festival; it thought it heard all the church bells round ringing, and
it seemed to be a mild summer day. Its lofty head, it fancied, looked
fresh and green, while the bright rays of the sun played among its
thick foliage. The air was laden with the perfume of wild flowers;
various butterflies chased each other in sport around its boughs, and
the ephemera danced and amused themselves. All that during years the
tree had known and seen around it now passed before it as in a festive
procession. It beheld, as in the olden time, knights and ladies on
horseback, with feathers in their hats and falcons on their hands,
riding through the greenwood; it heard the horns of the huntsmen, and
the baying of the hounds; it saw the enemies' troops, with their
various uniforms, their polished armour, their lances and halberds,
pitch their tents and take them down again; the watch-fires blazed,
and the soldiers sang and slept under the sheltering branches of the
tree. It beheld lovers meet in the soft moonlight, and cut their
names--that first letter--upon its olive-green bark. Guitars and
AEolian harps were again--but there were very many years between
them--hung up on the boughs of the tree by gay travelling swains, and
again their sweet sounds broke on the stillness around. The
wood-pigeons cooed, as if they were describing the feelings of the
tree, and the cuckoo told how many summer days it should yet live.
Then it was as if a new current of life rushed from its lowest roots
up to its highest branches, even to the farthest leaves; the tree felt
that it extended itself therewith, yet it perceived that its roots
down in the ground were also full of life and warmth; it felt its
strength increasing, and that it was growing taller and taller. The
trunk shot up--there was no pause--more and more it grew--its head
became fuller, broader--and as the tree grew it became happier, and
its desire increased to rise up still higher, even until it could
reach the warm, blazing sun.
Already had it mounted above the clouds, which, like multitudes of
dark migratory birds, or flocks of white swans, were floating under
it; and every leaf of the tree that had eyes could see. The stars
became visible during the day, and looked so large and bright: each of
them shone like a pair of mild, clear eyes. They might have recalled
to memory dear, well-known eyes--the eyes of children--the eyes of
lovers when they met beneath the tree.
It was a moment of exquisite delight. Yet in the midst of its pleasure
it felt a desire, a longing that all the other trees in the wood
beneath--all the bushes, plants, and flowers--might be able to lift
themselves like it, and to participate in its joyful and triumphant
feelings. The mighty oak tree, in the midst of its glorious dream,
could not be entirely happy unless it had all its old friends with it,
great and small; and this feeling pervaded every branch and leaf of
the tree as strongly as if it had lived in the breast of a human
being.
The summit of the tree moved about as if it missed and sought
something left behind. Then it perceived the scent of the woodbine,
and soon the still stronger scent of the violets and wild thyme; and
it fancied it could hear the cuckoo repeat its note.
At length amidst the clouds peeped forth the tops of the green trees
of the wood; they also grew higher and higher, as the oak had done;
the bushes and the flowers shot up high in the air; and some of these,
dragging their slender roots after them, flew up more rapidly. The
birch was the swiftest among the trees: like a white flash of
lightning it darted its slender stem upwards, its branches waving like
green wreaths and flags. The wood and all its leafy contents, even the
brown-feathered rushes, grew, and the birds followed them singing; and
in the fluttering blades of silken grass the grasshopper sat and
played with his wings against his long thin legs, and the wild bees
hummed, and all was song and gladness as up in heaven.
"But the blue-bell and the little wild tansy," said the oak tree; "I
should like them with me too."
"We are with you," they sang in their low, sweet tones.
"But the pretty water-lily of last year, and the wild apple tree that
stood down yonder, and looked so fresh, and all the forest flowers of
years past, had they lived and bloomed till now, they might have been
with me."
"We are with you--we are with you," sang their voices far above, as if
they had gone up before.
"Well, this is quite enchanting," cried the old tree. "I have them
all, small and great--not one is forgotten. How is all this happiness
possible and conceivable?"
"In the celestial paradise all this is possible and conceivable,"
voices chanted around.
And the tree, which continued to rise, observed that its roots were
loosening from their hold in the earth.
"This is well," said the tree. "Nothing now retains me. I am free to
mount to the highest heaven--to splendour and light; and all that are
dear to me are with me--small and great--all with me."
"All!"
This was the oak tree's dream; and whilst it dreamt a fearful storm
had burst over sea and land that holy Christmas eve. The ocean rolled
heavy billows on the beach--the tree rocked violently, and was torn up
by the roots at the moment it was dreaming that its roots were
loosening. It fell. Its three hundred and sixty-five years were now as
but the day of the ephemeron.
