of this naughty Cupid; but he made fools of them still, for he is
astonishingly cunning. When the university students come from the
lectures, he runs beside them in a black coat, and with a book under
his arm. It is quite impossible for them to know him, and they walk
along with him arm in arm, as if he, too, were a student like
themselves; and then, unperceived, he thrusts an arrow to their bosom.
When the young maidens come from being examined by the clergyman, or
go to church to be confirmed, there he is again close behind them.
Yes, he is for ever following people. At the play he sits in the great
chandelier and burns in bright flames, so that people think it is
really a flame, but they soon discover it is something else. He roves
about in the garden of the palace and upon the ramparts: yes, once he
even shot your father and mother right in the heart. Ask them only,
and you will hear what they'll tell you. Oh, he is a naughty boy, that
Cupid; you must never have anything to do with him. He is for ever
running after everybody. Only think, he shot an arrow once at your old
grandmother! But that is a long time ago, and it is all past now;
however, a thing of that sort she never forgets. Fie, naughty Cupid!
But now you know him, and you know, too, how ill-behaved he is!
------------
THE TWO NEIGHBORING FAMILIES.
We really might have thought something of importance was going on in
the duck-pond, but there was nothing going on. All the ducks that were
resting tranquilly on the water, or were standing in it on their
heads--for that they were able to do--swam suddenly to the shore: you
could see in the wet ground the traces of their feet, and hear their
quacking far and near. The water, which but just now was smooth and
bright as a mirror, was quite put into commotion. Before, one saw
every tree reflected in it, every bush that was near: the old
farm-house, with the holes in the roof and with the swallow's nest
under the eaves; but principally, however, the great rose-bush, sown,
as it were, with flowers. It covered the wall, and hung forwards over
the water, in which one beheld the whole as in a picture, except that
everything was upside down; but when the water was agitated, all swam
away and the picture was gone. Two duck's feathers, which the
fluttering ducks had lost, were rocking to and fro: suddenly they flew
forwards as if the wind were coming, but it did not come: they were,
therefore, obliged to remain where they were, and the water grew quiet
and smooth again, and again the roses reflected themselves--they were
so beautiful, but that they did not know, for nobody had told them.
The sun shone in between the tender leaves--all breathed the most
beautiful fragrance; and to them it was as with us, when right
joyfully we are filled with the thought of our happiness.
"How beautiful is existence!" said each rose. "There is but one thing
I should wish for,--to kiss the sun, because it is so bright and
warm.* The roses yonder, too, below in the water, the exact image of
ourselves--them also I should like to kiss, and the nice little birds
below in their nest. There are some above, too; they stretch out their
heads and chirrup quite loud: they have no feathers at all, as their
fathers and mothers have. They are good neighbors, those below as well
as those above. How beautiful existence is!"
------
* In Danish the sun is of the feminine gender, and not, as with us,
when personified, spoken of as "he." We beg to make this observation,
lest the roses' wish "to kiss the sun," be thought unmaidenly. We are
anxious, also, to remove a stumbling block, which might perchance trip
up exquisitely-refined modern notions, sadly shocked, no doubt, as
they would be, at such an apparent breach of modesty and
decorum.--(Note of the Translator.)
------
The young birds above and below--those below of course the reflection
only in the water--were sparrows: their parents were likewise
sparrows; and they had taken possession of the empty swallow's nest of
the preceding year, and now dwelt therein as if it had been their own
property.
"Are those little duck children that are swimming there?" asked the
young sparrows, when they discovered the duck's feathers on the water.
"If you _will_ ask questions, do let them be a little rational at
least," said the mother. "Don't you see that they are feathers, living
stuff for clothing such as I wear, and such as you will wear also? But
ours is finer. I should, however, be glad if we had it up here in our
nest, for it keeps one warm. I am curious to know at what the ducks
were so frightened; at us, surely not; 'tis true I said 'chirp,' to
you rather loud. In reality, the thick-headed roses ought to know, but
they know nothing; they only gaze on themselves and smell: for my
part, I am heartily tired of these neighbors."
"Listen to the charming little birds above," said the roses, "they
begin to want to sing too, but they cannot as yet. However, they will
do so by and by: what pleasure that must afford! It is so pleasant to
have such merry neighbors!"
