Part 3

“Where do you come from?” asked the mice, who were full of curiosity; “and what do you know? What is the most beautiful place on earth that you know about? Do tell us all about it! Have you been in the storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from the ceiling? One can run about on tallow candles there. Ah! that is the place where one goes in thin and comes out fat.”

“I know nothing about that,” said the fir tree; “but I know of the wood, where the sun shines and the birds sing.”

And then the tree told the little mice all about its youth. The mice had never heard anything like that before, and they listened with all their ears, and said: “How much you have seen! How happy you must have been!”

“Happy!” exclaimed the fir tree; and then, as it thought over what it had been telling them, it added, “Ah, yes, those were happy days.”

But when it went on and told them about Christmas Eve, and how it had been adorned with sweetmeats and candles, the mice repeated once more, “How happy, how very fortunate you 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 do know!” said the little mice. And the next night they came with four others, to have them hear what the tree had to tell. The more it talked, the more it remembered, and then it thought to itself: “Yes, those were happy days, but they may come again. Humpty Dumpty fell downstairs, and yet he married the princess. Perhaps I, too, may marry a princess.” And the tree thought of a pretty little birch tree that grew in the forest; she was a princess, a real princess, to the fir tree.

“Who is Humpty Dumpty?” asked the little mice. And then the tree told the whole story; it could remember every single word. And the little mice were so delighted with it that they were ready to jump with joy up to the very top of the tree. The next night a great many more mice made their appearance, and on Sunday two rats came; but they did not care about the story at all, and that troubled the mice, for it made them also think less of it.

“Is that the only story you know?” asked the rats.

“The only one,” answered the 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 poor story,” said the rats. “Don’t you know any story about bacon or tallow candles in the storeroom?”

“No,” replied the tree.

“Then we are much obliged to you,” said the rats, and they went their way.

The little mice also kept away after this, and the tree sighed and said, “Really, it was very pleasant when the lively little mice sat around me and listened, while I told them stories. Now that is all past, 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 up the garret; the boxes were moved aside and the tree was pulled out of the corner and thrown roughly on the floor; then the servants dragged it out to the stairs, where the daylight shone.

“Now life is beginning again,” thought the tree, rejoicing in the sunshine and fresh air.

It was carried downstairs and out into the yard so quickly that it forgot to look at itself, and gazed about it, for there was so much to be seen.

The yard opened into a garden where everything was blooming. Fresh and sweet roses hung over a little trellis; the linden trees were in blossom; and swallows flew here and there, calling, “Twit, twit, twit, my mate is coming”; but it was not the fir tree they meant.

“Now I shall live,” thought the tree joyfully, stretching out its branches; but alas! they were all withered and yellow, and it was lying in a corner among weeds and nettles.

The star of gold paper still stuck in the top of the tree and glittered in the sunshine. In the yard two of the merry children who had danced round the tree at Christmas were playing. One of them saw the gilded star, and ran up and tore it off.

“See what is sticking to the ugly old fir tree,” he cried, and stamped on the boughs till they crackled under his boots.

And the tree saw all the fresh, bright flowers in the garden, and looked at itself, and wished it had been left lying in the dark corner of the garret. It thought of its fresh youth in the forest, of the merry Christmas Eve, and of the little mice that had listened so happily to the tale of Humpty Dumpty.

“Past! past!” said the poor tree. “O had I only enjoyed myself while I could! But now it is too late,—it is all past.”

Then a lad came and chopped the tree into small pieces, till a large pile lay heaped on the ground. The pieces were placed in a fire, where they blazed up brightly, and the tree sighed so deeply that each sigh was like a pistol shot. Then the children who were at play came and sat in front of the fire and looked at it, and cried, “Piff! puff! bang!” But at each “bang,” which was a deep sigh, the tree was thinking of a summer day in the forest, or of some winter night out there, when the stars were shining brightly, or of Christmas Eve, or of Humpty Dumpty, the only story it had ever heard or could tell,—till at last the tree burned away.

The children played on in the garden, and the youngest wore on his breast the golden star which the tree had worn on the happiest evening of its life. Now that was past,—all was past; the tree’s life was past, and this story, too, is past, for all stories must come to an end some time or other.

PLEIADES, OR THE SEVEN STARS

There was once a man who had six sons. He did not give them names like other people, but only called them according to their ages,—Eldest, Next-Eldest, Third-Eldest, Third-Youngest, Next-Youngest, and Youngest. They had no other names.

When Eldest was eighteen, and Youngest twelve, their father told them that they must all go out into the world, and each must learn a trade.

They set out together, but when they came to a place where there were six roads, all leading different ways, they agreed to part company, and each chose a road. But they promised one another that just two years from that day they would meet there again, and go home together to their father.

