come some day unsought!"

"Her pearl must not be missing; it must be there, that the
crown, when worn, may be complete. Where is she to be found?
Where does she dwell?" said the guardian angel. "Tell me, and
I will procure the pearl."

"Will you do that?" replied the good angel of the child.
"Then I will lead you to her directly, wherever she may be.
She has no abiding place; she rules in the palace of the
emperor, sometimes she enters the peasant's humble cot; she
passes no one without leaving a trace of her presence. She
brings her gift with her, whether it is a world or a bauble.
To this child she must come. You think that to wait for this
time would be long and useless. Well, then, let us go for this
pearl- the only one lacking amidst all this wealth."

Then hand-in-hand they floated away to the spot where the
fairy was now lingering. It was in a large house with dark
windows and empty rooms, in which a peculiar stillness
reigned. A whole row of windows stood open, so that the rude
wind could enter at its pleasure, and the long white curtains
waved to and fro in the current of air. In the centre of one
of the rooms stood an open coffin, in which lay the body of a
woman, still in the bloom of youth and very beautiful. Fresh
roses were scattered over her. The delicate folded hands and
the noble face glorified in death by the solemn, earnest look,
which spoke of an entrance into a better world, were alone
visible. Around the coffin stood the husband and children, a
whole troop, the youngest in the father's arms. They were come
to take a last farewell look of their mother. The husband
kissed her hand, which now lay like a withered leaf, but which
a short time before had been diligently employed in deeds of
love for them all. Tears of sorrow rolled down their cheeks,
and fell in heavy drops on the floor, but not a word was
spoken. The silence which reigned here expressed a world of
grief. With silent steps, still sobbing, they left the room. A
burning light remained in the room, and a long, red wick rose
far above the flame, which fluttered in the draught of air.
Strange men came in and placed the lid of the coffin over the
dead, and drove the nails firmly in; while the blows of the
hammer resounded through the house, and echoed in the hearts
that were bleeding.

"Whither art thou leading me?" asked the guardian angel.
"Here dwells no fairy whose pearl could be counted amongst the
best gifts of life."

"Yes, she is here; here in this sacred hour," replied the
angel, pointing to a corner of the room; and there,- where in
her life-time, the mother had taken her seat amidst flowers
and pictures: in that spot, where she, like the blessed fairy
of the house, had welcomed husband, children, and friends,
and, like a sunbeam, had spread joy and cheerfulness around
her, the centre and heart of them all,- there, in that very
spot, sat a strange woman, clothed in long, flowing garments,
and occupying the place of the dead wife and mother. It was
the fairy, and her name was "Sorrow." A hot tear rolled into
her lap, and formed itself into a pearl, glowing with all the
colors of the rainbow. The angel seized it: the, pearl
glittered like a star with seven-fold radiance. The pearl of
Sorrow, the last, which must not be wanting, increases the
lustre, and explains the meaning of all the other pearls.

"Do you see the shimmer of the rainbow, which unites earth
to heaven?" So has there been a bridge built between this
world and the next. Through the night of the grave we gaze
upwards beyond the stars to the end of all things. Then we
glance at the pearl of Sorrow, in which are concealed the
wings which shall carry us away to eternal happiness.


THE END

[أرب جمـال]

THE JUMPER


THE Flea, the Grasshopper, and the Skipjack once wanted to
see which of them could jump highest; and they invited the
whole world, and whoever else would come, to see the grand
sight. And there the three famous jumpers were met together in
the room.

"Yes, I'll give my daughter to him who jumps highest,"
said the King, "for it would be mean to let these people jump
for nothing."

The Flea stepped out first. He had very pretty manners,
and bowed in all directions, for he had young ladies' blood in
his veins, and was accustomed to consort only with human
beings; and that was of great consequence.

Then came the Grasshopper: he was certainly much heavier,
but he had a good figure, and wore the green uniform that was
born with him. This person, moreover, maintained that he
belonged to a very old family in the land of Egypt, and that
he was highly esteemed there. He had just come from the field,
he said, and had been put into a card house three stories
high, and all made of picture cards with the figures turned
inwards. There were doors and windows in the house, cut in the
body of the Queen of Hearts.

"I sing so," he said, "that sixteen native crickets who
have chirped from their youth up, and have never yet had a
card house of their own, would become thinner than they are
with envy if they were to hear me."

Both of them, the Flea and the Grasshopper, took care to
announce who they were, and that they considered themselves
entitled to marry a Princess.

The Skipjack said nothing, but it was said of him that he
thought all the more; and directly the Yard Dog had smelt at
him he was ready to assert that the Skipjack was of good
family, and formed from the breastbone of an undoubted goose.
The old councillor, who had received three medals for holding
his tongue, declared that the Skipjack possessed the gift of
prophecy; one could tell by his bones whether there would be a
severe winter or a mild one; and that's more than one can
always tell from the breastbone of the man who writes the
almanac.

"I shall not say anything more," said the old King. "I
only go on quietly, and always think the best."

Now they were to take their jump. The Flea sprang so high
that no one could see him; and then they asserted that he had
not jumped at all. That was very mean. The Grasshopper only
sprang half as high, but he sprang straight into the King's
face, and the King declared that was horribly rude. The
Skipjack stood a long time considering; at last people thought
that he could not jump at all.

"I only hope he's not become unwell," said the Yard Dog,
and then he smelt at him again.

"Tap!" he sprang with a little crooked jump just into the
lap of the Princess, who sat on a low golden stool.

Then the King said, "The highest leap was taken by him who
jumped up to my daughter; for therein lies the point; but it
requires head to achieve that, and the Skipjack has shown that
he has a head."

And so he had the Princess.

"I jumped highest, after all," said the Flea. "But it's
all the same. Let her have the goose-bone with its lump of wax
and bit of stick. I jumped to the highest; but in this world a
body is required if one wishes to be seen."

And the Flea went into foreign military service, where it
is said he was killed.

The Grasshopper seated himself out in the ditch, and
thought and considered how things happened in the world. And
he too said, "Body is required! body is required!" And then he
sang his own melancholy song, and from that we have gathered
this story, which they say is not true, though it's in print.


THE END