On Christmas morning, when the sun arose, the storm was passed. All
the church bells were ringing joyously; and from every chimney, even
the lowest in the peasant's cot, curled from the altars of the
Druidical feast the blue smoke of the thanksgiving oblation. The sea
became more and more calm, and on a large vessel in the offing, which
had weathered the tempest during the night, were hoisted all its flags
in honour of the day.
"The tree is gone--that old oak tree which was always our landmark!"
cried the sailors. "It must have fallen in the storm last night. Who
shall replace it? Alas! no one can."
This was the tree's funeral oration--short, but well meant--as it lay
stretched at full length amidst the snow upon the shore, and over it
floated the melody of the psalm tunes from the ship--hymns of
Christmas joy, and thanksgivings for the salvation of the souls of
mankind by Jesus Christ, and the blessed promise of everlasting life.
"Let sacred songs arise on high,
Loud hallelujahs reach the sky;
Let joy and peace each mortal share,
While hymns of praise shall fill the air."
Thus ran the old psalm, and every one out yonder, on the deck of the
ship, lifted up his voice in thanksgiving and prayer, just as the old
oak tree was lifted up in its last and most delightful dream on that
Christmas eve.
_The Wind relates the Story of Waldemar Daae and his Daughters._
When the wind sweeps over the grass it ripples like water; when it
sweeps over the corn, it undulates like waves of the sea. All that is
the wind's dance. But listen to what the wind tells. It sings it
aloud, and it is repeated amidst the trees in the wood, and carried
through the loopholes and the chinks in the wall. Look how the wind
chases the skies up yonder, as if they were a flock of sheep! Listen
how the wind howls below through the half-open gate, as if it were the
warder blowing his horn! Strangely does it sound down the chimney and
in the fireplace; the fire flickers under it; and the flames, instead
of ascending, shoot out towards the room, where it is warm and
comfortable to sit and listen to it. Let the wind speak. It knows more
tales and adventures than all of us put together. Hearken now to what
it is about to relate.
It blew a tremendous blast: that was a prelude to its story.
* * * * *
"There lay close to the Great Belt an old castle with thick red
walls," said the wind. "I knew every stone in it. I had seen them
before, when they were in Marshal Stig's castle at the Naes. It was
demolished. The stones were used again, and became new walls--a new
building--at another place, and that was Borreby Castle as it now
stands. I have seen and known the high-born ladies and gentlemen, the
various generations that have dwelt in it; and now I shall tell about
WALDEMAR DAAE AND HIS DAUGHTERS.
"He held his head so high: he was of royal extraction. He could do
more than hunt a stag and drain a goblet: that would be proved some
day, he said to himself.
"His proud lady, apparelled in gold brocade, walked erect over her
polished inlaid floor. The tapestry was magnificent, the furniture
costly, and beautifully carved; vessels of gold and silver she had in
profusion; there were stores of German ale in the cellars; handsome
spirited horses neighed in the stables; all was superb within Borreby
Castle when wealth was there.
"And children were there; three fine girls--Ide, Johanne, and Anna
Dorthea. I remember their names well even now.
"They were rich people, they were people of distinction--born in
grandeur, and brought up in it. Wheugh--wheugh!" whistled the wind;
then it continued the tale.
"I never saw there, as in other old mansions, the high-born lady
sitting in her boudoir with her maidens and spinning-wheels. She
played on the lute, and sang to it, though never the old Danish
ballads, but songs in foreign languages. Here were banqueting and
mirth, titled guests came from far and near, music's tones were heard,
goblets rang. I could not drown the noise," said the wind. "Here were
arrogance, ostentation, and display; here was power, but not OUR
LORD."
"It was one May-day evening," said the wind. "I came from the
westward. I had seen ships crushed into wrecks on the west coast of
Jutland. I had hurried over the dreary heaths and green woody coast,
had crossed the island of Funen, and swept over the Great Belt, and I
was hoarse with blowing. Then I laid myself down to rest on the coast
of Zealand, near Borreby, where there stood the forest and the
charming meadows. The young men from the neighbourhood assembled
there, and collected brushwood and branches of trees, the largest and
driest they could find. They carried them to the village, laid them in
a heap, and set fire to it; then they and the village girls sang and
danced round it.
