crackle with pleasure. Sleep sweetly, sleep sweetly, it is your
three-hundred-and-sixty-fifth night. Correctly speaking, you are but a
youngster in the world. Sleep sweetly, the clouds will drop snow
upon you, which will be quite a cover-lid, warm and sheltering to your
feet. Sweet sleep to you, and pleasant dreams." And there stood the
oak, stripped of all its leaves, left to rest during the whole of a
long winter, and to dream many dreams of events that had happened in
its life, as in the dreams of men. The great tree had once been small;
indeed, in its cradle it had been an acorn. According to human
computation, it was now in the fourth century of its existence. It was
the largest and best tree in the forest. Its summit towered above
all the other trees, and could be seen far out at sea, so that it
served as a landmark to the sailors. It had no idea how many eyes
looked eagerly for it. In its topmost branches the wood-pigeon built
her nest, and the cuckoo carried out his usual vocal performances, and
his well-known notes echoed amid the boughs; and in autumn, when the
leaves looked like beaten copper plates, the birds of passage would
come and rest upon the branches before taking their flight across
the sea. But now it was winter, the tree stood leafless, so that every
one could see how crooked and bent were the branches that sprang forth
from the trunk. Crows and rooks came by turns and sat on them, and
talked of the hard times which were beginning, and how difficult it
was in winter to obtain food.
It was just about holy Christmas time that the tree dreamed a
dream. The tree had, doubtless, a kind of feeling that the festive
time had arrived, and in his dream fancied he heard the bells
ringing from all the churches round, and yet it seemed to him to be
a beautiful summer's day, mild and warm. His mighty summits was
crowned with spreading fresh green foliage; the sunbeams played
among the leaves and branches, and the air was full of fragrance
from herb and blossom; painted butterflies chased each other; the
summer flies danced around him, as if the world had been created
merely for them to dance and be merry in. All that had happened to the
tree during every year of his life seemed to pass before him, as in
a festive procession. He saw the knights of olden times and noble
ladies ride by through the wood on their gallant steeds, with plumes
waving in their hats, and falcons on their wrists. The hunting horn
sounded, and the dogs barked. He saw hostile warriors, in colored
dresses and glittering armor, with spear and halberd, pitching their
tents, and anon striking them. The watchfires again blazed, and men
sang and slept under the hospitable shelter of the tree. He saw lovers
meet in quiet happiness near him in the moonshine, and carve the
initials of their names in the grayish-green bark on his trunk.
Once, but long years had intervened since then, guitars and Eolian
harps had been hung on his boughs by merry travellers; now they seemed
to hang there again, and he could hear their marvellous tones. The
wood-pigeons cooed as if to explain the feelings of the tree, and
the cuckoo called out to tell him how many summer days he had yet to
live. Then it seemed as if new life was thrilling through every
fibre of root and stem and leaf, rising even to the highest
branches. The tree felt itself stretching and spreading out, while
through the root beneath the earth ran the warm vigor of life. As he
grew higher and still higher, with increased strength, his topmost
boughs became broader and fuller; and in proportion to his growth,
so was his self-satisfaction increased, and with it arose a joyous
longing to grow higher and higher, to reach even to the warm, bright
sun itself. Already had his topmost branches pierced the clouds, which
floated beneath them like troops of birds of passage, or large white
swans; every leaf seemed gifted with sight, as if it possessed eyes to
see. The stars became visible in broad daylight, large and
sparkling, like clear and gentle eyes. They recalled to the memory the
well-known look in the eyes of a child, or in the eyes of lovers who
had once met beneath the branches of the old oak. These were wonderful
and happy moments for the old tree, full of peace and joy; and yet,
amidst all this happiness, the tree felt a yearning, longing desire
that all the other trees, bushes, herbs, and flowers beneath him,
might be able also to rise higher, as he had done, and to see all this
splendor, and experience the same happiness. The grand, majestic oak
could not be quite happy in the midst of his enjoyment, while all
the rest, both great and small, were not with him. And this feeling of
yearning trembled through every branch, through every leaf, as
warmly and fervently as if they had been the fibres of a human
heart. The summit of the tree waved to and fro, and bent downwards
as if in his silent longing he sought for something. Then there came
to him the fragrance of thyme, followed by the more powerful scent
of honeysuckle and violets; and he fancied he heard the note of the
cuckoo. At length his longing was satisfied. Up through the clouds
came the green summits of the forest trees, and beneath him, the oak
saw them rising, and growing higher and higher. Bush and herb shot
upward, and some even tore themselves up by the roots to rise more
quickly. The birch-tree was the quickest of all. Like a lightning
flash the slender stem shot upwards in a zigzag line, the branches
spreading around it like green gauze and banners. Every native of
the wood, even to the brown and feathery rushes, grew with the rest,
while the birds ascended with the melody of song. On a blade of grass,
that fluttered in the air like a long, green ribbon, sat a
grasshopper, cleaning his wings with his legs. May beetles hummed, the
bees murmured, the birds sang, each in his own way; the air was filled
with the sounds of song and gladness."
"But where is the little blue flower that grows by the water?"
asked the oak, "and the purple bell-flower, and the daisy?" You see
the oak wanted to have them all with him.
"Here we are, we are here," sounded in voice and song.
"But the beautiful thyme of last summer, where is that? and the
lilies-of-the-valley, which last year covered the earth with their
bloom? and the wild apple-tree with its lovely blossoms, and all the
glory of the wood, which has flourished year after year? even what may
have but now sprouted forth could be with us here."
"We are here, we are here," sounded voices higher in the air, as
if they had flown there beforehand.
"Why this is beautiful, too beautiful to be believed," said the
oak in a joyful tone. "I have them all here, both great and small; not
one has been forgotten. Can such happiness be imagined?" It seemed
almost impossible.
