The Shadow


The Shadow
The shadow of the stranger fell upon the wall of the house opposite.

IN the hot countries the sun burns very strongly; there the people become quite mahogany brown, and in the very hottest countries they are even burned into negroes. But this time it was only to the hot countries that a learned man out of the cold regions had come. He thought he could roam about there just as he had been accustomed to do at home; but he soon altered his opinion. He and all sensible people had to remain at home, where the window-shutters and doors were shut all day long, and it looked as if all the inmates were asleep or had gone out. The narrow street with the high houses in which he lived was, however, built in such a way that the sun shone upon it from morning till evening; it was really quite unbearable! The learned man from the cold regions was a young man and a clever man: it seemed to him as if he was sitting in a glowing oven that exhausted him greatly, and he became quite thin; even his Shadow shrivelled up and became much smaller than it had been at home; the sun even took the Shadow away, and it did not return till the evening when the sun went down.
It was really a pleasure to see this. So soon as a light was brought into the room the Shadow stretched itself quite up the wall, farther even than the ceiling, so tall did it make itself; it was obliged to stretch to get strength again. The learned man went out into the balcony to stretch himself, and so soon as the stars came out in the beautiful clear-sky, he felt himself reviving. On all the balconies in the streets and in the hot countries there is a balcony to every window young people now appeared, for one must breathe fresh air, even if one has got used to becoming mahogany brown; then it became lively above and below; the tinkers and tailors by which we mean all kinds of people sat below in the street; then tables and chairs were brought out, and candles burned, yes, more than a thousand candles; one talked and then sang, and the people walked to and fro; carriages drove past, mules trotted.
"Kling-ling-ling!" for they had bells on their harness; dead people were buried with solemn songs; the church bells rang, and it was indeed very lively in the street. Only in one house, just opposite to that in which the learned man dwelt, it was quite quiet, and yet somebody lived there, for there were flowers upon the balcony, blooming beautifully in the hot sun, and they could not have done this if they had not been watered, so that some one must have watered them; therefore, there must be people in that house. Towards evening the door was half opened, but it was dark, at least in the front room; farther back, in the interior, music was heard. The strange learned man thought this music very lovely, but it was quite possible that he only imagined this, for out there in the hot countries he found everything requisite, if only there had been no sun. The stranger's landlord said that he did not know who had taken the opposite house one saw nobody there, and so far as the music was concerned, it seemed very monotonous to him.
"It was just," he said, "as if some one sat there, always practising a piece that he could not manage always the same piece. He seemed to say, 'I shall manage it, after all;' but he did not manage it, however long he played."
Will the stranger awake at night? He slept with the balcony door open: the wind lifted up the curtain before it, and he fancied that a wonderful radiance came from the balcony of the house opposite; all the flowers appeared like flames of the most gorgeous colors, and in the midst, among the flowers, stood a beautiful slender maiden: it seemed as if a radiance came from her also. His eyes were quite dazzled; but he had only opened them too wide just when he awoke out of his sleep. With one leap he was out of bed; quite quietly he crept behind the curtain; but the maiden was gone, the splendor was gone, the flowers gleamed no longer, but stood there as beautiful as ever. The door was ajar, and from within sounded music, so lovely, so charming, that one fell into sweet thought at the sound. It was just like magic work. But who lived there? Where was the real entrance? for towards the street and towards the lane at the side the whole ground floor was shop by shop, and the people could not always run through there.
One evening the stranger sat upon his balcony; in the room just behind him a light was burning, and so it was quite natural that his Shadow fell upon the wall of the opposite house; yes, it sat just among the flowers on the balcony, and when the stranger moved his Shadow moved too.
"I think my Shadow is the only living thing we see yonder," said the learned man. "Look how gracefully it sits among the flowers. The door is only ajar, but the Shadow ought to be sensible enough to walk in and look round, and then come back and tell me what it has seen.
"Yes, you would thus make yourself very useful," said he, as if in sport. "Be so good as to slip in. Now, will you go? " And then he nodded at the Shadow, and the Shadow nodded back at him. "Now go, but don't stay away altogether."
And the stranger stood up, and the Shadow on the balcony opposite stood up too, and the stranger moved round, and if any one had noticed closely he would have remarked how the Shadow went away in the same moment, straight through the half-opened door of the opposite house, as the stranger returned into his room and let the curtain fall.
Next morning the learned man went out to drink coffee and read the papers.
"What is this?" said he, when he came out into the sunshine. "I have no Shadow! So it really went away yesterday evening, and did not come back: that's very tiresome."
And that fretted him, but not so much because the Shadow was gone as because he knew that there was a story of a man without a shadow. All the people in the house knew this story, and if the learned man came home and told his own history, they would say that it was only an imitation, and he did not choose them to say that of him. So he would not speak of it at all, and that was a very sensible idea of his.
In the evening he again went out on his balcony: he had placed the light behind him, for he knew that a shadow always wants its master for a screen, but he could not coax it forth. He made himself little, he made himself long, but there was no shadow, and no shadow came. He said, "Here, here!" but that did no good.
That was vexatious, but in the warm countries everything grows very quickly, and after the lapse of a week he remarked to his great joy that a new shadow was growing out of his legs when he went into the sunshine, so that the root must have remained behind. After three weeks he had quite a respectable shadow, which, when he started on his return to the North, grew more and more, so that at last it was so long and great that he could very well have parted with half of it.
The Shadow
He then opened the door, and there stood before such an exceedingly thin person that he felt quite uncomfortable.