"I lay still," said the wind; "but I softly stirred one branch--one
which had been placed on the bonfire by the handsomest youth. His
piece of wood blazed up, blazed highest. He was chosen the leader of
the rustic game, became 'the wild boar,' and had the first choice
among the girls for his 'pet lamb.' There were more happiness and
merriment amongst them than up at the grand house at Borreby.
"And then from the great house at Borreby came, driving in a gilded
coach with six horses, the noble lady and her three daughters, so
fine, so young--three lovely blossoms--rose, lily, and the pale
hyacinth. The mother herself was like a flaunting tulip; she did not
deign to notice one of the crowd of villagers, though they stopped
their game, and courtesied and bowed with profound respect.
"Rose, lily, and the pale hyacinth--yes, I saw them all three. Whose
'pet lambs' should they one day become? I thought. The 'wild boar' for
each of them would assuredly be a proud knight--perhaps a prince.
Wheugh--wheugh!
"Well, their equipage drove on with them, and the young peasants went
on with their dancing. And the summer advanced in the village near
Borreby, in Tjaereby, and all the surrounding towns.
"But one night when I arose," continued the wind, "the great lady was
lying ill, never to move again. That something had come over her which
comes over all mankind sooner or later: it is nothing new. Waldemar
Daae stood in deep and melancholy thought for a short time. 'The
proudest tree may bend, but not break,' said he to himself. The
daughters wept; but at last they all dried their eyes at the great
house, and the noble lady was carried away; and I also went away,"
said the wind.
* * * * *
"I returned--I returned soon, over Funen and the Belt, and set myself
down by Borreby beach, near the large oak wood. There water-wagtails,
wood-pigeons, blue ravens, and even black storks built their nests. It
was late in the year: some had eggs, and some had young birds. How
they were flying about, and how they were shrieking! The strokes of
the axe were heard--stroke after stroke. The trees were to be felled.
Waldemar Daae was going to build a costly ship, a man-of-war with
three decks, which the king would be glad to purchase: and therefore
the wood--the seamen's landmark, the birds' home--was to be
sacrificed. The great red-backed shrike flew in alarm--his nest was
destroyed; the ravens and all the other birds had lost their homes,
and flew wildly about with cries of distress and anger. I understood
them well. The crows and the jackdaws screamed high in derision, 'From
the nest--from the nest! Away--away!'
"And in the midst of the wood, looking on at the crowd of labourers,
stood Waldemar Daae and his three daughters, and they all laughed
together at the wild cries of the birds; but his youngest daughter,
Anna Dorthea, was sorry for them in her heart; and when the men were
about to cut down a partially decayed tree, amidst whose naked
branches the black storks had built their nests, and from which the
tiny little ones peeped out their heads, she begged it might be
spared. She begged--begged with tears in her eyes; and the tree was
permitted to remain with the nest of black storks. It was not a great
boon after all.
"The fine trees were cut down, the wood was sawn, and a large ship
with three decks was built. The master shipbuilder himself was of low
birth, but of noble appearance. His eyes and his forehead evinced how
clever he was, and Waldemar Daae liked to listen to his conversation;
so also did little Ide, his eldest daughter, who was fifteen years of
age. And while he was building the ship for the father, he was also
building castles in the air for himself, wherein he and Ide sat as man
and wife; and that might have happened had the castles been of stone
walls, with ramparts and moats, woods and gardens. But, with all his
talents, the master shipbuilder was but a humble bird. What should a
sparrow do in an eagle's nest?
"Wheugh--wheugh! I flew away, and he flew away, for he dared not
remain longer; and little Ide got over his departure, for she was
obliged to get over it.
"Splendid dark chargers neighed in the stables, worth being looked at;
and they were looked at and admired. An admiral was sent by the king
himself to examine the new man-of-war, and to make arrangements for
its purchase. He praised the spirited horses loudly. I heard him
myself," said the wind. "I followed the gentlemen through the open
door, and strewed straw before their feet. Waldemar Daae wanted gold,
the admiral wanted the horses--he admired them so much; but the
bargain was not concluded, nor was the ship bought--the ship that was
lying near the strand, with its white planks--a Noah's ark that was
never to be launched upon the deep.
"Wheugh! It was a sad pity.
"In the winter time, when the fields were covered with snow, drift-ice
filled the Belt, and I screwed it up to the shore," said the wind.