Suddenly two horses came galloping along to be watered. A peasant boy
rode on one, and he had taken off all his clothes except his large
broad black hat. The youth whistled like a bird, and rode into the
pond where it was deepest; and as he passed by the rosebush he
gathered a rose and stuck it in his hat; and now he fancied himself
very fine, and rode on. The other roses looked after their sister, and
asked each other, "Whither is she going?" but that no one knew.
"I should like to go out into the world," thought one; "yet here at
home amid our foliage it is also beautiful. By day the sun shines so
warm, and in the night the sky shines still more beautifully: we can
see that through all the little holes that are in it." By this they
meant the stars, but they did not know any better.
"We enliven the place," said the mamma sparrow; "and the swallow's
nest brings luck, so people say, and therefore people are pleased to
have us. But our neighbors! Such a rose-bush against the wall produces
damp; it will doubtless be cleared away, and then, perhaps, some corn
at least may grow there. The roses are good for nothing except to look
at and to smell, and, at most to put into one's hat. Every year--that
I know from my mother--they fall away; the peasants wife collects them
together and strews salt among them; they then receive a French name
which I neither can nor care to pronounce, and are put upon the fire,
when they are to give a pleasant odor. Look ye, such is their life;
they are only here to please the eye and nose! And so now you know the
whole matter."
As the evening came on, and the gnats played in the warm air and in
the red clouds, the nightingale came and sang to the roses; sang that
the beautiful is as the sunshine in this world, and that the beautiful
lives for ever. But the roses thought that the nightingale sang his
own praise, which one might very well have fancied; for that the song
related to them, of that they never thought: they rejoiced in it,
however, and meditated if perhaps all the little sparrows could become
nightingales too.
"I understood _the song of that bird quite well_," said the young
sparrows; "one word only was not quite clear to me. What was the
meaning of 'the beautiful?'"
"That is nothing," said the mamma sparrow, "that is only something
external. Yonder at the mansion, where the pigeons have a house of
their own, and where every day peas and corn is strewn before them--I
have myself eaten there with them, and you shall, too, in time; tell
me what company you keep, and I'll tell you who you are--yes, yonder
at the mansion they have got two birds with green necks and a comb on
their head; they can spread out their tail like a great wheel, and in
it plays every color, that it quite hurts one's eyes to look at it.
These birds are called peacocks, and that is 'THE BEAUTIFUL.' They
only want to be plucked a little, and then they would not look at all
different from the rest of us. I would already have plucked them, if
they had not been quite so big."
"I will pluck them," chirped the smallest sparrow, that as yet had not
a single feather.
In the peasant's cottage dwelt a young married couple; they loved each
other dearly, and were industrious and active: everything in their
house looked so neat and pretty. On Sunday morning early the young
woman came out, gathered a handful of the most beautiful roses, and
put them into a glass of water, which she placed on the shelf.
"Now I see that it is Sunday," said the man, and kissed his little
wife. They sat down, read in the hymn-book, and held each other by the
hand: the sun beamed on the fresh roses and on the young married
couple.
"This is really too tiring a sight," said the mamma sparrow, who from
her nest could look into the room, and away she flew.
The next Sunday it was the same, for every Sunday fresh roses were put
in the glass: yet the rose-tree bloomed on equally beautiful. The
young sparrows had now feathers, and wanted much to fly with their
mother; she, however, would not allow it, so they were forced to
remain. Off she flew; but, however, it happened, before she was aware,
she got entangled in a springe of horse-hair, which some boys had set
upon a bough. The horse-hair drew itself tightly round her leg, so
tightly as though it would cut it in two. That was an agony, a fright!
The boys ran to the spot and caught hold of the bird, and that too in
no very gentle manner.
"It's only a sparrow," said they; but they, nevertheless, did not let
her fly, but took her home with them, and every time she cried they
gave her a tap on the beak.
There stood in the farm-yard an old man, who knew how to make
shaving-soap and soap for washing, in square cakes as well as in round
balls. He was a merry, wandering old man. When he saw the sparrow that
the boys had caught, and which, as they said, they did not care about
at all, he asked, "Shall we make something very fine of him?" Mamma
sparrow felt an icy coldness creep over her. Out of the box, in which
were the most beautiful colors, the old man took a quantity of gold
leaf, and the boys were obliged to go and fetch the white of an egg,
with which the sparrow was painted all over; on this the gold was
stuck, and mamma sparrow was now entirely gilded; but she did not
think of adornment, for she trembled in every limb. And the
soap-dealer tore a bit off the lining of his old jacket, cut scollops
in it so that it might look like a cock's comb, and stuck it on the
head of the bird.