When, the learned man got home he wrote books about what is true in the world, and what is good, and what is pretty; and days went by, and years went by, many years. He was one evening sitting in his room when there came a little quiet knock at the door. "Come in!" said he; but nobody came. Then he opened the door, and there stood before him such a remarkably thin man that he felt quite uncomfortable. This man was, however, very respectably dressed; he looked like a man of standing.
"Whom have I the honor to address?" asked the professor.
"Ah!" replied the genteel man, "I thought you would not know me; I have become so much a body that I have got real flesh and clothes. You never thought to see me in such a condition. Don't you know your old Shadow? You certainly never thought that I would come again. Things have gone remarkably well with me since I was with you last. I've become rich in every respect: if I want to buy myself free from servitude I can do it!"
And he rattled a number of valuable charms, which hung by his watch, and put his hand upon the thick gold chain he wore round his neck; and how the diamond rings glittered on his fingers! and everything was real!
"No, I cannot regain my self-possession at all!" said the learned man. "What's the meaning of all this?"
"Nothing common," said the Shadow. "But you yourself don't belong to common folks; and I have, as you very well know, trodden in your footsteps from my childhood upwards. So soon as I found that I was experienced enough to find my way through the world alone, I went away. I am in the most brilliant circumstances; but I was seized with a kind of longing to see you once more before you die, and I wanted to see these regions once more, for one always holds by one's fatherland. I know that you have got another shadow: have I anything to pay to it, or to you? You have only to tell me."
"Is it really you?" said the learned man. "Why, that is wonderful! I should never have thought that I should ever meet my old Shadow as a man!"
"Only tell me what I have to pay," said the Shadow, "for I don't like to be in any one's debt."
"How can you talk in that way?" said the learned man. "Of what debt can there be a question here? You are as free as any one! I am exceedingly pleased at your good fortune! Sit down, old friend, and tell me a little how it has happened, and what you saw in the warm countries, and in the house opposite ours."
"Yes, that I will tell you," said the Shadow; and it sat down. "But then you must promise me never to tell any one in this town, when you meet me, that I have been your Shadow! I have the intention of engaging myself to be married; I can do more than support a family."
"Be quite easy," replied the learned man; "I will tell nobody who you really are. Here's my hand. I promise it, and my word is as
good as my bond."
"A Shadow's word in return!" said the Shadow, for he was obliged to talk in that way. But, by the way, it was quite wonderful how complete a man he had become. He was dressed all in black, and wore the very finest black cloth, polished boots, and a hat that could be crushed together till it was nothing but crown and rim, besides what we have already noticed of him, namely, the charms, the gold neck chain, and the diamond rings. The Shadow was indeed wonderfully well clothed; and it was just this that made a complete man of him.
'Now I will tell you," said the Shadow; and then he put down his polished boots as firmly as he could on the arm of the learned man's new shadow that lay like a poodle dog at his feet. This was done perhaps from pride, perhaps so that the new shadow might stick to his feet; but the prostrate shadow remained quite quiet, so that it might listen well, for it wanted to know how one could get free and work up to be one's own master.
"Do you know who lived in the house opposite to us?" asked the Shadow. "That was the most glorious of all; it was Poetry! I was there for three weeks, and that was just as if one had lived there a thousand years, and could read all that has been written and composed. For this I say, and it is truth, I have seen everything, and I know everything!"
"Poetry!" cried the learned man. "Yes, she often lives as a hermit in great cities. Poetry! Yes, I myself saw her for one single brief moment, but sleep was heavy on my eyes: she stood on the balcony, gleaming as the Northern Light gleams, flowers with living flames. Tell me! tell me! You were upon the balcony. You went through the door, and then,"
"Then I was in the ante-room," said the Shadow. "You sat opposite, and were always looking across at the ante-room. There was no light; a kind of semi-obscurity reigned there; but one door after another in a whole row of halls and rooms stood open, and there it was light; and the mass of light would have killed me if I had got as far as to where the maiden sat. But I was deliberate, I took my time; and that's what one must do."
"And what didst thou 1 see then?" asked the learned man.
"I saw everything, and I will tell you what; but it is really not pride on my part as a free man, and with the acquirements I possess, besides my good position and my remarkable fortune, I wish you would say you to me."
"I beg your pardon," said the learned man. "This thou is an old habit, and old habits are difficult to alter. You are perfectly right, and I will remember it. But now tell me everything you saw."
"Everything," said the Shadow; "for I saw everything, and I know everything."
"How did things look in the inner room?" asked the learned man.
'Was it there as in a cool grave? Was it there like in a holy temple?
"Were the chambers like the starry sky, when one stands on the high mountains?"
"Everything was there," said the Shadow. "I was certainly not quite inside; I remained in the front room, in the half darkness; but I stood there remarkably well. I saw everything and know everything. I have been in the ante-room at the Court of Poetry."
"But what did you see? Did all the gods of antiquity march through the halls? Did the old heroes fight there? Did lovely children play there, and relate their dreams?"
"I tell you that I have been there, and so you will easily understand that I saw everything that was to be seen. If you had got there you would not have remained a man; but I became one, and at the same time I learned to understand my inner being and the relation in which I stood to Poetry. Yes, when I was with you I did not think of these things; but you know that whenever the sun rises or sets I am wonderfully great. In the moonshine I was almost more noticeable than you yourself. I did not then understand my inward being; in the ante-room it was revealed to me. I became a man! I came out ripe. But you were no longer in the warm countries. I was ashamed to go about as a man in the state I was then in: I required boots, clothes, and all this human varnish by which a man is known. I hid myself; yes, I can confide a secret to you you will not put it into a book. I hid myself under the cake-woman's gown; the woman had no idea how much she concealed. Only in the evening did I go out: I ran about the streets by moonlight; I stretched myself quite long up the wall: that tickled my back quite agreeably. I ran up and down, looked through the highest windows into the halls and through the roof, where nobody could see, and I saw what nobody saw and what nobody ought to see. On the whole it is a bad world: I should not like to be a man if I were not allowed to be of some consequence. I saw the most incomprehensible things going an among men, and women, and parents, and 'dear incomparable children.' I saw what no one else knows, but what they all would be very glad to know, namely, bad goings on at their neighbors'. If I had written a newspaper, how it would have been read! But I wrote directly to the persons interested, and there was terror in every town to which I came. They were so afraid of me that they were remarkably fond of me. The professor made me a professor; the tailor gave me new clothes (I am well provided); the coining superintendent coined money for me; the women declared I was handsome: and thus I became the man I am. And now, farewell! Here is my card; I live on the sunny side, and am always at home in rainy weather."
And the Shadow went away.
"That was very remarkable," said the learned man.
Years and days passed by, and the Shadow came again.
"How goes it?" he asked.
"Ah!" said the learned man, "I'm writing about the true, the good, and the beautiful; but nobody cares to hear of anything of the kind: I am quite in despair, for I take that to heart."
"That I do not," said the Shadow. "I'm becoming fat and hearty, and that's what one must try to become. You don't understand the world, and you're getting ill. You must travel. I'll make a journey this summer; will you go too? I should like to have a traveling companion; will you go with me as my shadow? I shall be very happy to take you, and I'll pay the expenses."
"I suppose you travel very far?" said the learned man.
"As you take it," replied the Shadow. "A journey will do you a great deal of good. "Will you be my shadow? then you shall have everything on the journey for nothing."
"That's too strong!" said the learned man.
"But it's the way of the world," said the Shadow, "and so it will remain!" And he went away.
The learned man was not at all fortunate. Sorrow and care pursued him, and what he said of the true and the good and the beautiful was as little valued by most people as a nutmeg would be by a cow. At last he became quite ill.
"You really look like a shadow!" people said; and a shudder ran through him at these words, for he attached a peculiar meaning to them.
"You must go to a watering-place!" said the Shadow, who came to pay him a visit. "There's no other help for you. I'll take you with me, for the sake of old acquaintance. I'll pay the expenses of the journey, and you shall make a description of it, and shorten time for me on the way. I want to visit a watering-place. My beard doesn't grow quite as it should, and that is a kind of illness; and a beard I must have. Now, be reasonable and accept my proposal: we shall travel like comrades."
And they traveled. The Shadow was master now, and the master was shadow: they drove together, they rode together, and walked side by side, and before and behind each other, just as the sun happened to stand. The Shadow always knew when to take the place of honor. The learned man did not particularly notice this, for he had a very good heart, and was moreover particularly mild and friendly. Then one day the master said to the Shadow,
"As we have in this way become traveling companions, and have also from childhood's days grown up with one another, shall we not drink brotherhood? That sounds more confidential."
"You're saying a thing there," said the Shadow, who was now really the master, "that is said in a very kind and straightforward way. I will be just as kind and straightforward. You, who are a learned gentleman, know very well how wonderful nature is. There are some men who cannot bear to smell brown paper, they become sick at it; others shudder to the marrow of their bones if one scratches with a nail upon a pane of glass; and I for my part have a similar feeling when any one says 'thou' to me; I feel myself, as I did in my first position with you, oppressed by it. You see that this is a feeling, not pride. I cannot let you say 'thou' to me, but I will gladly say 'thou' to you; and thus your wish will be at any rate partly fulfilled."
And now the Shadow addressed his former master as "thou."
"That's rather strong," said the latter, "that I am to say 'you,' while he says 'thou.'" But he was obliged to submit to it.
They came to a bathing-place, where many strangers were, and among them a beautiful young Princess, who had this disease, that she saw too sharply, which was very disquieting. She at once saw that the new arrival was a very different personage from all the rest.
"They say he is here to get his beard to grow; but I see the real reason he can't throw a shadow."
She had now become inquisitive, and therefore she at once began a conversation with the strange gentleman on the promenade. As a Princess, she was not obliged to use much ceremony, therefore she said outright to him at once,
"Your illness consists in this, that you can't throw a shadow."
"Your Royal Highness must be much better," replied the Shadow.
"I know your illness consists in this, that you see too sharply; but you have got the better of that. I have a very unusual shadow: don't you see the person who always accompanies me? Other people have a common shadow, but I don't love what is common. One often gives one's servants finer cloth for their liveries than one wears oneself, and so I have let my shadow deck himself out like a separate person; yes, you see I have even given him a shadow of his own. That cost very much, but I like to have something peculiar."
"How!" said the Princess, "can I really have been cured? This is the best bathing-place in existence; water has wonderful power now-a-days.
But I'm not going away from here yet, for now it begins to be amusing. The foreign Prince for he must be a Prince pleases me remarkably well. I only hope his beard won't grow, for if it does he'll go away."
That evening the Princess and the Shadow danced together in the great ball-room. She was light, but he was still lighter; never had she seen such a dancer. She told him from what country she came, and he knew the country he had been there, but just when she had been absent. He had looked through the windows of her castle, from below as well as from above; he had learned many circumstances, and could therefore make allusions, and give replies to the Princess, at which she marvelled greatly. She thought he must be the cleverest man in all the world, and was inspired with great respect for all his knowledge. And when she danced with him again, she fell in love with him, and the Shadow noticed that particularly, for she looked him almost through and through with her eyes. They danced together once more, and she was nearly telling him, but she was discreet: she thought of her country; and her kingdom, and of the many people over whom she was to rule.
"He is a clever man," she said to herself, "and that is well, and he dances capitally, and that is well too; but has he well-grounded knowledge? That is just as important, and he must be examined."
And she immediately put such a difficult question to him, that she could not have answered it herself; and the Shadow made a wry face.
"You cannot answer me that," said the Princess.
"I learned that in my childhood," replied the Shadow, "and I believe my very shadow, standing yonder by the door, could answer it."
"Your shadow!" cried the Princess: "that would be very remarkable."
"I do not assert as quite certain that he can do so," said the Shadow, "but I am almost inclined to believe it. But your Royal Highness will allow me to remind you that he is so proud of passing for a man, that, if he is to be in a good humor, and he should be so to answer rightly, be must be treated just like a man."
"I like that," said the Princess.
And now she went to the learned man at the door; and she spoke with him of sun and moon, of the green forests, and of people near and far off; and the learned man answered very cleverly and very well.
"What a man that must be, who has such a clever shadow!" she thought. "It would be a real blessing for my country and for my people if I chose him; and I'll do it!"
And they soon struck a bargain the Princess and the Shadow; but no one was to know anything of it till she had returned to her kingdom.
"No one not even my shadow," said the Shadow; and for this he had especial reasons.
And they came to the country where the Princess ruled, and where was her home.

The Shadow
The Princess and the Shadow stepped out upon the balcony to show themselves, and to hear the people shout 'Hurrah!' once more.