On the appointed day they met, and went home together. Their father questioned each of them as to what trade he had learned. Eldest said he had learned to be a shipbuilder; he could build ships that went of themselves. Next-Eldest had been to sea; he was a helmsman, and could steer a ship as easily on the land as on the sea. Third-Eldest had only learned the art of listening, but now he could hear in one country what was going on in another. Third-Youngest had learned to shoot, and he had become a crack shot. Next-Youngest had learned to climb; he could go up and down a wall like a fly,—there was nothing too steep for him.

Now when their father had listened to what these five had to tell about what they could do, he said that although upon the whole they had done fairly well, yet he had expected something more of them. What they had learned to do most people could do also. Now he must hear what Youngest could do.

Youngest had always been his darling, and in him he had the greatest confidence. Youngest was delighted that at last it was his turn to speak, and said in the most cheerful manner that he had become a master thief. When his father heard that, he was so angry that he gave Youngest a sound box on the ear, saying, “Fie! for shame! You are a disgrace to me and to all your family.”

Now it so happened that just at this very time the King’s fair young daughter had been stolen away by a dwarf, and the King had promised that whoever should find her and deliver her from the dwarfs power should have her for his wife, and half the kingdom with her as her marriage portion.

The six brothers determined to try their luck. The shipbuilder built a ship that would go of itself. Then they all went on board, and the helmsman steered the ship over the land and over the sea. The listener kept on listening all the time, and at last he could hear the Princess inside a glass mountain. So they sailed up to the glass mountain.

The climber climbed immediately to the top, and looking down he saw the dwarf lying asleep with his ugly head on the Princess’s lap. Then he ran down again, took the little master thief on his back, and climbed right down inside the mountain with him. The master thief stole away the Princess without waking the dwarf, and the climber helped them both back to the ship. They got on board and sailed away.

The listener kept a strict watch on the dwarf all the time, and when they had gone some little way he called to the others, “Now the dwarf is waking; now he is stretching himself; now he misses the Princess; and now he is coming!”

The Princess was dreadfully frightened, and said it was all over with them now, unless they had some one on board who was a crack shot. The dwarf could fly through the air, so that he would overtake them directly; but he was shot-proof, except in one little black spot about the size of a pin’s head, which was just in the middle of his chest.

Then came the dwarf, whirling and rushing through the air. But the marksman was ready for him; he took aim and hit him right in the center of the little black spot. Instantly the dwarf fell into the water dead.

So the six brothers came sailing home with the Princess, and took her to her father’s palace. They were all in love with her, and each one of them could say with truth that without him she could not have been set free. The King was in a great strait. He could not tell to which of the brothers he ought to give his daughter, and the Princess herself was greatly troubled, for she did not know which one of them she liked best.

But now it did not please the good God that there should be any quarreling amongst them; so he made all six brothers and the Princess die on the selfsame night, and he turned them all seven into stars, and fixed them in the sky. And now people call them Pleiades, or the Seven Stars. And the star that shines brightest of all the seven is the Princess, but the palest is the master thief.

BLUEBEARD

Once upon a time there was a man who was very rich. He had fine houses, both in town and in the country; in them he had a great deal of gold and silver plate; his furniture was richly embroidered and his coaches were all gilded over. But this man had the misfortune to have a blue beard, which made him so ugly and terrible that there was not a woman nor a girl who did not shun and avoid him.

One of his neighbors, a lady of quality, had two daughters who were perfect beauties. He asked her for one of them in marriage, leaving to her the choice of which she would bestow on him. They would neither of them have him, but sent him backwards and forwards from one to the other, for neither could make up her mind to marry a man who had a blue beard. Another thing which made them object to him was that he had been married several times already, and nobody knew what had ever become of his wives.

As Bluebeard was very anxious to become better acquainted with them, he took them, with their mother and three or four of their best friends, and some other young people of the neighborhood, to one of his country seats, where they spent a week. The whole time was given up to pleasure parties,—to excursions, to hunting and fishing, to dancing, banqueting, and feasting. No one even thought of going to bed, but the nights were passed in merrymaking of all kinds. In short, all went off so well that the younger daughter began to think that the beard of the master of the house was not so very blue, after all, and that he was a very civil gentleman. So as soon as they returned home the marriage was concluded.

About a month afterward Bluebeard told his wife that he was obliged to take a journey into the country, for six weeks at least, upon business of importance. He desired her to amuse herself and have a good time in his absence, to send for her friends, to take them into the country if she wished, and to live bountifully wherever she was.

