"I am not old," said the fir-tree, "there are many who are older
than I am."
"Where do you come from? and what do you know?" asked the mice,
who were full of curiosity. "Have you seen the most beautiful places
in the world, and can you tell us all about them? and have you been in
the storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelf, and hams hang from
the ceiling? One can run about on tallow candles there, and go in thin
and come out fat."
"I know nothing of that place," said the fir-tree, "but I know the
wood where the sun shines and the birds sing." And then the tree
told the little mice all about its youth. They had never heard such an
account in their lives; and after they had listened to it attentively,
they said, "What a number of things you have seen? you must have
been very happy."
"Happy!" exclaimed the fir-tree, and then as he reflected upon
what he had been telling them, he said, "Ah, yes! after all those were
happy days." But when he went on and related all about
Christmas-eve, and how he had been dressed up with cakes and lights,
the mice said, "How happy you must have been, you old fir-tree."
"I am not old at all," replied the tree, "I only came from the
forest this winter, I am now checked in my growth."
"What splendid stories you can relate," said the little mice.
And the next night four other mice came with them to hear what the
tree had to tell. The more he talked the more he remembered, and
then he thought to himself, "Those were happy days, but they may
come again. Humpty Dumpty fell down stairs, and yet he married the
princess; perhaps I may marry a princess too." And the fir-tree
thought of the pretty little birch-tree that grew in the forest, which
was to him a real beautiful princess.
"Who is Humpty Dumpty?" asked the little mice. And then the tree
related the whole story; he could remember every single word, and
the little mice was so delighted with it, that they were ready to jump
to the top of the tree. The next night a great many more mice made
their appearance, and on Sunday two rats came with them; but they
said, it was not a pretty story at all, and the little mice were
very sorry, for it made them also think less of it.
"Do you know only one story?" asked the rats.
"Only one," replied the fir-tree; "I heard it on the happiest
evening of my life; but I did not know I was so happy at the time."
"We think it is a very miserable story," said the rats. "Don't you
know any story about bacon, or tallow in the storeroom."
"No," replied the tree.
"Many thanks to you then," replied the rats, and they marched off.
The little mice also kept away after this, and the tree sighed,
and said, "It was very pleasant when the merry little mice sat round
me and listened while I talked. Now that is all passed too. However, I
shall consider myself happy when some one comes to take me out of this
place." But would this ever happen? Yes; one morning people came to
clear out the garret, the boxes were packed away, and the tree was
pulled out of the corner, and thrown roughly on the garret floor; then
the servant dragged it out upon the staircase where the daylight
shone. "Now life is beginning again," said the tree, rejoicing in
the sunshine and fresh air. Then it was carried down stairs and
taken into the courtyard so quickly, that it forgot to think of
itself, and could only look about, there was so much to be seen. The
court was close to a garden, where everything looked blooming. Fresh
and fragrant roses hung over the little palings. The linden-trees were
in blossom; while the swallows flew here and there, crying, "Twit,
twit, twit, my mate is coming,"- but it was not the fir-tree they
meant. "Now I shall live," cried the tree, joyfully spreading out
its branches; but alas! they were all withered and yellow, and it
lay in a corner amongst weeds and nettles. The star of gold paper
still stuck in the top of the tree and glittered in the sunshine. In
the same courtyard two of the merry children were playing who had
danced round the tree at Christmas, and had been so happy. The
youngest saw the gilded star, and ran and pulled it off the tree.
"Look what is sticking to the ugly old fir-tree," said the child,
treading on the branches till they crackled under his boots. And the
tree saw all the fresh bright flowers in the garden, and then looked
at itself, and wished it had remained in the dark corner of the
garret. It thought of its fresh youth in the forest, of the merry
Christmas evening, and of the little mice who had listened to the
story of "Humpty Dumpty." "Past! past!" said the old tree; "Oh, had
I but enjoyed myself while I could have done so! but now it is too
late." Then a lad came and chopped the tree into small pieces, till
a large bundle lay in a heap on the ground. The pieces were placed
in a fire under the copper, and they quickly blazed up brightly, while
the tree sighed so deeply that each sigh was like a pistol-shot.
Then the children, who were at play, came and seated themselves in
front of the fire, and looked at it and cried, "Pop, pop." But at each
"pop," which was a deep sigh, the tree was thinking of a summer day in
the forest; and of Christmas evening, and of "Humpty Dumpty," the only
story it had ever heard or knew how to relate, till at last it was
consumed. The boys still played in the garden, and the youngest wore
the golden star on his breast, with which the tree had been adorned
during the happiest evening of its existence. Now all was past; the
tree's life was past, and the story also,- for all stories must come
to an end at last.
THE END
.
1872
FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
THE FLAX
by Hans Christian Andersen
THE flax was in full bloom; it had pretty little blue flowers as
delicate as the wings of a moth, or even more so. The sun shone, and
the showers watered it; and this was just as good for the flax as it
is for little children to be washed and then kissed by their mother.
They look much prettier for it, and so did the flax.
"People say that I look exceedingly well," said the flax, "and
that I am so fine and long that I shall make a beautiful piece of
linen. How fortunate I am; it makes me so happy, it is such a pleasant
thing to know that something can be made of me. How the sunshine
cheers me, and how sweet and refreshing is the rain; my happiness
overpowers me, no one in the world can feel happier than I am."
"Ah, yes, no doubt," said the fern, "but you do not know the world
yet as well as I do, for my sticks are knotty;" and then it sung quite
mournfully-
"Snip, snap, snurre,
Basse lurre:
The song is ended."
