No More Learning

" we asked.

"The old student," was the reply. "They say that he was once an
energetic young man, that he studied the dead languages, and sang
and even composed many songs; then something had happened to him,
and in consequence of this he gave himself up to drink, body and mind.
When at last he had ruined his health, they brought him into the
country, where someone paid for his board and residence. He was gentle
as a child as long as the sullen mood did not come over him; but
when it came he was fierce, became as strong as a giant, and ran about
in the wood like a chased deer. But when we succeeded in bringing
him home, and prevailed upon him to open the book with the dried-up
plants in it, he would sometimes sit for a whole day looking at this
or that plant, while frequently the tears rolled over his cheeks.
God knows what was in his mind; but he requested us to put the book
into his coffin, and now he lies there. In a little while the lid will
be placed upon the coffin, and he will have sweet rest in the grave! "

The cloth which covered his face was lifted up; the dead man's
face expressed peace--a sunbeam fell upon it. A swallow flew with
the swiftness of an arrow into the arbour, turning in its flight,
and twittered over the dead man's head.

What a strange feeling it is--surely we all know it--to look
through old letters of our young days; a different life rises up out
of the past, as it were, with all its hopes and sorrows. How many of
the people with whom in those days we used to be on intimate terms
appear to us as if dead, and yet they are still alive--only we have
not thought of them for such a long time, whom we imagined we should
retain in our memories for ever, and share every joy and sorrow with
them.

The withered oak leaf in the book here recalled the friend, the
schoolfellow, who was to be his friend for life. He fixed the leaf
to the student's cap in the green wood, when they vowed eternal
friendship. Where does he dwell now? The leaf is kept, but the
friendship does no longer exist. Here is a foreign hothouse plant, too
tender for the gardens of the North. It is almost as if its leaves
still smelt sweet! She gave it to him out of her own garden--a
nobleman's daughter.

Here is a water-lily that he had plucked himself, and watered with
salt tears--a lily of sweet water. And here is a nettle: what may
its leaves tell us? What might he have thought when he plucked and
kept it? Here is a little snowdrop out of the solitary wood; here is
an evergreen from the flower-pot at the tavern; and here is a simple
blade of grass.

The lilac bends its fresh fragrant flowers over the dead man's
head; the swallow passes again--"twit, twit;" now the men come with
hammer and nails, the lid is placed over the dead man, while his
head rests on the dumb book--so long cherished, now closed for ever!




THE ELF OF THE ROSE

In the midst of a garden grew a rose-tree, in full blossom, and in
the prettiest of all the roses lived an elf. He was such a little
wee thing, that no human eye could see him. Behind each leaf of the
rose he had a sleeping chamber. He was as well formed and as beautiful
as a little child could be, and had wings that reached from his
shoulders to his feet. Oh, what sweet fragrance there was in his
chambers! and how clean and beautiful were the walls! for they were
the blushing leaves of the rose.

During the whole day he enjoyed himself in the warm sunshine, flew
from flower to flower, and danced on the wings of the flying
butterflies. Then he took it into his head to measure how many steps
he would have to go through the roads and cross-roads that are on
the leaf of a linden-tree. What we call the veins on a leaf, he took
for roads; ay, and very long roads they were for him; for before he
had half finished his task, the sun went down: he had commenced his
work too late. It became very cold, the dew fell, and the wind blew;
so he thought the best thing he could do would be to return home. He
hurried himself as much as he could; but he found the roses all closed
up, and he could not get in; not a single rose stood open. The poor
little elf was very much frightened. He had never before been out at
night, but had always slumbered secretly behind the warm
rose-leaves. Oh, this would certainly be his death. At the other end
of the garden, he knew there was an arbor, overgrown with beautiful
honey-suckles. The blossoms looked like large painted horns; and he
thought to himself, he would go and sleep in one of these till the
morning. He flew thither; but "hush! " two people were in the arbor,--a
handsome young man and a beautiful lady. They sat side by side, and
wished that they might never be obliged to part. They loved each other
much more than the best child can love its father and mother.

"But we must part," said the young man; "your brother does not
like our engagement, and therefore he sends me so far away on
business, over mountains and seas. Farewell, my sweet bride; for so
you are to me. "

And then they kissed each other, and the girl wept, and gave him a
rose; but before she did so, she pressed a kiss upon it so fervently
that the flower opened. Then the little elf flew in, and leaned his
head on the delicate, fragrant walls. Here he could plainly hear
them say, "Farewell, farewell;" and he felt that the rose had been
placed on the young man's breast. Oh, how his heart did beat! The
little elf could not go to sleep, it thumped so loudly. The young
man took it out as he walked through the dark wood alone, and kissed
the flower so often and so violently, that the little elf was almost
crushed. He could feel through the leaf how hot the lips of the
young man were, and the rose had opened, as if from the heat of the
noonday sun.

There came another man, who looked gloomy and wicked. He was the
wicked brother of the beautiful maiden. He drew out a sharp knife, and
while the other was kissing the rose, the wicked man stabbed him to
death; then he cut off his head, and buried it with the body in the
soft earth under the linden-tree.

"Now he is gone, and will soon be forgotten," thought the wicked
brother; "he will never come back again. He was going on a long
journey over mountains and seas; it is easy for a man to lose his life
in such a journey. My sister will suppose he is dead; for he cannot
come back, and she will not dare to question me about him. "

Then he scattered the dry leaves over the light earth with his
foot, and went home through the darkness; but he went not alone, as he
thought,--the little elf accompanied him. He sat in a dry rolled-up
linden-leaf, which had fallen from the tree on to the wicked man's
head, as he was digging the grave. The hat was on the head now,
which made it very dark, and the little elf shuddered with fright
and indignation at the wicked deed.