"Now, then, you shall see master gold-coat fly," said the old man, and
let the sparrow go, who, in deadly fright, flew off, illumined by the
beaming sun. How she shone! All the sparrows, even a crow, although an
old fellow, were much frightened at the sight; they, however flew on
after him, in order to learn what foreign bird it was.
Impelled by anguish and terror, he flew homewards: he was near falling
exhausted to the earth. The crowd of pursuing birds increased; yes,
some indeed even tried to peck at him.
"Look! there's a fellow! Look! there's a fellow!" screamed they all.
"Look! there's a fellow! Look! there's a fellow!" cried the young
sparrows, as the old one approached the nest. "That, for certain, is a
young peacock; all sorts of colors are playing in his feathers: it
quite hurts one's eyes to look at him, just as our mother told us.
Chirp! chirp! That is the beautiful!" And now they began pecking at
the bird with their little beaks, so that it was quite impossible for
the sparrow to get into the nest: she was so sadly used that she could
not even say "Chirrup," still less, "Why, I am your own mother!" The
other birds, too, now set upon the sparrow, and plucked out feather
after feather; so that at last she fell bleeding in the rose-bush
below.
"Oh! poor thing!" said all the roses, "be quieted; we will hide you.
Lean your little head on us."
The sparrow spread out her wings once more, then folded them close to
her body, and lay dead in the midst of the family who were her
neighbors,--the beautiful fresh roses.
"Chirp! chirp!" sounded from the nest. "Where can our mother be? It is
quite inconceivable! It cannot surely be a trick of hers by which she
means to tell us that we are now to provide for ourselves? She has
left us the house as an inheritance; but to which of us is it
exclusively to belong, when we ourselves have families?"
"Yes, that will never do that you stay here with me when my household
is increased by the addition of a wife and children," said the
smallest.
"I shall have, I should think, more wives and children than you," said
the second.
"But I am the eldest," said the third. They all now grew passionate;
they beat each other with their wings, pecked with their beaks, when,
plump! one after the other was tumbled out of the nest. There they lay
with their rage; they turned their heads on one side, and winked their
eyes as they looked upward: that was their way of playing the
simpleton. They could fly a little, and by practice they learned to do
so still better; and they finally were unanimous as to a sign by
which, when at some future time they should meet again in the world,
they might recognise each other. It was to consist in a "Chirrup!" and
in a thrice-repeated scratching on the ground with the left leg.
The young sparrow that had been left behind in the nest spread himself
out to his full size. He was now, you know, a householder; but his
grandeur did not last long: in the night red fire broke through the
windows, the flames seized on the roof, the dry thatch blazed up high,
the whole house was burnt, and the young sparrow with it; but the
young married couple escaped, fortunately, with life. When the sun
rose again, and every thing looked so refreshed and invigorated, as
after a peaceful sleep, there was nothing left of the cottage except
some charred black beams leaning against the chimney, which now was
its own master. A great deal of smoke still rose from the ground, but
without, quite uninjured, stood the rose-bush, fresh and blooming, and
mirrored every flower, every branch, in the clear water.
"Oh! how beautifully the roses are blooming in front of the burnt-down
house!" cried a passer-by. "It is impossible to fancy a more lovely
picture. I must have that!"
And the man took a little book with white leaves out of his pocket: he
was a painter, and with a pencil he drew the smoking house, the
charred beams, and the toppling chimney, which now hung over more and
more. But the large and blooming rose-tree, quite in the foreground,
afforded a magnificent sight; it was on its account alone that the
whole picture had been made.
Later in the day two of the sparrows who had been born here passed by.
"Where is the house?" asked they. "Where the nest? Chirp! chirp! All
is burnt down, and our strong brother,--that is what he has got for
keeping the nest. The roses have escaped well; there they are yet
standing with their red cheeks. They, forsooth, do not mourn at the
misfortune of their neighbors. I have no wish whatever to address
them; and, besides, it is very ugly here, that's my opinion." And off
and away they flew.