"Listen, my friend," said the Shadow to the learned man. "Now I am as lucky and powerful as any one can become, I'll do something particular for you. You shall live with me in my palace, drive with me in the royal carriage, and have a hundred thousand dollars a year; but you must let yourself be called a shadow by every one, and may never say that you were once a man; and once a year, when I sit on the balcony and show myself, you must lie at my feet as it becomes my shadow to do. For I will tell you I'm going to marry the Princess, and this evening the wedding will be held."
"Now, that's too strong!" said the learned man. "I won't do it; I won't have it. That would be cheating the whole country and the Princess too. I'll tell everything that I'm the man and you are the Shadow, and that you only wear men's clothes!"
"No one would believe that," said the Shadow. "Be reasonable, or I'll call the watch."
"I'll go straight to the Princess," said the learned man.
"But I'll go first," said the Shadow; "and you shall go to prison."
And that was so; for the sentinels obeyed him of whom they knew that he was to marry the Princess.
"You tremble," said the Princess, when the Shadow came to her.
"Has anything happened? You must not be ill today, when we are to have our wedding."
"I have experienced the most terrible thing that can happen," said the Shadow. "Only think! such a poor shallow brain cannot bear much only think! my shadow has gone mad: he fancies he has become a man, and only think! that I am his shadow."
"This is terrible!" said the Princess. "He's locked up, I hope?"
"Certainly. I'm afraid he will never recover."
The Shadow

"Poor shadow!" cried the Princess, "he's very unfortunate. It would really be a good action to deliver him from his little bit of life. And when I think how prone the people are, now-a-days, to take the part of the low against the high, it seems to me quite necessary to put him quietly out of the way."
"That's certainly very hard, for he was a faithful servant," said the Shadow; and he pretended to sigh.
"You've a noble character," said the Princess, and she bowed before him.
In the evening the whole town was illuminated, and cannon were fired 'bang!' and the soldiers presented arms. That was a wedding! The Princess and the Shadow stepped out on the balcony to show themselves and receive another cheer.
The learned man heard nothing of all this festivity, for he had already been executed.

1 On the Continent, people who have "drunk brotherhood" address each other as "thou," in preference to the more ceremonious "you."

Read More »

The Happy Family


The Happy Family
The snails live on Burdock leaves, and that is why Burdocks were planted.

THE biggest leaf here in the country is certainly the burdock leaf. Put one in front of your waist and it's just like an apron, and if you lay it upon your head it is almost as good as an umbrella, for it is quite remarkably large. A burdock never grows alone; where there is one tree there are several more. It's splendid to behold! and all this splendor is snails' meat. The great white snails, which the grand people in old times used to have made into fricassees, and when they had eaten them they would say, "H'm, how good that is!" for they had the idea that it tasted delicious. These snails lived on burdock leaves, and that's why burdocks were sown.
Now there was an old estate, on which people ate snails no longer. The snails had died out, but the burdocks had not. These latter grew and grew in all the walks and on all the beds there was no stopping them; the place became a complete forest of burdocks. Here and there stood an apple or plum tree; but for this, nobody would have thought a garden had been there. Everything was burdock, and among the burdocks lived the two last ancient Snails.
They did not know themselves how old they were, but they could very well remember that there had been a great many more of them, that they had descended from a foreign family, and that the whole forest had been planted for them and theirs. They had never been away from home, but it was known to them that something existed in the world called the ducal palace, and that there one was boiled, and one became black, and was laid upon a silver dish; but what was done afterwards they did not know. Moreover, they could not imagine what that might be, being boiled and laid upon a silver dish; but it was stated to be fine, and particularly grand! Neither the cockchafer, nor the toad, nor the earthworm, whom they questioned about it, could give them any information, for none of their own kind had ever been boiled and laid on silver dishes.
The old white Snails were the grandest in the world; they knew that! The forest was there for their sake, and the ducal palace too, so that they might be boiled and laid on silver dishes.
They led a very retired and happy life, and as they themselves were childless, they had adopted a little common snail, which they brought up as their own child. But the little thing would not grow, for it was only a common snail, though the old people, and particularly the mother, declared one could easily see how he grew. And when the father could not see it, she requested him to feel the little snail's shell, and he felt it, and acknowledged that she was right.
One day it rained very hard.
"Listen, how it's drumming on the burdock leaves, rum-dum-dum! rum-dum-dum!" said the Father-Snail.
"That's what I call drops," said the mother. "It's coming straight down the stalks. You'll see it will be wet here directly. I'm only glad that we have our good houses, and that the little one has his own. There has been more done for us than for any other creature; one can see very plainly that we are the grand folks of the world! We have houses from our birth, and the burdock forest has been planted for us: I should like to know how far it extends, and what lies beyond it."
"There's nothing," said the Father-Snail, "that can be better than here at home; I have nothing at all to wish for."
"Yes," said the mother, "I should like to be taken to the ducal palace and boiled, and laid upon a silver dish; that has been done to all our ancestors, and you may be sure it's quite a distinguished honor."
"The ducal palace has perhaps fallen in," said the Father-Snail, "or the forest of burdocks may have grown over it, so that the people cant get out at all. You need not be in a hurry but you always hurry so, and the little one is beginning just the same way. Has he not been creeping up that stalk these three days? My head quite aches when I look up at him."
"You must not scold him," said the Mother-Snail. "He crawls very deliberately. We shall have much joy in him; and we old people have nothing else to live for. But have you ever thought where we shall get a wife for him? Don't you think that farther in the wood there may be some more of our kind?"
The Happy Family
"I am glad we have our own house," said Mother Snail. "And the little one has also his."

"There may be black snails there, I think," said the old man, "black snails without houses! but they're too vulgar. And they're conceited, for all that. But we can give the commission to the ants: they run to and fro, as if they had business; they're sure to know of a wife for our young gentleman."
"I certainly know the most beautiful of brides." said one of the Ants; "but I fear she would not do, for she is the Queen!"
"That does not matter," said the two old Snails. "Has she a house ?"
"She has a castle!" replied the Ant. "The most beautiful ant's castle, with seven hundred passages."
"Thank you," said the Mother-Snail; "our boy shall not go into an ant-hill. If you know of nothing better, we'll give the commission to the white gnats; they fly far about in rain and sunshine, and they know the burdock wood, inside and outside."
"We have a wife for him," said the Gnats. "A hundred man-steps from here a little snail with a house is sitting on a gooseberry bush, she is quite alone, and old enough to marry. It's only a hundred man-steps from here."
"Yes, let her come to him," said the old people. "He has a whole burdock forest, and she has only a bush."
And so they brought the little maiden snail. Eight days passed before she arrived, but that was the rare circumstance about it, for by this one could see that she was of the right kind. And then they had a wedding. Six glow-worms lighted as well as they could: with this exception it went very quietly, for the old snail people could not bear feasting and dissipation. But a capital speech was made by the Mother-Snail. The father could not speak, he was so much moved. Then they gave the young couple the whole burdock forest for an inheritance, and said, what they had always said, namely that it was the best place in the world, and that the young people, if they lived honorably, and increased and multiplied, would some day be taken with their children to the ducal palace, and boiled black, and laid upon a silver dish. And when the speech was finished, the old people crept into their houses and never came out again, for they slept.
The young snail pair now ruled in the forest, and had a numerous progeny. But as the young ones were never boiled and put into silver dishes, they concluded that the ducal palace had fallen in, and that all the people in the world had died out. And as nobody contradicted them, they must have been right. And the rain fell down upon the burdock leaves to play the drum for them, and the sun shone to color the burdock forest for them; and they were happy, very happy the whole family was happy, uncommonly happy!

Read More »

Everything In Its Proper Place


Everything in its proper place
They were the portraits of the peddler and goose-girl, from whom the whole family descended.

IT is over a hundred years ago! Behind the forest near the great lake stood an old country mansion, around which was a deep moat where rushes and reeds grew in abundance. Near the bridge at the entrance gate stood an old willow-tree which leaned over the reeds.
From the narrow way under the hill came the sound of bugles and tramping of horses' feet, and therefore the little goose-girl hastened to get her geese on one side of the bridge before the hunting party came galloping up. They came at such a pace that she had to jump up quickly on to one of the big stones near the bridge to avoid being ridden over. She was scarcely more than a child. She was slightly and delicately built, with a beautiful expression and two lovely bright eyes; but the baron took no notice of all this. As he galloped past her, he took hold of the top of his whip, and in rough play gave her a push with the butt-end, so that she fell backward into the ditch.
Everything in its proper place

"Everything in its proper place," he shouted; "into the mud with you!" And then he laughed at what he thought was wit, and the rest of the company joined in. They shouted and screamed, and the dogs barked. In fact it was truly, "Rich birds come rushing." But goodness knows how rich he was. The poor girl, in trying to save herself as she fell, caught hold of one of the drooping branches of the willow-tree, by which she was able to keep herself from sinking into the mire, and as soon as the company and the dogs had disappeared through the gate she tried to drag herself out; but the branch broke off at the top, and she would have fallen back among the reeds if a strong hand from above had not seized her at the same moment. It was that of a peddler, who had seen what had happened some distance off, and now hastened to help her.
"Everything in its proper place," he said jokingly, mimicking the baron, as he pulled her up on to a dry place. The broken branch he put back against the place where it had been broken off; but "in its proper place" does not always answer, and so he stuck the branch into the soft ground. "Grow, if you can, and furnish a good rod for them up at the mansion yonder; "for he would have liked to see the baron and his companions running the gantlet in earnest. He then walked up to the mansion and went in; but he did not go into the grand rooms -- he was too humble for that. He went to the servants' hall, where all the servants looked at his goods and bargained with him, while from the festive board upstairs came the sound of shouting and bawling, which was intended for singing. They were not in a state to produce anything better. Then followed laughter, accompanied by the howling of dogs. There was great feasting and carousing going on. Wine and old ale foamed in jugs and glasses. The dogs were allowed to feast with their masters; and some of them, after having their snouts wiped with their long ears, were even kissed by them. The peddler was asked to come up with his wares, but only to be made game of. The wine had entered their heads, and their senses had left them. They poured out ale into a stocking for him, so that he could drink with them; but he must drink quickly. This was considered very funny, and caused much merriment. Whole herds of. cattle, farms, and peasants were staked and lost.
"Everything in its proper place," said the peddler when he had got safely away from the "Sodom and Gomorrah," as he called it. "The broad highway is my right place. I did not feel quite myself up there." And the little goose-girl, who looked after the geese, nodded to him from her place at the stile.
Days passed, and weeks passed, when it was found that the branch that had been broken off the willow-tree, and which the peddler had stuck into the ditch, remained fresh and green, and had even put forth fresh shoots. The little goose-girl could see that it had taken root, and she rejoiced greatly, for it was her tree, she thought.
The tree made good progress; but everything else at the mansion was going to ruin through riotous living and gambling -- two wheels on which it is not easy to run securely.
Six years had scarcely passed when the squire had to wander forth, a beggar, with bag and stick in hand. The estate was bought by a rich peddler. It was the very man whom the baron had made game of, and to whom he had offered ale in a stocking; but honesty and industry are like favorable winds to a ship, and had helped the peddler, who was now master of the mansion. From that time card-playing was no longer permitted any more there. "They are bad reading," the master would say. "They are the devil's work. When he saw the Bible for the first time he wanted something to counteract it, and so he invented card-playing."
The new master took a wife, and who do you think she was? Why, the little goose-girl, who had always been so well-behaved, so pious and good. In her new clothes she looked just as grand and beautiful as if she had been of high birth. How did all this happen? Well, that's too long a story in these busy times; but it did happen, and the most important part of it has yet to be told.
There were now happy and prosperous times at the old mansion. The mistress managed all the household affairs, and the master the estate. Blessings seemed to overflow. Where there are riches, riches are sure to follow. The old mansion was repaired and painted, the moat was cleared out and fruit-trees were planted in it. Everything looked bright and cheerful. The floors were as clean as a kitchen dresser. In the large hall the mistress sat in the winter evenings, with all her maids around her, spinning woolen and linen yarn; and every Sunday evening the justice of the peace, for the peddler had been made one, -- a dignity which had been conferred upon him only in his old age, -- would read aloud from the Bible. The children grew up -- for children had come -- and were well educated; but they were not all equally gifted, which may be the case in every family.
Everything in its proper place
The old willow tree.