“Here,” he said, “are the keys of the two great storerooms for furniture; these smaller ones are for the chests which contain my silver and gold plate which is not in everyday use; these open my strong boxes which hold my money, both gold and silver; these, my caskets of jewels; and this is the master key to all the rooms. But this little one here is the key of the closet at the end of the great gallery on the ground floor. Open them all; go everywhere else; but into this little closet I forbid you to enter, and I forbid you so strictly that if you do open it, there is nothing you may not expect from my anger.”

She promised to obey all his orders exactly; and Bluebeard, after having embraced her, got into his coach and set out on his journey.

The neighbors and friends of the young wife did not wait to be sent for, so eager were they to see all the riches of her house; for they had not dared to come while her husband was there because of his blue beard, which frightened them. As soon as they were inside the house they ran about from room to room, and even through all the closets and wardrobes, saying that each one seemed finer and richer than the last. They went up into the storerooms, where they could not say enough in admiration of the number and beauty of the tapestry, beds, couches, cabinets, stands, tables, and looking-glasses in which you might see yourself from head to foot.

Some of these mirrors were framed with glass, others with silver, plain and gilded; they were the most beautiful and most magnificent ever seen.

The visitors never stopped admiring and envying the happiness of their friend, who meanwhile was not at all entertained in looking at all these rich things because of her impatience to go and open the closet on the ground floor. She was so beside herself with curiosity that, without once thinking that it was rude to leave her guests, she slipped away down a little back staircase with such excessive haste that two or three times she came near falling and breaking her neck. When she reached the closet door she stood still for some moments, thinking of her husband’s orders and considering how unhappiness might come upon her if she were disobedient; but the temptation was so strong that she could not overcome it. She took the little key and, trembling, opened the door.

At first she could not see anything because the windows were shut. After some moments she began to see that there was blood on the floor, and that the bodies of several dead women were lying there. (These were the wives whom Bluebeard had married and murdered one after another.) She thought she would surely die of fear, and the key, which she had pulled out of the lock, fell from her hand.

When she had recovered a little from the shock she picked up the key, locked the door, and went upstairs into her chamber to compose herself; but she could not do it, for she was too much upset by her fright.

As she noticed that the key of the closet was stained with blood, she tried two or three times to wipe it off, but the stain remained. It did no good to wash it, or even to rub it with soap and sand. The stain was still there, for the key was a magic key, and she could never make it quite clean; when the stain was gone from one side, it came on the other.

Bluebeard returned from his journey that same evening, and said that he had received letters upon the road, which told him that the business on which he was called away had been settled to his advantage. His wife did all she could to convince him that she was overjoyed at his speedy return.

Next morning he asked her for the keys. She gave them to him, but with such a trembling hand that he easily guessed what had happened.

“How is it,” said he, “that the key of my closet is not here with the rest?”

“I must,” she said, “have left it upstairs on my table.”

“Do not fail,” said Bluebeard, “to bring it to me presently.”

After putting it off several times she was forced to bring him the key. Bluebeard examined it closely, and then said to his wife, “How comes this stain upon the key?”

“I do not know,” cried the poor woman, turning paler than death.

“You do not know!” replied Bluebeard. “Well, I know very well. You wanted to go into the closet, did you? Very well, madam; you shall go in and take your place among the ladies you saw there.”

She threw herself weeping at her husband’s feet, and begged his pardon with all the signs of true repentance for her disobedience. She would have melted a stone, so beautiful and sorrowful was she; but Bluebeard had a heart harder than any stone.

“You must die, madam,” said he, “and that at once.”

“Since I must die,” she answered, looking up at him through her tears, “give me a little time to say my prayers.”

“I give you,” replied Bluebeard, “half a quarter of an hour, but not one moment more.”

When she was alone she called her sister, and said: “Sister Anne,”—for that was her name,—“go up, I beg you, to the top of the tower, and see if my brothers are not coming. They promised me they would come to-day; and if you see them, give them a sign to make haste.”

Her sister Anne went up to the top of the tower, and the poor wife cried out from time to time, “Anne, sister Anne, do you see no one coming?”

And sister Anne said, “I see nothing but the sun, which makes a dust, and the grass, which looks green.”

In the meantime Bluebeard, holding a great cutlass in his hand, cried out to his wife as loud as he could, “Come down quickly, or I shall come up to you.”

“One moment longer, if you please,” said his wife; and she cried out very softly, “Anne, sister Anne, do you see no one coming?”

And sister Anne answered, “I see nothing but the sun, which makes a dust, and the grass, which looks green.”

“Come down at once,” cried Bluebeard, “or I shall come up to you.”

“I am coming,” answered his wife; and she cried, “Anne, sister Anne, do you see no one coming?”

“I see,” replied sister Anne, “a great dust, that comes from this side.”

“Is it my brothers?”

“Alas, no, my sister! I see a flock of sheep.”

“Will you not come down?” cried Bluebeard.