On a beautiful, bright, sunny autumn day--one might almost have
thought it was still the middle of summer--the pigeons were strutting
about the dry and nicely-swept court-yard in front of the great
steps--black and white and party-colored--and they shone in the
sunshine. The old mamma pigeon said to the young ones: "Form
yourselves in groups, form yourselves in groups, for that makes a much
better appearance."
"What little brown creatures are those running about amongst us?"
asked an old pigeon, whose eyes were green and yellow. "Poor little
brownies! poor little brownies!"
"They are sparrows: we have always had the reputation of being kind
and gentle; we will, therefore, allow them to pick up the grain with
us. They never mix in the conversation, and they scrape a leg so
prettily."
"Yes, they scratched three times with their leg, and with the left leg
too, and said also "Chirrup!" It is by this they recognised each
other; for they were three sparrows out of the nest of the house that
had been burnt down.
"Very good eating here," said one of the sparrows. The pigeons
strutted round each other, drew themselves up, and had inwardly their
own views and opinions.
"Do you see the cropper pigeon?" said one of the others. "Do you see
how she swallows the peas? She takes too many, and the very best into
the bargain!"--"Coo! coo!"--"How she puts up her top-knot, the ugly,
mischievous creature!" "Coo! coo! coo!"
And every eye sparkled with malice. "Form yourselves in groups! form
yourselves in groups! Little brown creatures! Poor little brownies!
Coo! coo!" So it went on unceasingly, and so will they go on
chattering in a thousand years to come.
The sparrows ate right bravely. They listened attentively to what was
said, and even placed themselves in a row side by side, with the
others. It was not at all becoming to them, however. They were not
satisfied, and they therefore quitted the pigeons, and exchanged
opinions about them; nestled along under the garden palisades, and, as
they found the door of the room open that led upon the lawn, one of
them, who was filled to satiety, and was therefore over-bold, hopped
upon the threshold. "Chirrup!" said he, "I dare to venture!"
"Chirrup!" said another, "I dare, too, and more besides!" and he
hopped into the chamber. No one was present: the third saw this, and
flew still further into the room, calling out, "Either all or nothing!
However, 'tis a curious human nest that we have here; and what have
they put up there? What is that?"
Close in front of the sparrows bloomed the roses; they mirrored
themselves in the water, and the charred rafters leaned against the
over-hanging chimney. But what can that be? how comes this in the room
of the mansion? And all three sparrows were about to fly away over the
roses and the chimney, but they flew against a flat wall. It was all a
picture, a large, beautiful picture, which the painter had executed
after the little sketch.
"Chirrup!" said the sparrows, "it is nothing! It only looks like
something. Chirrup! That is beautiful! Can you comprehend it? I
cannot!" And away they flew, for people came into the room.
Days and months passed, the pigeons had often cooed, the sparrows had
suffered cold in winter, and in summer lived right jollily; they were
all betrothed and married, or whatever you choose to call it. They had
young ones, and each naturally considered his the handsomest and the
cleverest: one flew here, another there; and if they met they
recognised each other by the "Chirrup?" and by the thrice-repeated
scratching with the left leg. The eldest sparrow had remained an old
maid, who had no nest and no family; her favorite notion was to see a
large town, so away she flew to Copenhagen.
There one beheld a large house, painted with many bright colors, quite
close to the canal, in which lay many barges laden with earthen pots
and apples. The windows were broader below than above, and when the
sparrow pressed through, every room appeared like a tulip, with the
most varied colors and shades, but in the middle of the tulip white
men were standing: they were of marble, some, too, were of plaister;
but when viewed with a sparrow's eyes, they are the same. Up above on
the roof stood a metal chariot, with metal horses harnessed to it; and
the goddess of victory, also of metal, held the reins. It was
_Thorwaldsen's Museum._
"How it shines! How it shines!'' said the old maiden sparrow. That,
doubtless, is 'the beautiful.' Chirrup! But here it is larger than a
peacock!" She remembered still what her mother, when she was a child,
had looked upon as the grandest among all beautiful things. The
sparrow fled down into the court: all was so magnificent. Palms and
foliage were painted on the walls. In the middle of the court stood a
large, blooming rose-tree; it spread out its fresh branches, with its
many roses, over a grave. Thither flew the old maiden sparrow, for she
saw there many of her sort. "Chirrup!" and three scrapes with the left
leg. Thus had she often saluted, from one year's end to the other, and
nobody had answered the greeting--for those who are once separated do
not meet again every day--till at last the salutation had grown into a
habit. But to-day, however, two old sparrows and one young one
answered with a "Chirrup!" and with a thrice-repeated scrape of the
left leg.