But the willow branch outside had grown to be quite a fine tree, rearing its head aloft, free and undisturbed. "That is our genealogical tree," the old people said; "and that tree must he held in honor and respect." This they told to all their children, even to those who were not gifted with clever heads.
A hundred years had now rolled by. It was in our time. The lake had grown into a marsh, and the old mansion had almost disappeared. A long, narrow pool of water, with the remains of stone walls along the edges, was all that remained of the deep moat, and here still stood a fine old tree with its drooping branches. It was the "genealogical tree" which stood there, an example of how beautiful a willow-tree may become if left to itself. The trunk had certainly a big crack in it, right from the root to the crown, and the storm had given it a little twist; but it remained firm in its place, and in all the cracks and crevices into which the wind had blown earth grew grasses and flowers, especially near the top where the large branches shot out in all directions. There was a kind of miniature hanging garden, with raspberry bushes and chickweed, and even a little mountain ash had taken root there, and stood erect and elegant among the branches of the old willow-tree, which reflected itself in the dark water when the wind had driven all the duckweed into a corner of the pond. Close by a narrow path led across the fields to the manor.
High on the hill and close to the forest stood the new mansion. It was a large and magnificent building, with a beautiful outlook from the windows, the glass of which was so clear and transparent that one could hardly believe there were any panes in them at all. The large flight of steps in front of the door looked like a bower of roses and large-leaved plants. The lawn was as fresh and green as if every blade of grass had been tended morning and evening. In the drawing-room hung costly pictures; and there were chairs and sofas covered with silk and velvet which seemed to run on their own legs, tables with bright marble tops, and books in morocco bindings with gilt edges. Yes; they must really be wealthy people who lived here. They were people of position. Here lived the baron and his family.
Everything in the house was in harmony. The motto of the family was still, "Everything in its proper place." Therefore all the pictures which at one time were the honor and glory of the old house had now been hung in the passage leading to the servants' hall. They looked like old lumber, especially the two old portraits -- the one of a man in a rose-colored coat and a wig, the other of a lady with powdered, high-dressed hair and a red rose in her hand, while both were surrounded with a wreath of willow leaves. There were a good many round holes in the two pictures, because the young barons were in the habit of using the two old folks as a target when shooting with their cross-bows. They were the portraits of the justice of the peace and his wife, from whom the whole family descended.
"But they did not properly belong to our family," said one of the young barons. "He was a peddler and she a goose-girl. They were not like papa and mama."
The pictures were only old lumber, and as the motto was, "Everything in its proper place," the great-grandfather and great grandmother were sent to the passage leading to the servants' hall.
The son of the clergyman was tutor to the family. He was out walking one day with the young barons and their eldest sister, who had just been confirmed, when they followed the path that led down to the old willow-tree. As they walked on she gathered a bouquet of wild flowers of the field, "each in its proper place," so that the bouquet became altogether a thing of beauty.
At the same time she listened attentively to everything the clergyman's son said. She was pleased to hear him talk about the elements of nature and the great men and women in history. She was of a good and healthy disposition, and possessed great nobility of mind, and a heart which fully appreciated all that God had created.
They came to a halt down by the old willow-tree. The youngest of the barons wanted to have a flute cut for him, such as he had often had made from other willow-trees, and the clergyman's son therefore broke off a branch.
"Oh, don't do that," said the young baroness, but she spoke too late. "It is our famous old tree. I love it very much. And therefore they laugh at me at home, but I don't mind. There is an old tale attached to this tree."
And then she told him everything that we already know about the tree, about the old mansion, about the goose-girl and the peddler who first met here and became the ancestors of the grand family and the young baroness.
"They would not let themselves be ennobled, the good old folks!" she said. "They always used to say, 'Everything in its proper place,' and they did not think they would be in their proper place if they let themselves be exalted through money. It was their son, my grandfather, who was made a baron. He was a very learned man, and was much respected and appreciated by princes and princesses, and was present at all their festivals. The others at home think most of him; but to me -- I don't know why -- there is something about the old couple which draws my heart to them.
It must have been so pleasant, so patriarchal in the old mansion, where the mistress of the house sat at the spinning-wheel with all her maids around her, and the venerable master read aloud from the Bible."
"They must have been excellent people -- sensible people," said the clergyman's son; and then they began talking about nobility and commoners, and one would scarcely have thought he belonged to the latter by the way he spoke about the nobility.
"It is a good thing to belong to a family which has distinguished itself; to possess, so to speak, in one's blood the incentive to lead the way in what is great and noble. It is pleasant to bear the name of a family which is like a card of admission to the best circles. Nobility represents what is pure and lofty, and is a golden coin which has received the stamp that indicates its value. It is one of the mistakes of our day, into which many of our poets have naturally fallen, to proclaim that everything connected with nobility must be bad and stupid, and that among the poor, the lower you go, the more sterling qualities do you find. But that is not my opinion, for it is altogether wrong -- quite wrong. In the higher classes you will find many beautiful and striking traits of character. My mother told me of one, and I could tell you of many more.
"She was on a visit to a grand house in town. I think my grandmother had nursed the lady of the house. My mother was in the room with the fine old baron when he noticed an old woman on crutches down in the courtyard. She used to come every Sunday to get a penny. 'There comes the poor old woman,' said the baron. 'She has great difficulty in getting about;' and before my mother could understand his intentions he was out of the door and down the stairs; he, the old excellency of seventy years, went down himself to the poor woman to save her the trouble of going up the troublesome stairs for the trifling assistance she came for. This is, of course, only a trivial incident, but, like the 'widow's mite,' it came from the bottom of the heart, -- a voice from the very depths of humanity, -- and that's the moral the poet ought to point. Just in our times this is what he ought to sing about. It does good, it soothes and reconciles mankind. But when a person, because he is of good birth and has a pedigree, like the Arabian horses, prances on his hind legs and neighs in the streets, and says, on coming into his room after a commoner has been there, 'People from the street have been in here!' that shows nobility in its decay, for then it has become a mere mask of the kind which Thespis made for himself. Such a person people only laugh at and hand him over to satire."
This was the tutor's discourse. It was somewhat long, but in the meantime the flute had been cut.
There was a great party at the mansion. Many guests from the neighborhood and the capital were present. Some of the ladies were tastefully dressed, while others showed no taste at all. The great hall was quite full of people. The clergy of the district stood respectfully grouped together in a corner. They gave one the impression that there was going to be a funeral. All were, however, intent upon enjoying themselves. But the entertainment had not yet commenced.
A concert formed part of the program, and among the performers was the young baron, who had brought his willow flute with him, but he could not produce a note upon it, nor could his father; it was evidently quite useless.
There was music and there was song, but of the kind which the performers themselves enjoy most. Otherwise everything passed off nicely.
"You also play, I believe?" said a cavalier, whose only recommendation was that he was the son of his parents, addressing himself to the tutor. "You play the flute and make it yourself, I hear. It is genius which rules the world -- which sits on the right side. Heaven knows I try to Follow the times. You have to do that, you know. You will delight us all with your little instrument, I'm sure," he said, handing him the little flute which had been cut from the willow-tree down by the pool. Then he loudly announced that the tutor would oblige with a solo on the flute.
Everything in its proper place
It was a wonderful flute! It was heard all over the mansion, in the garden, in the forest, and for many miles into the country.