“One moment longer,” said his wife; and then she cried out, “Anne, sister Anne, do you see no one coming?”

“I see,” she said, “two horsemen coming, but they are yet a great way off.”

“God be praised,” replied the poor wife joyfully; “they are my brothers. I will make them a sign, as well as I can, for them to make haste.”

Then Bluebeard bawled out so loud that he made the whole house tremble. The poor wife came down and threw herself at his feet, all in tears, with her hair about her shoulders.

“All this does not help you,” said Bluebeard; “you must die.” Then, taking hold of her hair with one hand, and raising his cutlass with the other, he was going to strike off her head. The poor lady, turning toward him and looking at him with dying eyes, begged him to give her one little moment to collect her thoughts.

“No, no,” said he, “commend thyself to God,” and again lifting his arm....

At this moment there was such a loud knocking at the gate that Bluebeard stopped suddenly. The gate was opened and presently two horsemen entered, who with their swords in their hands ran straight to Bluebeard. He saw they were his wife’s brothers, one a dragoon, the other a musketeer. He fled immediately to save himself, but the two brothers pursued so closely that they overtook him before he could gain the steps of the porch. There they ran their swords through his body, and left him dead. The poor wife was so overcome that she had not strength to rise and welcome her brothers.

Bluebeard had no heirs, and so his wife became mistress of all his estate. She made use of one portion of it to marry her sister Anne to a young gentleman who had loved her for a long while; another portion to buy captains’ commissions for her brothers; and the rest to marry herself to a very worthy gentleman who made her forget the distressing time she had passed with Bluebeard.

THUMBELINA

There was once a woman who wished so very much to have a little child that she went to a fairy and said: “I should so very much like to have a little child. Can you tell me where I can get one?”

“Oh, that can be easily managed,” said the fairy. “Here is a barleycorn; it is not of the same kind as those which grow in the farmers’ fields, and which the chickens eat. Put it in a flowerpot, and see what will happen.”

“Thank you, thank you,” said the woman; and she gave the fairy twelve shillings, which was the price of the barleycorn. Then she went home, and immediately there grew up a large, handsome flower, which looked like a tulip, except that its leaves were tightly closed as if it were still a bud.

“What a beautiful flower!” exclaimed the woman, and she kissed the red and yellow leaves; and as she kissed them the flower opened. It was a real tulip, but within the flower, upon the green velvety stamens, sat a very delicate and graceful tiny maiden. She was scarcely half as long as a thumb, so they called her Thumbelina.

A walnut shell, elegantly polished, served her for a cradle, blue violet petals were her mattress, and a rose leaf her counterpane.

Here she slept at night, but in the daytime she played upon the table, where the woman had put a bowl full of water. Round this bowl was a wreath of flowers with their stems in the water, and upon it floated a large tulip leaf, which served the little one for a boat. Here she sat and rowed herself from side to side with two white horsehairs for oars. It was a very pretty sight. Thumbelina could sing, too, so sweetly and softly that nothing like it had ever before been heard.

One night while she lay in her pretty bed, a large, ugly, wet toad crept through a broken pane of glass in the window, and hopped down on the table where Thumbelina lay sleeping under the rose-leaf quilt.

“What a pretty little wife this would make for my son,” said the toad; and she took up the walnut shell in which Thumbelina lay asleep, and jumped through the window with it into the garden.

On the marshy bank of a broad stream in the garden lived the toad with her son. He was as ugly as his mother; and when he saw the lovely little maiden in the walnut shell, all he could say was, “Croak, croak, croak!”

“Don’t speak so loud, or you will wake her,” said the old toad; “and then she might run away, for she is light as swan’s-down. We will take her out in the stream and put her on one of the water-lily leaves; it will be like an island to her, she is so light and small Then she can’t run away from us while we are preparing the apartments under the marsh, in which you are to live when you are married.”

Far out in the stream grew a number of water lilies, with broad green leaves which looked as if they were floating on the top of the water. The leaf that was farthest away was also the largest, and to this the old toad swam with the walnut shell in which Thumbelina lay still asleep. The tiny maiden woke very early in the morning, and began to cry bitterly when she saw where she was, for she could see nothing but water on every side of the large green leaf, and there was no way of reaching land.

Meanwhile the old toad was very busy down under the marsh, decking her room with rushes and yellow wild flowers to make it look pretty for her new daughter-in-law. Then she swam out with her ugly son to the leaf on which she had placed Thumbelina. She wanted to get the pretty bed that she might put it in the bridal chamber before Thumbelina herself came there. The old toad bowed low in the water and said, “Here is my son; he will be your husband, and you will live happily together in the marsh by the stream.”

“Croak, croak, croak!” was all the son could say for himself.