"No, it is not ended," said the flax. "To-morrow the sun will
shine, or the rain descend. I feel that I am growing. I feel that I am
in full blossom. I am the happiest of all creatures."
Well, one day some people came, who took hold of the flax, and
pulled it up by the roots; this was painful; then it was laid in water
as if they intended to drown it; and, after that, placed near a fire
as if it were to be roasted; all this was very shocking. "We cannot
expect to be happy always," said the flax; "by experiencing evil as
well as good, we become wise." And certainly there was plenty of
evil in store for the flax. It was steeped, and roasted, and broken,
and combed; indeed, it scarcely knew what was done to it. At last it
was put on the spinning wheel. "Whirr, whirr," went the wheel so
quickly that the flax could not collect its thoughts. "Well, I have
been very happy," he thought in the midst of his pain, "and must be
contented with the past;" and contented he remained till he was put on
the loom, and became a beautiful piece of white linen. All the flax,
even to the last stalk, was used in making this one piece. "Well, this
is quite wonderful; I could not have believed that I should be so
favored by fortune. The fern was not wrong with its song of
'Snip, snap, snurre,
Basse lurre.'
But the song is not ended yet, I am sure; it is only just beginning.
How wonderful it is, that after all I have suffered, I am made
something of at last; I am the luckiest person in the world- so strong
and fine; and how white, and what a length! This is something
different to being a mere plant and bearing flowers. Then I had no
attention, nor any water unless it rained; now, I am watched and taken
care of. Every morning the maid turns me over, and I have a
shower-bath from the watering-pot every evening. Yes, and the
clergyman's wife noticed me, and said I was the best piece of linen in
the whole parish. I cannot be happier than I am now."
After some time, the linen was taken into the house, placed
under the scissors, and cut and torn into pieces, and then pricked
with needles. This certainly was not pleasant; but at last it was made
into twelve garments of that kind which people do not like to name,
and yet everybody should wear one. "See, now, then," said the flax; "I
have become something of importance. This was my destiny; it is
quite a blessing. Now I shall be of some use in the world, as everyone
ought to be; it is the only way to be happy. I am now divided into
twelve pieces, and yet we are all one and the same in the whole dozen.
It is most extraordinary good fortune."
Years passed away, and at last the linen was so worn it could
scarcely hold together. "It must end very soon," said the pieces to
each other; "we would gladly have held together a little longer, but
it is useless to expect impossibilities." And at length they fell into
rags and tatters, and thought it was all over with them, for they were
torn to shreds, and steeped in water, and made into a pulp, and dried,
and they knew not what besides, till all at once they found themselves
beautiful white paper. "Well, now, this is a surprise; a glorious
surprise too," said the paper. "I am now finer than ever, and I
shall be written upon, and who can tell what fine things I may have
written upon me. This is wonderful luck!" And sure enough the most
beautiful stories and poetry were written upon it, and only once was
there a blot, which was very fortunate. Then people heard the
stories and poetry read, and it made them wiser and better; for all
that was written had a good and sensible meaning, and a great blessing
was contained in the words on this paper.
"I never imagined anything like this," said the paper, "when I was
only a little blue flower, growing in the fields. How could I fancy
that I should ever be the means of bringing knowledge and joy to
man? I cannot understand it myself, and yet it is really so. Heaven
knows that I have done nothing myself, but what I was obliged to do
with my weak powers for my own preservation; and yet I have been
promoted from one joy and honor to another. Each time I think that the
song is ended; and then something higher and better begins for me. I
suppose now I shall be sent on my travels about the world, so that
people may read me. It cannot be otherwise; indeed, it is more than
probable; for I have more splendid thoughts written upon me, than I
had pretty flowers in olden times. I am happier than ever."
But the paper did not go on its travels; it was sent to the
printer, and all the words written upon it were set up in type, to
make a book, or rather, many hundreds of books; for so many more
persons could derive pleasure and profit from a printed book, than
from the written paper; and if the paper had been sent around the
world, it would have been worn out before it had got half through
its journey.
"This is certainly the wisest plan," said the written paper; "I
really did not think of that. I shall remain at home, and be held in
honor, like some old grandfather, as I really am to all these new
books. They will do some good. I could not have wandered about as they
do. Yet he who wrote all this has looked at me, as every word flowed
from his pen upon my surface. I am the most honored of all."
Then the paper was tied in a bundle with other papers, and
thrown into a tub that stood in the washhouse.
"After work, it is well to rest," said the paper, "and a very good
opportunity to collect one's thoughts. Now I am able, for the first
time, to think of my real condition; and to know one's self is true
progress. What will be done with me now, I wonder? No doubt I shall
still go forward. I have always progressed hitherto, as I know quite
well."
Now it happened one day that all the paper in the tub was taken
out, and laid on the hearth to be burnt. People said it could not be
sold at the shop, to wrap up butter and sugar, because it had been
written upon. The children in the house stood round the stove; for
they wanted to see the paper burn, because it flamed up so prettily,
and afterwards, among the ashes, so many red sparks could be seen
running one after the other, here and there, as quick as the wind.
They called it seeing the children come out of school, and the last
spark was the schoolmaster. They often thought the last spark had
come; and one would cry, "There goes the schoolmaster;" but the next
moment another spark would appear, shining so beautifully. How they
would like to know where the sparks all went to! Perhaps we shall find