They evidently only wanted to make fun of him; so the tutor did not feel inclined to play, although he could perform very well on it. But they pressed him and urged him, and at last he took the flute and put it to his lips.
It was a wonderful flute. A tone was heard -- a tone as sustained as that which one hears from a locomotive -- yes, and even stronger. It was heard all over the mansion, in the garden, and in the forest for many miles into the country. And with the sound came a storm which roared, "Everything in its proper place!" And then the baron flew, just as if he was carried by the wind, right out of the mansion and straight into the herdsman's cottage; and the herdsman flew up -- not into the drawing-room: he could not get there -- but up into the servants' hall, among the grand footmen who were strutting about in silk stockings. And these proud fellows were almost paralyzed with horror on seeing such a common fellow daring to sit down at table among them.
But in the dining-hall the young baroness flew to the upper end of the table, where she worthily filled the seat of honor; and the clergyman's son got a seat next to her, and there the two sat as if they were a newly married couple. An old count, one of the oldest families in the country, remained undisturbed in his seat of honor, for the flute was fair and just, as every one ought to be.
The witty cavalier, who was the cause of the flute having been played -- he whose only recommendation was that he was the son of his parents -- flew head over heels right among the poultry; but he was not the only one.
The flute was heard for a whole mile into the country, and many strange things happened. A rich merchant and his family, who were driving in a coach and four, were blown right out of the coach, and could not even find a place behind it. Two rich farmers who had grown too big to look after their fields were blown into the ditch. It was a dangerous flute. Fortunately, it burst at the first note, and that was a good thing. It was put back in the player's pocket again, and "Everything was in its proper place."
The day after no one spoke of what had happened, and that is how we get the saying, "to pocket the flute." Besides, everything was in its usual place again, with the exception of the two old pictures of the peddler and the goose-girl, which were now hanging in the drawing-room. They had been blown on to the walls there, and when one of the well-known connoisseurs said they were the works of a master, they were allowed to remain and were restored. They did not know before that they were worth anything, for how should they know?
Now they hung in a place of honor. "Everything in its proper place!" And that was now realized. Eternity is long -- much longer than this story.

Read More »

The Snow Man


The Snow Man
"It's so delightfully cold," said the snow man.

I AM creaking all over, it's so delightfully cold," said the snow man. "This wind does blow life into one, and no mistake. How that glowing thing up there is staring at me!" It was the sun he meant; it was just about setting. "He shall not get me to wink; I can keep the bits right enough."
He had two large three-cornered bits of tile stuck in his head for eyes, and for mouth he had a piece of an old rake, which was his teeth.
He came into the world amidst the cheering of the boys, and was greeted with the tinkling of bells and cracking of whips from the passing sledges.
The sun went down and the full moon rose round and large, bright and beautiful, in the blue sky.
"There he is again from another quarter," said the snow man. He thought it was the sun that showed himself again.
"I have cured him of staring. Now he can hang there and give me light so that I can see myself. If I only knew how I could manage to move about! I should like so much to move about. If I could, I should now be sliding on the ice down yonder, as I have seen the boys doing; but I don't know how to run."
"Go! go!" barked the old yard-dog. He was somewhat hoarse; he had been so ever since he was a house-dog and lay under the stove. "The sun will soon teach you to run. I noticed that with your predecessor last year, and with his predecessors as well. Go! go! They are all gone."
"I do not understand you, comrade," said the snow man. "Will that thing up there teach me to run?" (He meant the moon.) "Well, I noticed he ran just now when I stared hard at him. Now he steals on us from another quarter."
"You don't know much," said the yard-dog; "but then you have only just been put together. What you now see is called the moon, and the one that you saw before was the sun. He will come back again tomorrow. He will soon teach you to run down into the ditch near the ramparts. We shall soon have a change in the weather. I can feel it in my left hind leg; there is a shooting pain in it. We shall have a change."
The Snow Man
"Go! go!" barked the old yard-dog. "The sun will soon teach you to run. I noticed that with your predecessor last year."

"I do not understand you," said the snow man; "but I have a presentiment that it is something unpleasant you mean. He that glowed and went down, whom you call sun, is not my friend, either; my instinct tells me that."
"Go! go!" barked the yard-dog, and walked round three times, and then went into his kennel and lay down to sleep.
There really came a change in the weather. In the early morning a thick clammy fog lay over the whole district. At dawn it began to clear up; but the wind was icy cold, and a regular frost seemed to have set in. What a sight it was when the sun rose! All the trees and bushes were covered with hoar-frost. They looked like a whole forest of white corals, as if all the branches were overloaded with sparkling white flowers. The innumerable delicate little shoots which we do not see in the summer time on account of the luxuriant foliage were now every one of them visible, and looked like sparkling white lace-work, and as if a bright luster streamed out from every branch. The weeping birch waved in the wind. There was life in it, as in the trees in summer time. It was wonderfully beautiful in the sunshine.
How everything sparkled! It seemed as if everything was powdered with diamond dust, and as if large diamonds were sparkling all over the snow that covered the ground; or one might imagine that innumerable little candles were burning with a light still whiter than the white snow.
"How wonderfully beautiful it is!" said a young girl, who stepped out into the garden in company with a young man, and stopped close to the snow man, where they stood looking at the glittering trees. "There is no finer sight to be seen in the summer," she said, and her eyes sparkled.
"And such a fellow as this one is not to be seen at all," said the young man, pointing to the snow man. "He is splendid!"
The young girl laughed, nodded to the snow man, and then danced away over the snow with her friend. The snow creaked under their feet, as if they walked on starch.
"Who were those two?" asked the snow man of the yard-dog. "You have been longer here than I have. Do you know them?"
"Of course I do," said the yard-dog. "She strokes me, and he gives me bones. I should not think of biting either of them."
"But what are they?" asked the snow man.
"Lover-r-rs," said the yard-dog. "They are going to move into the same kennel and gnaw bones together. Go! go!"
"Are those two as important as you or I?" asked the snow man.
"They belong to the family," said the yard-dog. "One doesn't know much, of course, when one was born only yesterday. I can see that by you. I am old and experienced. I know everybody in this house, and I remember the time when I did not stand here in the cold, chained up.
"The cold is delightful," said the snow man. "Go on with your story; go on! But you must not rattle so with your chain, for it makes
me feel shaky."
"Go! go!" barked the yard-dog. "They tell me I was once a pretty little puppy. I lay on a velvet cushion, or in the ladies' laps. They kissed me on the nose, and wiped my paws with embroidered handkerchiefs. They called me 'Beauty' and 'Popsy Wopsy,' but then I grew too big for them, and they gave me to the housekeeper. I had to go to the basement. You can see right down there from where you are standing; you can look down into the room where I was the master; for that's what I was at the housekeeper's. It was not, of course, such a grand place as upstairs, but it was much more comfortable down there; I was not mauled and dragged about by the children as upstairs. I had just as good food as before, and more of it. I had my own cushion, and then there was a stove, the finest thing in the world at this time of the year. I crept right under it and got out of the way. Ah, that stove -- I still dream about it! Go! go!"
"Does a stove look so beautiful, then?" asked the snow man. "Is it at all like me?"
"No, it is just the reverse of you. It is black as coal, and has a long neck with a brass drum to it. It eats firewood till the flames reach right out of its mouth. Whether you are beside it, close to it, or under it, it gives no end of comfort. You can see it through the window from where you are standing."
And the snow man looked and saw a black polished object with a brass drum and the light shining out through an opening. The snow man felt a strange emotion within him; it was a feeling he could not account for, but which all people know who are not snow men.
"And why did you leave her?" said the snow man. He felt that the stove must belong to the female sex. "How could you leave such a place?"
"I was obliged," said the yard-dog ; "they turned me out of doors and chained me up here. I had bitten the youngest boy in the leg, because he kicked away the bone I was gnawing. Bone for bone, thought I; but they took it in bad part, and from that time I have been standing here chained up, and have lost my voice. Just listen -- how hoarse I am! Go! go! That was the end of it all."
The snow man did not listen any longer; he was continually looking down into the basement, into the housekeeper's room, where the stove was standing on its four iron legs. It was of the same size as the snow man.
The Snow Man and the Yard Dog
The snow man and the yard dog.

"I feel such a strange crackling within me," he said. "Shall I never be able to get down there? It is an innocent wish, and our innocent wishes ought surely to be fulfilled. It is my highest wish, my only wish, and it would almost be unjust if it were not granted. I must get there, I must lean against her, even if I have to break the window."
"You'll never get there," said the yard-dog; "and if you did get near the stove, you would be gone -- gone!"
"I am as good as gone," said the snow man. "I am breaking up, I think."
The snow man stood the whole day looking in through the window. When the twilight had set in the room looked still more inviting; the stove threw out such a pleasant light -- more pleasant than the moon, or even the sun, could throw out; such as only a stove can do when there is anything in it. When the door of the room was opened, the flame would dart out through the opening, as was its custom; the snow man's white face blushed crimson, while a red glare shone out from his bosom.
"I cannot stand it!" he said. "How it does suit her to stretch out her tongue!"
The night was long, but it did not appear so to the snow man; he stood buried in his own pleasant thoughts, and they froze till they crackled.
In the morning the window-panes in the basement were frozen over with the most beautiful ice flowers that any snow man could desire, but they shut out the stove from his sight. The ice on the panes would not thaw, and he could not see her. It creaked and it crackled; it was just the kind of frosty weather that would please a snow man, but he was not pleased; he could and ought to have felt happy, but he was not happy -- he was stove-sick.
"That's a dangerous complaint for a snow man," said the yard-dog. "I have suffered from it myself, but I have got over it. Go! go! Now
we are going to have a change of weather."
And the weather changed; a thaw had set in. The thaw increased, the snow man decreased. He did not say anything, he did not complain, and that is a certain sign. One morning he fell to pieces. Something like a broomstick stuck out of the ground where he had stood. It was the one round which the boys had built him up.
"Now I can understand about his great longing!" said the yard-dog.
"The snow man has had a stove-rake inside him; it was that which moved in him; now he has got over it. Go! go!"
And soon the winter was over too.
"Go! go!" barked the yard-dog; but the little girls in the house sang:

"Shoot forth, sweet woodruff, so stately and fresh:
Hang out, willow-tree, your long woolen locks;
Come, cuckoo and lark, come hither and sing --
Ere February's close we already have spring;
I, too, will sing, 'Cuckoo I Quivit!'
Shine, dear sun, come often and shine!"