"Then came ravens and crows, all as black as they could be, in large
flocks. They perched themselves upon the deserted, dead, lonely ship,
that lay high up on the beach; and they cried and lamented, with their
hoarse voices, about the wood that was gone, the many precious birds'
nests that were laid waste, the old ones rendered homeless, the little
ones rendered homeless; and all for the sake of a great lumbering
thing, a gigantic vessel, that never was to float upon the deep.
"I whirled the snow in the snow storms, and raised the snow-drifts.
The snow lay like a sea high around the vessel. I let it hear my
voice, and know what a tempest can say. I knew if I exerted myself it
would get some of the knowledge other ships have.
"And winter passed--winter and summer; they come and go as I come and
go; the snow melts, the apple blossom blooms, the leaves fall--all is
change, change, and with mankind among the rest.
"But the daughters were still young--little Ide a rose, beautiful to
look at, as the shipbuilder had seen her. Often did I play with her
long brown hair, when, under the apple tree in the garden, she was
standing lost in thought, and did not observe that I was showering
down the blossoms upon her head. Then she would start, and gaze at the
red sun, and the golden clouds around it, through the space among the
dark foliage of the trees.
"Her sister Johanne resembled a lily--fair, slender, and erect; and,
like her mother, she was stately and haughty. It was a great pleasure
to her to wander up and down the grand saloon where hung the portraits
of her ancestors. The high-born dames were painted in silks and
velvets, with little hats looped up with pearls on their braided
locks--they were beautiful ladies. Their lords were depicted in steel
armour, or in costly mantles trimmed with squirrels' fur, and wearing
blue ruffs; the sword was buckled round the thigh, and not round the
loins. Johanne's own portrait would hang at some future day on that
wall, and what would her noble husband be like? Yes, she thought of
this, and she said this in low accents to herself. I heard her when I
rushed through the long corridor into the saloon, and out again.
"Anna Dorthea, the pale hyacinth, who was only fourteen years of age,
was quiet and thoughtful. Her large swimming blue eyes looked somewhat
pensive, but a childish smile played around her mouth, and I could
not blow it off; nor did I wish to do so.
"I met her in the garden, in the ravine, in the fields. She was
gathering plants and flowers, those which she knew her father made use
of for the drinks and drops he was fond of distilling. Waldemar Daae
was arrogant and conceited, but also he had a great deal of knowledge.
Everybody knew that, and everybody talked in whispers about it. Even
in summer a fire burned in his private cabinet; its doors were always
locked. He passed days and nights there, but he spoke little about his
pursuits. The mysteries of nature are studied in silence. He expected
soon to discover its greatest secret--the transmutation of other
substances into gold.
"It was for this that smoke was ever issuing from the chimney of his
laboratory; for this that sparks and flames were always there. And I
was there too," said the wind. "'Hollo, hollo!' I sang through the
chimney. There were steam, smoke, embers, ashes. 'You will burn
yourself up--take care, take care!' But Waldemar Daae did _not_ take
care.
"The splendid horses in the stables, what became of them?--the silver
and the gold plate, the cows in the fields, the furniture, the house
itself? Yes, they could be smelted--smelted in the crucibles; and yet
no gold was obtained.
"All was empty in the barns and in the pantry, in the cellars and in
the loft. The fewer people, the more mice. One pane of glass was
cracked, another was broken. I did not require to go in by the door,"
said the wind. "When the kitchen chimney is smoking, dinner is
preparing; but there the smoke rolled from the chimney for that which
devoured all repasts--for the yellow gold.
"I blew through the castle gate like a warder blowing his horn; but
there was no warder," said the wind. "I turned the weathercock above
the tower--it sounded like a watchman snoring inside the tower; but no
watchman was there--it was only kept by rats and mice. Poverty
presided at the table--poverty sat in the clothes' chests and in the
store-rooms. The doors fell off their hinges--there came cracks and
crevices everywhere. I went in, and I went out," said the wind;
"therefore I knew what was going on.
"Amidst smoke and ashes--amidst anxiety and sleepless nights--Waldemar
Daae's hair had turned grey; so had his beard and the thin locks on
his forehead; his skin had become wrinkled and yellow, his eyes ever
straining after gold--the expected gold.
