"The air was calm," said the Moon; "the water was transparent as
the purest ether through which I was gliding, and deep below the
surface I could see the strange plants that stretched up their long
arms towards me like the gigantic trees of the forest. The fishes swam
to and fro above their tops. High in the air a flight of wild swans
were winging their way, one of which sank lower and lower, with
wearied pinions, his eyes following the airy caravan, that melted
farther and farther into the distance. With outspread wings he sank
slowly, as a soap bubble sinks in the still air, till he touched the
water. At length his head lay back between his wings, and silently
he lay there, like a white lotus flower upon the quiet lake. And a
gentle wind arose, and crisped the quiet surface, which gleamed like
the clouds that poured along in great broad waves; and the swan raised
his head, and the glowing water splashed like blue fire over his
breast and back. The morning dawn illuminated the red clouds, the swan
rose strengthened, and flew towards the rising sun, towards the bluish
coast whither the caravan had gone; but he flew alone, with a
longing in his breast. Lonely he flew over the blue swelling billows."
TWENTY-EIGHTH EVENING
"I will give you another picture of Sweden," said the Moon. "Among
dark pine woods, near the melancholy banks of the Stoxen, lies the old
convent church of Wreta. My rays glided through the grating into the
roomy vaults, where kings sleep tranquilly in great stone coffins.
On the wall, above the grave of each, is placed the emblem of
earthly grandeur, a kingly crown; but it is made only of wood, painted
and gilt, and is hung on a wooden peg driven into the wall. The
worms have gnawed the gilded wood, the spider has spun her web from
the crown down to the sand, like a mourning banner, frail and
transient as the grief of mortals. How quietly they sleep! I can
remember them quite plainly. I still see the bold smile on their lips,
that so strongly and plainly expressed joy or grief. When the
steamboat winds along like a magic snail over the lakes, a stranger
often comes to the church, and visits the burial vault; he asks the
names of the kings, and they have a dead and forgotten sound. He
glances with a smile at the worm-eaten crowns, and if he happens to be
a pious, thoughtful man, something of melancholy mingles with the
smile. Slumber on, ye dead ones! The Moon thinks of you, the Moon at
night sends down his rays into your silent kingdom, over which hangs
the crown of pine wood."
TWENTY-NINTH EVENING
"Close by the high-road," said the Moon, "is an inn, and
opposite to it is a great waggon-shed, whose straw roof was just being
re-thatched. I looked down between the bare rafters and through the
open loft into the comfortless space below. The turkey-cock slept on
the beam, and the saddle rested in the empty crib. In the middle of
the shed stood a travelling carriage; the proprietor was inside,
fast asleep, while the horses were being watered. The coachman
stretched himself, though I am very sure that he had been most
comfortably asleep half the last stage. The door of the servants' room
stood open, and the bed looked as if it had been turned over and over;
the candle stood on the floor, and had burnt deep down into the
socket. The wind blew cold through the shed: it was nearer to the dawn
than to midnight. In the wooden frame on the ground slept a wandering
family of musicians. The father and mother seemed to be dreaming of
the burning liquor that remained in the bottle. The little pale
daughter was dreaming too, for her eyes were wet with tears. The harp
stood at their heads, and the dog lay stretched at their feet."
THIRTIETH EVENING
"It was in a little provincial town," the Moon said; "it certainly
happened last year, but that has nothing to do with the matter. I
saw it quite plainly. To-day I read about it in the papers, but
there it was not half so clearly expressed. In the taproom of the
little inn sat the bear leader, eating his supper; the bear was tied
up outside, behind the wood pile- poor Bruin, who did nobody any harm,
though he looked grim enough. Up in the garret three little children
were playing by the light of my beams; the eldest was perhaps six
years old, the youngest certainly not more than two. 'Tramp, tramp'-
somebody was coming upstairs: who might it be? The door was thrust
open- it was Bruin, the great, shaggy Bruin! He had got tired of
waiting down in the courtyard, and had found his way to the stairs.
I saw it all," said the Moon. "The children were very much
frightened at first at the great shaggy animal; each of them crept
into a corner, but he found them all out, and smelt at them, but did
them no harm. 'This must be a great dog,' they said, and began to
stroke him. He lay down upon the ground, the youngest boy clambered on
his back, and bending down a little head of golden curls, played at
hiding in the beast's shaggy skin. Presently the eldest boy took his
drum, and beat upon it till it rattled again; the bear rose upon his
hind legs, and began to dance. It was a charming sight to behold. Each
boy now took his gun, and the bear was obliged to have one too, and he
held it up quite properly. Here was a capital playmate they had found;
and they began marching- one, two; one, two.
"Suddenly some one came to the door, which opened, and the
mother of the children appeared. You should have seen her in her
dumb terror, with her face as white as chalk, her mouth half open, and
her eyes fixed in a horrified stare. But the youngest boy nodded to
her in great glee, and called out in his infantile prattle, 'We're
playing at soldiers.' And then the bear leader came running up."
THIRTY-FIRST EVENING
The wind blew stormy and cold, the clouds flew hurriedly past;
only for a moment now and then did the Moon become visible. He said,
"I looked down from the silent sky upon the driving clouds, and saw
the great shadows chasing each other across the earth. I looked upon a
prison. A closed carriage stood before it; a prisoner was to be
carried away. My rays pierced through the grated window towards the
wall; the prisoner was scratching a few lines upon it, as a parting
token; but he did not write words, but a melody, the outpouring of his
heart. The door was opened, and he was led forth, and fixed his eyes
upon my round disc. Clouds passed between us, as if he were not to see
his face, nor I his. He stepped into the carriage, the door was
closed, the whip cracked, and the horses gallopped off into the
thick forest, whither my rays were not able to follow him; but as I
glanced through the grated window, my rays glided over the notes,
his last farewell engraved on the prison wall- where words fail,
sounds can often speak. My rays could only light up isolated notes, so
the greater part of what was written there will ever remain dark to
me. Was it the death-hymn he wrote there? Were these the glad notes of
joy? Did he drive away to meet death, or hasten to the embraces of his
beloved? The rays of the Moon do not read all that is written by
mortals."