And then nobody thought any more about the snow man.

Read More »

The Wind Tells About Valdamar Daa and His Daughters


Valdemar Daa and His Daughters
By the shore of the Great Belt stands an old mansion with thick red walls.

WHEN the wind sweeps over the grass the meadow ripples like a lake, and when it sweeps over the corn the whole held moves in waves like the sea; it is the dance of the wind -- but listen to him telling stories. He sings them out loudly; among the trees in the forest it sounds quite different to when it blows through holes, cracks, and crevices in the walls. Do you see how the wind up there is chasing the clouds as if they were a flock of sheep? Do you hear how the wind down here is howling through the open gate, as if it were a watchman blowing his horn? With strange sounds it whistles down the chimney and into the fireplace. The fire flares up and sends out sparks, and throws a light far into the room, where it is so snug and pleasant to sit and listen to it. Only let the wind speak. He knows more fairy tales and stories than all of us put together. Just listen to what he is telling: "Whew! -- ugh ! -- whew! Rush along!" is the burden of his song.
Valdemar Daa and His Daughters

"By the shore of the Great Belt stands an old mansion with thick red walls," begins the wind. "I know every stone of it; I have seen them before, when they formed part of Marsk Stig's castle on the promontory, but it had to be pulled down. The stones were used again for the walls of a new mansion and another place, which became Borreby House, and still stands there. I have seen and known the noble barons and ladies of many generations, who one after another had lived there; but now I am going to tell you about Valdemar Daa and his daughters.
"He carried himself proudly, for he was of royal descent. He could do something more than hunt a stag or empty a beaker; things will come all right in the end, as he used to say.
"His wife, dressed in gold-embroidered robes, walked proudly across her brightly polished parquet floors; the tapestries were magnificent, the furniture most costly and artistically carved. He had brought gold and silver plate with him to the house; in the cellar was German beer, when there was any, and in the stables black, spirited horses were neighing; there was abundance of wealth at Borreby House, when wealth was there.
Valdemar Daa and His Daughters
Waldemar Daa and his Daughters

"There were three children -- three fair maidens, Ida, Johanne, and Anna Dorthea; I still remember the names.
"They were rich, fine folks, born and bred in luxury. Whew! -- ugh! -- whew ! Rush along!" said the wind; and so he went on again.
"I did not see here, as in other old mansions, the high-born lady sitting in the great hall, with her maidens around her turning the spinning-wheel; she played on the sonorous lute and sang thereto, not always the old Danish ballads, but songs in foreign languages. There was feasting and merriment; there came grand folks from near and far, the music sounded, the beakers clinked; I could not drown the noise," said the wind.
"Here ruled pride in all its ostentatious display; but the fear of the Lord was not there.
"And so it happened one May-day evening," said the wind, "that I came from the west, after having seen ships being crushed and wrecked on Jutland's western shore; I rushed on over the heath and wood-girt coast, and over the Island of Fünen; I had just come across the Great Belt's panting and blowing.
"I then settled down to rest on Zealand's coast, close to Borreby House, where the forest with its magnificent oak-trees was still flourishing.
"The young men from the district came out here to gather twigs and branches, the largest and driest they could find, which they took with them into the village; here they put them into a heap and set fire to them, while the lads and lasses danced round and round.
"I lay still," said the wind, "but I gently touched one branch -- the one which the handsomest lad had put on the pile; his fagot flared up, its flames shooting higher than the others. He was the favored one, received the pet name, became the cock-of-the-walk, and was the first to choose his little pet lamb among the lasses. There were rejoicings and merriment far greater than at the wealthy Borreby House. And the noble lady and her three daughters came driving toward the mansion in a gilded coach drawn by six horses. The daughters were young and beautiful -- three delicate flowers, the rose, the lily, and the pale hyacinth. The mother herself was a gorgeous tulip; she did not return the salutations of any in the whole crowd, who paused in their sport to drop courtesies and go on their knees before her; one would have thought the good lady's neck had been made as brittle as glass. The rose, the lily, and the pale hyacinth! Yes, I saw them all three. Whose pet lamb would they one day become? thought I. Their lord and master will be a gallant knight, perhaps a prince. Whew ! -- Ugh ! -- whew! Rush along! Rush along!
"The carriage rolled away with them, and the peasants ran back to their dancing. They went a-maying to Borreby, to Fjæreby, and to all
the villages in the neighborhood.
"But in the night, when I arose," said the wind, "the grand lady lay down to rise no more; death overtook her, as it will overtake us all -- there is nothing new in that. Valdemar Daa remained grave and thoughtful for a time; the strongest tree can be twisted but not broken, said something within him; the daughters cried, and at the mansion all were drying their tears; but Lady Daa had rushed away -- and I rushed away!
Whew! -- ugh! -- whew!" said the wind.
"I came back again -- I came back often across the Island of Funen and the waters of the Belt; I rested down by Borreby shore, by the noble oak forest, where the osprey, the wood-pigeon, the blue raven, and even the black stork built their nests. It was early in the year; some were sitting on their eggs, some had nestlings. How they fluttered, how they cried! The sound of the ax was heard, blow upon blow; the forest was to be cut down. Valdemar Daa wanted to build a big ship, a man-of-war, a three-decker, which the king would be sure to buy; and therefore the forest -- the sailors' landmark, the home of the birds -- was doomed. The shrike flew away frightened -- its nest was destroyed; the osprey and all the birds of the forest lost their home, and flew wildly about, crying in fear and anger. I understood them well. Crows and jackdaws croaked jeeringly: 'From the nest! From the nest! Croak! croak!'
"And in the midst of the forest, among the crowd of workmen, stood Valdemar Daa and his three daughters, and all were laughing at the wild cries of the birds; but the youngest daughter, Anna Dorthea, felt grieved in her heart, and when they were going to tell a tree that was nearly dead, upon the naked branches of which the black stork had built his nest, and from which the young nestlings stretched out their necks, she prayed, with tears in her eyes, for them; and so the tree with the nest of the black stork was allowed to remain standing. It was not of much consequence.
"Trees were cut and logs were sawn; they were building the big ship, the three-decker. The master shipbuilder was of low birth, but of noble mien; his eyes and forehead spoke of great intellect; and Valdemar Daa used to listen with pleasure to his stories, and so did little Ida, his eldest daughter, now fifteen years old. While he was building the ship for the father he built a castle in the air for himself, where he and little Ida should preside as man and wife; all of which might have happened if the castle had been one built of stone, with ramparts and moats, forests and gardens. But with all his talents, the master shipbuilder was only a poor man, after all; and what business has a sparrow among the cranes, as the saying is? Whew! -- ugh! -- whew! I flew away, and so did he, for he dared not remain; and little Ida got over it -- there was no help for it.
"The black horses were neighing in the stables; they were noble steeds, well worth looking at, and grand folk came to see them. The admiral, who was sent by the king to inspect the new man-of-war and to arrange about its purchase, spoke in great praise of the high-spirited horses. I heard it all," said the wind; "I followed the grand folk through the open door, and strewed stalks of straw like bars of gold before their feet. Valdemar Daa wanted gold, and the admiral wanted the horses, for he was always praising them; but Daa did not understand the hint, and so the ship was not purchased, either.
"There it stood on the beach, bright and new. It was then covered over with boards, and looked like a Noah's ark which was never to take to the water. Whew! -- ugh! -- whew! Rush along ! Rush along! Oh, it was a pity!
"During the winter," said the wind, "when the fields were covered with snow, and the belts choked with drift ice which I drove up against the coast, there came large flocks of ravens and crows, the one blacker than the other, which settled down on the desolate, lonely ship on the beach, and screamed hoarsely, looking for the forest which was no more, and for the many cozy nests which had been destroyed. Poor, homeless birds, old and young! And all this for the sake of that big piece of lumber, the noble ship which was never to sail on the sea!
"I whirled up the snowflakes around it till they lay like a sea of snow over it all. I let it hear my voice, so that it might know what a storm has got to say; I know I did my best to give it a lesson in seamanship.
Whew ! -- ugh ! -- whew ! Rush along !
"And the winter passed; winters and summers have passed, and will continue to pass away, just as I pass away and rush along, like the drifting snow, like the apple blossoms and the falling leaves. Rush along! Rush along! Rush along! Men and women pass away, too!
"But the daughters were still young; little Ida was a rose, fair and beautiful to behold, just as when the master shipbuilder saw her. I often caught hold of her long brown hair when she stood buried in thought by the apple-tree in the garden and did not notice that I sprinkled flowers on her hair, which became disheveled, and while she gazed at the red sun and the golden sky through the dark trees and bushes in the garden.
"Her sister Johanne was fair and erect as a lily; she bore herself well and held her head high, and, like her mother, little inclined to bend her neck. She was fond of walking up and down in the large hall where the family portraits were hanging; the ladies were painted in dresses of velvet and silk, with tiny little hats, embroidered with pearls, on their plaited hair. They were beautiful women. Their husbands were to be seen clad in armor or costly cloaks lined with the fur of squirrels, and with the blue ruff. The sword was buckled round their thigh, and not round the loin. Where would her own portrait hang some day, and what would her noble husband be like? Such were the thoughts that occupied her mind. I heard her talking half aloud to herself about it as I rushed along the passage into the hall and turned round on my way out.
"Anna Dorthea, the pale hyacinth, was only a child fourteen years old, quiet and thoughtful. Her large, deep-blue eyes were dreaming, but a childlike smile still played round her mouth. I could not blow it away, and I did not wish to do so, either.
Valdemar Daa and His Daughters
A fire was always burning on his hearth; the door to his chamber was locked, and there he worked for days and nights.