"Ah, good day, good day!" It was two old birds from the nest, and a
little one besides, of the family. "That we should meet here! It is a
very grand sort of place, but there is nothing to eat here: that is
'the beautiful!' Chirrup!"
And many persons advanced from the side apartments, where the
magnificent marble figures stood, and approached the grave that hid
the great master who had formed the marble figures. All stood with,
glorified countenances around Thorwaldsen's grave, and some picked up
the shed rose-leaves and carefully guarded them. They had come from
far--one from mighty England, others from Germany and France: the most
lovely lady gathered one of the roses and hid it in her bosom. Then
the sparrows thought that the roses governed here, and that the whole
house had been built on account of them. Now, this seemed to them, at
all events, too much; however, as it was for the roses that the
persons showed all their love, they would remain no longer. "Chirrup!"
said they, and swept the floor with their tails, and winked with one
eye at the roses. They had not looked at them long before they
convinced themselves that they were their old neighbors. And they
really were so. The painter who had drawn the rose-bush beside the
burned-down house, had afterwards obtained permission to dig it up,
and had given it to the architect--for more beautiful roses had never
been seen--and the architect had planted it on Thorwaldsen's grave,
where it bloomed as a symbol of the beautiful, and gave up its red
fragrant leaves to be carried to distant lands as a remembrance.
"Have you got an appointment here in town?" asked the sparrows.
And the roses nodded: they recognised their brown neighbors, and
rejoiced to see them again. "How delightful it is to live and to
bloom, to see old friends again, and every day to look on happy faces!
It is as if every day were a holy-day."
"Chirrup!" said the sparrows. "Yes, it is in truth our old neighbors;
their origin--from the pond--is still quite clear in our memory!
Chirrup! How they have risen in the world! Yes, Fortune favors some
while they sleep! Ah! there is a withered leaf that I see quite
plainly." And they pecked at it so long till the leaf fell off; and
the tree stood there greener and more fresh, the roses gave forth
their fragrance in the sunshine over Thorwaldsen's grave, with whose
immortal name, they were united.
------------
THE DARNING-NEEDLE.
There was once upon a time a darning needle, that imagined itself so
fine, that at last it fancied it was a sewing-needle.
"Now, pay attention, and hold me firmly!" said the darning-needle to
the fingers that were taking it out. "Do not let me fall! If I fall on
the ground, I shall certainly never be found again, so fine am I."
"Pretty well as to that," answered the fingers; and so saying, they
took hold of it by the body.
"Look, I come with a train!" said the darning-needle, drawing a long
thread after it, but there was no knot to the thread.
The fingers directed the needle against an old pair of shoes belonging
to the cook. The upper-leather was torn, and it was now to be sewed
together.
"That is vulgar work," said the needle; "I can never get through it. I
shall break! I shall break!" And it really did break. "Did I not say
so?" said the needle; "I am too delicate."
"Now it's good for nothing," said the fingers, but they were obliged
to hold it still; the cook dropped sealing-wax upon it, and pinned her
neckerchief together with it.
"Well, now I am a breast-pin," said the darning-needle. "I was sure I
should be raised to honor: if one is something, one is sure to get
on!" and at the same time it laughed inwardly; for one can never see
when a darning-needle laughs. So there it sat now as proudly as in a
state-carriage, and looked around on every side.
"May I take the liberty to inquire if you are of gold?" asked the
needle of a pin that was its neighbor. "You have a splendid exterior,
and a head of your own, but it is small, however. You must do what you
can to grow, for it is not every one that is bedropped with
sealing-wax!" And then the darning-needle drew itself up so high that
it fell out of the kerchief, and tumbled right into the sink, which
the cook was at that moment rinsing out.
"Now we are going on our travels," said the needle. "If only I do not
get lost!" But it really did get lost.
"I am too delicate for this world!" said the needle, as it lay in the
sink, "but I know who I am, and that is always a consolation;" and the
darning-needle maintained its proud demeanor, and lost none of its
good-humor.
And all sorts of things swam over it--shavings, straws, and scraps of
old newspapers.