"In heaven with the Eternal God, it can be imagined, and it is
possible," sounded the reply through the air.
And the old tree, as it still grew upwards and onwards, felt
that his roots were loosening themselves from the earth.
"It is right so, it is best," said the tree, "no fetters hold me
now. I can fly up to the very highest point in light and glory. And
all I love are with me, both small and great. All- all are here."
Such was the dream of the old oak: and while he dreamed, a
mighty storm came rushing over land and sea, at the holy Christmas
time. The sea rolled in great billows towards the shore. There was a
cracking and crushing heard in the tree. The root was torn from the
ground just at the moment when in his dream he fancied it was being
loosened from the earth. He fell- his three hundred and sixty-five
years were passed as the single day of the Ephemera. On the morning of
Christmas-day, when the sun rose, the storm had ceased. From all the
churches sounded the festive bells, and from every hearth, even of the
smallest hut, rose the smoke into the blue sky, like the smoke from
the festive thank-offerings on the Druids' altars. The sea gradually
became calm, and on board a great ship that had withstood the
tempest during the night, all the flags were displayed, as a token
of joy and festivity. "The tree is down! The old oak,- our landmark on
the coast!" exclaimed the sailors. "It must have fallen in the storm
of last night. Who can replace it? Alas! no one." This was a funeral
oration over the old tree; short, but well-meant. There it lay
stretched on the snow-covered shore, and over it sounded the notes
of a song from the ship- a song of Christmas joy, and of the
redemption of the soul of man, and of eternal life through Christ's
atoning blood.
"Sing aloud on the happy morn,
All is fulfilled, for Christ is born;
With songs of joy let us loudly sing,
'Hallelujahs to Christ our King.'"
Thus sounded the old Christmas carol, and every one on board the
ship felt his thoughts elevated, through the song and the prayer, even
as the old tree had felt lifted up in its last, its beautiful dream on
that Christmas morn.
THE END
.
1872
FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
THE LAST PEARL
by Hans Christian Andersen
WE are in a rich, happy house, where the master, the servants, the
friends of the family are full of joy and felicity. For on this day
a son and heir has been born, and mother and child are doing well. The
lamp in the bed-chamber had been partly shaded, and the windows were
covered with heavy curtains of some costly silken material. The carpet
was thick and soft, like a covering of moss. Everything invited to
slumber, everything had a charming look of repose; and so the nurse
had discovered, for she slept; and well she might sleep, while
everything around her told of happiness and blessing. The guardian
angel of the house leaned against the head of the bed; while over
the child was spread, as it were, a net of shining stars, and each
star was a pearl of happiness. All the good stars of life had
brought their gifts to the newly born; here sparkled health, wealth,
fortune, and love; in short, there seemed to be everything for which
man could wish on earth.
"Everything has been bestowed here," said the guardian angel.
"No, not everything," said a voice near him- the voice of the good
angel of the child; "one fairy has not yet brought her gift, but she
will, even if years should elapse, she will bring her gift; it is
the last pearl that is wanting."
"Wanting!" cried the guardian angel; "nothing must be wanting
here; and if it is so, let us fetch it; let us seek the powerful
fairy; let us go to her."
"She will come, she will come some day unsought!"
"Her pearl must not be missing; it must be there, that the
crown, when worn, may be complete. Where is she to be found? Where
does she dwell?" said the guardian angel. "Tell me, and I will procure
the pearl."
"Will you do that?" replied the good angel of the child. "Then I
will lead you to her directly, wherever she may be. She has no abiding
place; she rules in the palace of the emperor, sometimes she enters
the peasant's humble cot; she passes no one without leaving a trace of
her presence. She brings her gift with her, whether it is a world or a
bauble. To this child she must come. You think that to wait for this
time would be long and useless. Well, then, let us go for this
pearl- the only one lacking amidst all this wealth."
Then hand-in-hand they floated away to the spot where the fairy
was now lingering. It was in a large house with dark windows and empty
rooms, in which a peculiar stillness reigned. A whole row of windows
stood open, so that the rude wind could enter at its pleasure, and the
long white curtains waved to and fro in the current of air. In the
centre of one of the rooms stood an open coffin, in which lay the body
of a woman, still in the bloom of youth and very beautiful. Fresh
roses were scattered over her. The delicate folded hands and the noble
face glorified in death by the solemn, earnest look, which spoke of an
entrance into a better world, were alone visible. Around the coffin
stood the husband and children, a whole troop, the youngest in the
father's arms. They were come to take a last farewell look of their
mother. The husband kissed her hand, which now lay like a withered
leaf, but which a short time before had been diligently employed in
deeds of love for them all. Tears of sorrow rolled down their
cheeks, and fell in heavy drops on the floor, but not a word was
spoken. The silence which reigned here expressed a world of grief.
With silent steps, still sobbing, they left the room. A burning
light remained in the room, and a long, red wick rose far above the
flame, which fluttered in the draught of air. Strange men came in
and placed the lid of the coffin over the dead, and drove the nails
firmly in; while the blows of the hammer resounded through the
house, and echoed in the hearts that were bleeding.
"Whither art thou leading me?" asked the guardian angel. "Here
dwells no fairy whose pearl could be counted amongst the best gifts of
life."
"Yes, she is here; here in this sacred hour," replied the angel,
pointing to a corner of the room; and there,- where in her
life-time, the mother had taken her seat amidst flowers and
pictures: in that spot, where she, like the blessed fairy of the
house, had welcomed husband, children, and friends, and, like a
sunbeam, had spread joy and cheerfulness around her, the centre and
heart of them all,- there, in that very spot, sat a strange woman,
clothed in long, flowing garments, and occupying the place of the dead
wife and mother. It was the fairy, and her name was "Sorrow." A hot