"I met her in the garden, in the narrow lanes, and in the fields where she was gathering herbs and flowers. She knew her father used them for making drinks and household drugs which he knew how to distil. Valdemar Daa was proud and haughty, but he was also learned and possessed great knowledge, -- one could not help noticing that, -- and all sorts of rumors were afloat in consequence. A fire was always burning on his hearth, even in the summer time. The door to his chamber was locked, and there he worked for days and nights; but he did not talk much about it. The elements of nature must be conquered in the dead of night. Soon he would discover the greatest secret of all -- that of making the red gold.
"That was the reason why the smoke rose from the chimney, why the fire was burning and crackling on the hearth. Yes; I was there," the wind said. "'Let it be, let it be!' I sang through the chimney; 'it will all end in smoke, embers, and ashes. You will burn yourself. Whew ! -- ugh ! -- whew! Let it be, let it be!' But Valdemar Daa did not let it be.
"What has become of the splendid horses in the stable? of the old silver and gold plate in the cupboards and closets? of the cow in the fields? of house and home? Yes; they melt -- they all melt in the crucible, but they have not yet yielded any gold.
"The barns and storehouses, the cellars and larders, were empty. The less people the less mice. One window broke, another cracked. I need not wait to get in through the door," said the wind. "Where smoke rises from the chimney there's roasting going on; but the smoke that came from this chimney devoured food, and all for the sake of the red gold.
"I blew through the gateway like a watchman blowing his horn, but no watchman was there," said the wind. "I turned the vane on the spire; it grated as if the watchman was snoring in the tower, but there was no watchman. There were rats and mice. Poverty laid the table-cloth; poverty sat in the wardrobe and in the larder. The doors fell off their hinges; cracks and crevices appeared everywhere; I could go in and out," said the wind, "and that is how I know all about it.
"In smoke and in ashes, in sorrow and sleepless nights, his beard and hair became gray, his skin furrowed and yellow, while his eyes searched greedily for the gold -- the much longed for gold.
"I blew the smoke and ashes into his face and beard. Debts increased, but no gold came. I sang through the broken panes and open cracks; I blew into the daughters' wardrobe, where their clothes lay faded and threadbare, for they had to last for a long time. That was not the kind of song which had been sung at their cradles. A life of luxury had become one of penury. I was the only one who sang merrily in the mansion," said the wind. "I snowed them up. Snow makes a place snug, they say. Of firewood they had none. The forest whence they should fetch it had been cut down. It was bitterly cold. I rushed in through holes and crevices and along the passages, over gables and walls, to keep myself in practice, while within the daughters of high degree kept their bed because of the cold, and the father crouched under his fur coverlet. Nothing to eat, no fire on the hearth; what a life for people of high degree! Whew! -- ugh! -- whew! Rush along! But the lord of the manor could not do that.
"'After winter comes spring,' said he, 'After hard times come good; but they are a long time coming. Everything is mortgaged. We are at our last extremity, and then the gold will come -- at Easter.'
"I heard him mumbling to the spider in his web: 'You diligent little weaver! You are teaching me to hold out. If your web is torn, you begin again and make it whole. If torn again, you patiently set to work again from the beginning -- from the beginning. That is what one must do; and then comes the reward.'
"It was Easter morning. The bells were ringing and the sun was shining brightly in the sky. In feverish excitement he had watched, melted, mixed, and distilled. I heard him sigh like a soul in despair; I heard him pray; I noticed he held his breath. The lamp had burned out, but he did not notice it. I fanned the embers, which threw a reddish glare over his white face. His eyes were sunk deep in their sockets, but now they grew bigger and bigger, as if they would burst.
Valdemar Daa and His Daughters
Leaving the Old Home.

"Look at the alchemist's glass! Something glitters in it. It seems to glow, it is pure, it is heavy. With trembling hands he lifts it up. With a quivering voice he exclaimed, 'Gold! gold!' He grew dizzy at the sight. I could easily have blown him over," said the wind "but I only fanned the glowing embers and followed him through the door to where his daughters lay shivering. His robe was covered with ashes; they were clinging to his beard and his tangled hair. He drew himself up and held aloft the brittle glass with his great treasure.
"Found! found! Gold!' he shouted, holding the glass still higher as it glittered in the rays of the sun. The hand trembled; the alchemist's glass fell on the floor and broke into a thousand pieces. The last bubble of his wealth had burst. Whew! -- ugh! -- whew! Rush along! And away I rushed from the gold maker's abode.
"Late in the year, when the days are short up here in the North, and when the fog comes with its misty veil and drops dew on the red berries and the leafless branches, I felt in good spirits, stirred up the air, swept the sky clear, and broke off all the rotten branches; it is no great task, but it has to be done. At Valdemar Daa's Borreby House there was another kind of clearing out. His enemy, Ove Ramel, from Basnas, had arrived with the mortgages on the estate, and on all the goods and chattels, which he had bought up. I drummed at the dilapidated doors and whistled through all the cracks and crevices: Whew! -- ugh! Master Ove should not take a fancy to live there! Ida and Anna Dorthea cried bitterly; Johanne stood pale and erect, biting her thumb till it bled. Of what did it avail? Ove Ramel offered Valdemar Daa leave to remain on the estate during his lifetime, but he did not even receive thanks for his offer. I listened to them; I saw the homeless master lift his head still higher and toss it back proudly; I sent such a gust against the house and the old linden trees that one of the thickest branches broke -- one that was not rotten. It lay in front of the gate like a big broom, if any one should want to sweep out the place; and a great sweeping out there was. I thought there would be! It was a trying day, a difficult time to maintain one's dignity; but the soul was hardened, the will was obstinate.
"They possessed nothing but the clothes they had on, except the alchemist's glass, which had just been bought and filled with the spillings that had been scraped up from the floor -- the treasure which had promised so much, but failed to keep its promise. Wildemar Daa hid it in his bosom and took his staff in his hand; and the once wealthy nobleman, with his three daughters, walked out of Borreby House. I blew cold gusts against his flushed cheeks, I patted his long white hair, and I sang as best I could. Whew I -- ugh! -- whew! Rush along! Rush along!
That was the end of all the wealth and splendor.
"Ida and Anna Dorthea walked one on each side of him; Johanne turned round at the gateway; but what was the good? Their luck was not likely to turn. While looking at the red stones of Marsk Stig's castle did she think of his daughters?
"The eldest took the youngest by the hand.
And wandered far into the world.

"Was she thinking of the old ballad? They were three, and their father was also with them. They walked along the road where they used to drive in their carriage; now they went forth with their father as beggars to Smidstrup field, to the mud hut which they had rented for ten marks a year. This was to be their new mansion, with empty walls and empty jars. Crows and jackdaws flew over them croaking, as if jeering at them, 'From the nest! from the nest! Caw! caw!' as the birds had done in Borreby forest when the trees were cut down.
"Valdemar Daa and his daughters understood them well. I whistled round about their ears; it was not worth listening to.
Valdemar Daa and His Daughters
They walked along the road where they used to drive in their carriage; now they went forth with their father as beggars.

"So they entered the mud hut in Smidstrup field, and I rushed along over marshes and fields, through bare bushes and leafless trees, to the open water, to other lands. Whew! -- ugh! -- whew! Rush along! Rush along! Year after year."
How did it fare with Valdemar Daa, and how did it fare with his daughters? The wind will tell us.
"The one I saw last was Anna Dorthea, the pale hyacinth; she was then old and crooked; it was fifty years afterward. She lived the longest, and she knew all about it.
"Over yonder on the heath, close to Viborg town, lay the dean's new and handsome house, built of red stone and with pointed gables. The smoke curled thickly out from the chimney. The gentle mistress of the house and her beautiful daughters sat in the bay-window and looked out over the hanging box-thorn to the brown heath. What were they looking at? They were looking at the stork's nest on the tumbledown hut over there. The roof, as far as there was any roof, consisted of moss and house-leek; that which covered the greatest part of the hut was the stork's nest, and that was the only part of it which was looked after, for the stork kept it in order.
"It was a house only to be looked at, not to be touched. I had to be careful," said the wind. "The house was allowed to stand for the sake of the stork's nest, although it was a disgrace to the heath. The dean would not drive the stork away, so the old shed was left standing, and the poor body inside it was allowed to live there. She had to thank the Egyptian bird for that, or was it not a return for her kindness when she interceded for the nest of his wild black brother in Borreby forest? She was then, poor thing, a young child, a delicate pale hyacinth in the noble garden. She, Anna Dorthea, remembered it all.
"'Alas! alas!' she sighed; for people can sigh, just as the wind sighs among the reeds and rushes. 'Alas! no bells were rung when you were buried, Valdemar Daa! The boys from the charity school did not sing when the late master of Borreby was laid to rest. Alas! everything comes to an end, even misery. Sister Ida became a peasant's wife; that was the hardest trial our father had to go through. His daughter's husband, a miserable serf, whose master could make him mount the wooden horse, -- I suppose he is underground by this. And you too, Ida. Alas! alas! It is not ended yet -- poor miserable body that I am! Oh, release me, kind Jesus!'
"That was Anna Dorthea's prayer in the wretched hut, which was allowed to stand only for the sake of the stork.
"I did what I could for the bravest of the sisters," said the wind; "she cut her coat according to her cloth.
"She dressed as a lad and went to a skipper and got a berth on his ship; she was chary of words, and sullen in appearance, but willing at her work. But she could not climb the rigging -- so I blew her overboard before anybody knew she was a woman; and I think I did the right thing," said the wind.
"It was on an Easter morning, just like the one when Valdemar Daa thought he had discovered the red gold, that I heard a hymn being sung under the stork's nest within the rickety walls. It was Anna Dorthea's last song. There was no window -- only a hole in the wall. The sun came like a bright lump of gold and shone through it. What a luster! Her eyes were growing dim; her heart was breaking. That would have happened even if the sun had not shone in upon her that morning.
"The stork had provided her with a roof till her death. I sang at her grave," said the wind -- "her father's grave. I know where he lies and where she lies. Nobody else knows.
"New times, other ways. The old road has become a plowed held. Over the peaceful graves runs the busy highroad, and soon the railway with its train of carriages will come and rush over the graves, which will be forgotten like their names. Whew! -- ugh! -- whew! Rush along!
"This is the story of Valdemar Daa and his daughters. Tell it better, any of you, if you can," said the wind, and turned about. And then it was gone.