"I whisked smoke and ashes into his face and beard: debts came instead
of gold. I sang through the broken windows and cracked walls--came
moaning in to the daughter's cheerless room, where the old bed-gear
was faded and threadbare, but had still to hold out. Such a song was
not sung at the children's cradles. High life had become wretched
life. I was the only one then who sang loudly in the castle," said the
wind. "I snowed them in, and they said they were comfortable. They had
no wood to burn--the trees had been felled from which they would have
got it. It was a sharp frost. I rushed through loopholes and
corridors, over roofs and walls, to keep up my activity. In their poor
chamber lay the three aristocratic daughters in their bed to keep
themselves warm. To be as poor as church mice--that was high life!
Wheugh! Would they give it up? But Herr Daae could not.
"'After winter comes spring,' said he. 'After want come good times;
but they make one wait. The castle is now mortgaged--we have arrived
at the worst--we shall have gold now at Easter!'
"I heard him murmuring near a spider's web:--
"'Thou active little weaver! thou teachest me to persevere. Even if
thy web be swept away thou dost commence again, and dost complete it.
Again let it be torn asunder, and, unwearied, thou dost again
recommence thy work over and over again. I shall follow thy example. I
will go on, and I shall be rewarded.'
"It was Easter morning--the church bells were ringing. The sun was
careering in the heavens. Under a burning fever the alchemist had
watched all night: he had boiled and cooled--mixed and distilled. I
heard him sigh like a despairing creature; I heard him pray; I
perceived that he held his breath in his anxiety. The lamp had gone
out--he did not seem to notice it. I blew on the red-hot cinders; they
brightened up, and shone on his chalky-white face, and tinged it with
a momentary brightness. The eyes had almost closed in their deep
sockets; now they opened wider--wider--as if they were about to spring
forth.
"Look at the alchemical glass! There is something sparkling in it! It
is glowing, pure, heavy! He lifted it with a trembling hand. He cried
with trembling lips, 'Gold--gold!' He staggered, and seemed quite
giddy at the sight. I could have blown him away," said the wind; "but
I only blew in the ruddy fire, and followed him through the door in to
where his daughters were freezing. His dress was covered with ashes;
they were to be seen in his beard, and in his matted hair. He raised
his head proudly, stretched forth his rich treasure in the fragile
glass, and 'Won--won! gold!' he cried, as he held high in the air the
glass that glittered in the dazzling sunshine. But his hand shook, and
the alchemical glass fell to the ground, and broke into a thousand
pieces. The last bubble of his prosperity had burst. Wheugh--wheugh!
And I darted away from the alchemist's castle.
"Later in the year, during the short days, when fogs come with their
damp drapery, and wring out wet drops on the red berries and the
leafless trees, I came in a hearty humour, sent breezes aloft to clear
the air, and began to sweep down the rotten branches. That was no hard
work, but it was a useful one. There was sweeping of another sort
within Borreby Castle, where Waldemar Daae dwelt. His enemy, Ove
Ramel, from Basnaes, was there, with the mortgage bonds upon the
property and the dwelling-house, which he had purchased. I thundered
against the cracked window-panes, slammed the rickety doors, whistled
through the cracks and crevices, 'Wheu-gh!' Herr Ove should have no
pleasure in the prospect of living there. Ide and Anna Dorthea wept
bitterly. Johanne stood erect and composed; but she looked very pale,
and bit her lips till they bled. Much good would that do! Ove Ramel
vouchsafed his permission to Herr Daae to remain at the castle during
the rest of his days; but he got no thanks for the offer. I overheard
all that passed. I saw the homeless man draw himself up haughtily, and
toss his head; and I sent a blast against the castle and the old
linden trees, so that the thickest branch among them broke, though it
was not rotten. It lay before the gate like a broom, in case something
had to be swept out; and to be sure there _was_ a clean sweep.
"It was a sad day, a cruel hour, a heavy trial to sustain; but the
heart was hard--the neck was stiff.
"They possessed nothing but the clothes they had on. Yes, they had a
newly-bought alchemist's glass, which was filled with what had been
wasted on the floor: it had been scraped up, the treasure promised,
but not yielded. Waldemar Daae concealed this near his breast, took
his stick in his hand, and the once wealthy man went, with his three
daughters, away from Borreby Castle. I blew coldly on his wan cheeks,
and ruffled his grey beard and his long white hair. I sang around
them, 'Wheu-gh--wheu-gh!'
"There was an end to all their grandeur!
"Ide and Anna Dorthea walked on each side of their father; Johanne
turned round at the gate. Why did she do so? Fortune would not turn.
She gazed at the red stones of the wall, the stones from Marshal
Stig's castle, and she thought of his daughters:--
'The eldest took the younger's hand,
And out in the wide world they went.'