THIRTY-SECOND EVENING
"I love the children," said the Moon, "especially the quite little
ones- they are so droll. Sometimes I peep into the room, between the
curtain and the window frame, when they are not thinking of me. It
gives me pleasure to see them dressing and undressing. First, the
little round naked shoulder comes creeping out of the frock, then
the arm; or I see how the stocking is drawn off, and a plump little
white leg makes its appearance, and a white little foot that is fit to
be kissed, and I kiss it too.
"But about what I was going to tell you. This evening I looked
through a window, before which no curtain was drawn, for nobody
lives opposite. I saw a whole troop of little ones, all of one family,
and among them was a little sister. She is only four years old, but
can say her prayers as well as any of the rest. The mother sits by her
bed every evening, and hears her say her prayers; and then she has a
kiss, and the mother sits by the bed till the little one has gone to
sleep, which generally happens as soon as ever she can close her eyes.
"This evening the two elder children were a little boisterous. One
of them hopped about on one leg in his long white nightgown, and the
other stood on a chair surrounded by the clothes of all the
children, and declared he was acting Grecian statues. The third and
fourth laid the clean linen carefully in the box, for that is a
thing that has to be done; and the mother sat by the bed of the
youngest, and announced to all the rest that they were to be quiet,
for little sister was going to say her prayers.
"I looked in, over the lamp, into the little maiden's bed, where
she lay under the neat white coverlet, her hands folded demurely and
her little face quite grave and serious. She was praying the Lord's
prayer aloud. But her mother interrupted her in the middle of her
prayer. 'How is it,' she asked, 'that when you have prayed for daily
bread, you always add something I cannot understand? You must tell
me what that is.' The little one lay silent, and looked at her
mother in embarrassment. 'What is it you say after our daily bread?'
'Dear mother, don't be angry: I only said, and plenty of butter on
it.'"
THE END
.
1872
FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
WHAT THE OLD MAN DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT
by Hans Christian Andersen
I WILL tell you a story that was told me when I was a little
boy. Every time I thought of this story, it seemed to me more and more
charming; for it is with stories as it is with many people- they
become better as they grow older.
I have no doubt that you have been in the country, and seen a very
old farmhouse, with a thatched roof, and mosses and small plants
growing wild upon it. There is a stork's nest on the ridge of the
gable, for we cannot do without the stork. The walls of the house
are sloping, and the windows are low, and only one of the latter is
made to open. The baking-oven sticks out of the wall like a great
knob. An elder-tree hangs over the palings; and beneath its
branches, at the foot of the paling, is a pool of water, in which a
few ducks are disporting themselves. There is a yard-dog too, who
barks at all corners. Just such a farmhouse as this stood in a country
lane; and in it dwelt an old couple, a peasant and his wife. Small
as their possessions were, they had one article they could not do
without, and that was a horse, which contrived to live upon the
grass which it found by the side of the high road. The old peasant
rode into the town upon this horse, and his neighbors often borrowed
it of him, and paid for the loan of it by rendering some service to
the old couple. After a time they thought it would be as well to
sell the horse, or exchange it for something which might be more
useful to them. But what might this something be?
"You'll know best, old man," said the wife. "It is fair-day
to-day; so ride into town, and get rid of the horse for money, or make
a good exchange; whichever you do will be right to me, so ride to the
fair."
And she fastened his neckerchief for him; for she could do that
better than he could, and she could also tie it very prettily in a
double bow. She also smoothed his hat round and round with the palm of
her hand, and gave him a kiss. Then he rode away upon the horse that
was to be sold or bartered for something else. Yes, the old man knew
what he was about. The sun shone with great heat, and not a cloud
was to be seen in the sky. The road was very dusty; for a number of
people, all going to the fair, were driving, riding, or walking upon
it. There was no shelter anywhere from the hot sunshine. Among the
rest a man came trudging along, and driving a cow to the fair. The cow
was as beautiful a creature as any cow could be.
"She gives good milk, I am certain," said the peasant to
himself. "That would be a very good exchange: the cow for the horse.
Hallo there! you with the cow," he said. "I tell you what; I dare
say a horse is of more value than a cow; but I don't care for that,- a
cow will be more useful to me; so, if you like, we'll exchange."
"To be sure I will," said the man.
Accordingly the exchange was made; and as the matter was
settled, the peasant might have turned back; for he had done the
business he came to do. But, having made up his mind to go to the
fair, he determined to do so, if only to have a look at it; so on he
went to the town with his cow. Leading the animal, he strode on
sturdily, and, after a short time, overtook a man who was driving a
sheep. It was a good fat sheep, with a fine fleece on its back.
"I should like to have that fellow," said the peasant to
himself. "There is plenty of grass for him by our palings, and in
the winter we could keep him in the room with us. Perhaps it would
be more profitable to have a sheep than a cow. Shall I exchange?"
The man with the sheep was quite ready, and the bargain was
quickly made. And then our peasant continued his way on the
high-road with his sheep. Soon after this, he overtook another man,
who had come into the road from a field, and was carrying a large
goose under his arm.
"What a heavy creature you have there!" said the peasant; "it
has plenty of feathers and plenty of fat, and would look well tied
to a string, or paddling in the water at our place. That would be very
useful to my old woman; she could make all sorts of profits out of it.