Pronounced in Danish as "Daw."
Valdemar Daa and His Daughters

Read More »

Twelve By The Mail


Twelve By The Mail
The weather was sharp and frosty, the sky glittered with sparkling stars.

IT was bitterly cold; the sky gleamed with stars, and not a breeze was stirring.
Bump! an old pot was thrown at the neighbors' house doors. Bang! bang! went the gun; for they were welcoming the New Year. It was New Year's-eve! The church clock was striking twelve!
Twelve By The Mail

Tan-ta-ra-ra! the mail came lumbering up. The great carriage stopped at the gate of the town. There were twelve persons in it; all the places were taken.
"Hurrah! hurrah!" sang the people in the houses of the town, for the New Year was being welcomed, and as the clock struck they stood up with the filled glass in their hand, to drink success to the new comer.
"Happy New Year!" was the cry. "A pretty wife, plenty of money, and no sorrow or care!"
This wish was passed round, and then glasses were clashed together till they rang again, and in front of the town gate the post-carriage stopped with the strange guests, the twelve travelers.
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 of the little town. Who are 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 struck twelve.
Twelve By The Mail
They were keeping New Year's Eve, and were drinking success to the New Year.

"Your name and profession?" the sentry inquired of the one who alighted first from the carriage.
"See yourself, in the passport," replied the man. "I am myself!"
And a capital fellow he looked, arrayed in a bear-skin and fur boots. "I am the man on whom many persons fix their hopes. Come to me tomorrow, and I'll give you a New Year's present. I throw pence and dollars among the people, I even give balls, thirty-one balls; but I cannot devote more than thirty-one nights to this. My ships are frozen in, but in my office it is warm and comfortable. I'm a merchant. My name is JANUARY, and I only carry accounts with me."
Now the second alighted. He was a merry companion; he was a theater director, manager of the masque balls, and all the amusements one can imagine. His luggage consisted of a great tub.
"We'll dance the cat out of the tub at carnival-time," said he. "I'll prepare a merry tune for you and for myself too. I have not a very long time to live the shortest, in fact, of my whole family, for I only become twenty-eight days old. Sometimes they pop me in an extra day, 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, traveling under the name of FEBRUARY!"
The third now got out. He looked like Fasting itself, but carried his nose very high, for he was related to the "Forty Knights," and was a weather prophet. But that's not a profitable office, and that's why he praised fasting. In his button-hole he had a little bunch of violets, but they were very small.
"MARCH! MARCH!" the fourth called after him, and slapped him on the shoulder. "Do you smell nothing? Go quickly into the guard-room; there they're drinking punch, your favorite drink! I can smell it already out here. Forward, Master MARCH!"
But it was not true; the speaker only wanted to let him feel the influence of his own name, and make an APRIL fool of him; for with that the fourth began his career in the town. He looked very jovial, did little work, but had the more holidays.
"If it were only a little more steady in the world!" said he; "but sometimes one is in a good humor, sometimes in a bad one, according to circumstances; now rain, now sunshine. I am a kind of house and office-letting agent, also a manager of funerals. I can laugh or cry, according to circumstances. Here in this box I have my summer wardrobe, but it would be very foolish to put it on. Here I am now! On Sundays I go out walking in shoes and silk stockings, and with a muff!"
Twelve By The Mail
Then a lady stepped out of the coach. "Miss May," she said, announcing herself.

After him, a lady came out of the carriage. She called herself Miss MAY. She wore a summer costume and overshoes, a light green dress, and anemones in her hair, and she was so scented with wild thyme that the sentry had to sneeze.
"God bless you!" she said, and that was her salutation.
How pretty she was! and she was a singer, not a theater singer nor a ballad singer, but a singer of the woods, or she roamed through the gay green forest, and sang there for her own amusement.
"Now comes the young dame!" said those in the carriage.
And the young dame stepped out, delicate, proud, and pretty. It was easy to see that she was Mistress JUNE, accustomed to be served by drowsy marmots. She gave a great feast on the longest day of the year, that the guests might have time to partake of the many dishes at her table. She, indeed, kept her own carriage; but still she traveled in the mail with the rest, because she wanted to show that she was not high-minded. But she was not without protection; her elder brother JULY was with her.
He was a plump young fellow, clad in summer garments, and with a Panama hat. He had but little baggage with him, because it was cumbersome in the great heat; therefore he had only provided himself with swimming trousers, and those are not much.
Then came the mother herself, Madam AUGUST, wholesale dealer in fruit, proprietress of a large number of fish ponds, and land cultivator, in a great crinoline; she was fat and hot, could use her hands well, and would herself carry out beer to the workmen in the fields.
"In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread," said she: "that is written in the Book. Afterwards come the excursions, dance and playing in the greenwood, and the harvest feasts!"
She was a thorough housewife.
After her, a man came out of the coach, a painter, Mr. Master-colourer SEPTEMBER. The forest had to receive him; the leaves were to change their colors, but how beautifully! when he wished it; soon the wood gleamed with red, yellow, and brown. The master whistled like the black magpie, was a quick workman, and wound the brown green hop plants round his beer-jug. That was an ornament for the jug, and he had a good idea of ornament. There he stood with his color-pot, and that was his whole luggage.
A landed proprietor followed him, one who cared for the ploughing and preparing of the land, and also for field sports. Squire OCTOBER brought his dog and his gun with him, and had nuts in his game-bag. "Crack! crack!" He had much baggage, even an English plough; and he spoke of farming, but one could scarcely hear what he said, for the coughing and gasping of his neighbor.
It was NOVEMBER who coughed so violently as he got out. He was very much plagued by a cold; he was continually having recourse to his pocket-handkerchief, and yet, he said, he was obliged to accompany the servant girls, and initiate them into their new winter service. He said he should get rid of his cold when he went out wood-cutting, and had to saw and split wood, for he was sawyer-master to the firewood guild. He spent his evenings cutting the wooden soles for skates, for he knew, he said, that in a few weeks there would be occasion to use these amusing shoes.
At length appeared the last passenger, old Mother DECEMBER, with her fire-stool. The old lady was cold, but her eyes glistened like two bright stars. She carried on her arm a flower-pot, in which a little fir tree was growing.
"This tree I will guard and cherish, that it may grow large by Christmas-eve, and may reach from the ground to the ceiling, and may rear itself upward with flaming candles, golden apples, and little carved figures. The fire-stool warms like a stove. I bring the story-book out of my pocket and read aloud, so that all the children in the room become quite quiet; but the little figures on the trees become lively, and the little waxen angel on the top spreads out his wings of gold leaf, flies down from his green perch, and kisses great and small in the room, yes, even the poor children who stand out in the passage and in the street, singing the carol about the Star of Bethlehem.
"Well, now the coach may drive away!" said the sentry: "we have the whole twelve. Let the chaise drive up."
"First let all the twelve come in to me," said the captain on duty, "one after the other. The passports I will keep here. Each of them is available for a month; when that has passed, I shall write their behavior on each passport. Mr. January, have the goodness to come here."
And Mr. January stepped forward.
"When a year is passed I think I shall be able to tell you what the twelve have brought to me, and to you, and to all of us. Now I do not know it, and they don't know it themselves, probably, for we live in strange times."
Twelve By The Mail

Read More »
The Stories on this site were compiled from the following historical publications and others.

Hans Christian Andersen
Andersen's Fairy Tales
Chicago - New York - San Francisco
Belford, Clarke & Co.

Hans Christian Andersen
Hans Christian Andersen's
for the
Copyrighted 1893, McLoughlin Bros.

Hans Christian Andersen
Hans Christian Andersen
Camden Press
Dalziel Bros. Engravers and Printers Copyright Unknown, est. 1870

Hans Christian Andersen
Hans Christian Andersen
E.P. Dutton and Co.
© 1906-1907

Hans Christian Andersen
Hans Christian Andersen
The Century Company,
The DeVinne Press
Copyright 1900