It was the dawn of morning before the wicked man reached home;
he took off his hat, and went into his sister's room. There lay the
beautiful, blooming girl, dreaming of him whom she loved so, and who
was now, she supposed, travelling far away over mountain and sea.
Her wicked brother stopped over her, and laughed hideously, as
fiends only can laugh. The dry leaf fell out of his hair upon the
counterpane; but he did not notice it, and went to get a little
sleep during the early morning hours. But the elf slipped out of the
withered leaf, placed himself by the ear of the sleeping girl, and
told her, as in a dream, of the horrid murder; described the place
where her brother had slain her lover, and buried his body; and told
her of the linden-tree, in full blossom, that stood close by.

"That you may not think this is only a dream that I have told
you," he said, "you will find on your bed a withered leaf. "

Then she awoke, and found it there. Oh, what bitter tears she
shed! and she could not open her heart to any one for relief.

The window stood open the whole day, and the little elf could
easily have reached the roses, or any of the flowers; but he could not
find it in his heart to leave one so afflicted. In the window stood
a bush bearing monthly roses. He seated himself in one of the flowers,
and gazed on the poor girl. Her brother often came into the room,
and would be quite cheerful, in spite of his base conduct; so she dare
not say a word to him of her heart's grief.

As soon as night came on, she slipped out of the house, and went
into the wood, to the spot where the linden-tree stood; and after
removing the leaves from the earth, she turned it up, and there
found him who had been murdered. Oh, how she wept and prayed that
she also might die! Gladly would she have taken the body home with
her; but that was impossible; so she took up the poor head with the
closed eyes, kissed the cold lips, and shook the mould out of the
beautiful hair.

"I will keep this," said she; and as soon as she had covered the
body again with the earth and leaves, she took the head and a little
sprig of jasmine that bloomed in the wood, near the spot where he
was buried, and carried them home with her. As soon as she was in
her room, she took the largest flower-pot she could find, and in
this she placed the head of the dead man, covered it up with earth,
and planted the twig of jasmine in it.

"Farewell, farewell," whispered the little elf. He could not any
longer endure to witness all this agony of grief, he therefore flew
away to his own rose in the garden. But the rose was faded; only a few
dry leaves still clung to the green hedge behind it.

"Alas! how soon all that is good and beautiful passes away,"
sighed the elf.

After a while he found another rose, which became his home, for
among its delicate fragrant leaves he could dwell in safety. Every
morning he flew to the window of the poor girl, and always found her
weeping by the flower pot. The bitter tears fell upon the jasmine
twig, and each day, as she became paler and paler, the sprig
appeared to grow greener and fresher. One shoot after another sprouted
forth, and little white buds blossomed, which the poor girl fondly
kissed. But her wicked brother scolded her, and asked her if she was
going mad. He could not imagine why she was weeping over that
flower-pot, and it annoyed him. He did not know whose closed eyes were
there, nor what red lips were fading beneath the earth. And one day
she sat and leaned her head against the flower-pot, and the little elf
of the rose found her asleep. Then he seated himself by her ear,
talked to her of that evening in the arbor, of the sweet perfume of
the rose, and the loves of the elves. Sweetly she dreamed, and while
she dreamt, her life passed away calmly and gently, and her spirit was
with him whom she loved, in heaven. And the jasmine opened its large
white bells, and spread forth its sweet fragrance; it had no other way
of showing its grief for the dead. But the wicked brother considered
the beautiful blooming plant as his own property, left to him by his
sister, and he placed it in his sleeping room, close by his bed, for
it was very lovely in appearance, and the fragrance sweet and
delightful. The little elf of the rose followed it, and flew from
flower to flower, telling each little spirit that dwelt in them the
story of the murdered young man, whose head now formed part of the
earth beneath them, and of the wicked brother and the poor sister. "We
know it," said each little spirit in the flowers, "we know it, for
have we not sprung from the eyes and lips of the murdered one. We know
it, we know it," and the flowers nodded with their heads in a peculiar
manner. The elf of the rose could not understand how they could rest
so quietly in the matter, so he flew to the bees, who were gathering
honey, and told them of the wicked brother. And the bees told it to
their queen, who commanded that the next morning they should go and
kill the murderer. But during the night, the first after the
sister's death, while the brother was sleeping in his bed, close to
where he had placed the fragrant jasmine, every flower cup opened, and
invisibly the little spirits stole out, armed with poisonous spears.
They placed themselves by the ear of the sleeper, told him dreadful
dreams and then flew across his lips, and pricked his tongue with
their poisoned spears. "Now have we revenged the dead," said they, and
flew back into the white bells of the jasmine flowers. When the
morning came, and as soon as the window was opened, the rose elf, with
the queen bee, and the whole swarm of bees, rushed in to kill him. But
he was already dead. People were standing round the bed, and saying
that the scent of the jasmine had killed him. Then the elf of the rose
understood the revenge of the flowers, and explained it to the queen
bee, and she, with the whole swarm, buzzed about the flower-pot. The
bees could not be driven away. Then a man took it up to remove it, and
one of the bees stung him in the hand, so that he let the flower-pot
fall, and it was broken to pieces. Then every one saw the whitened
skull, and they knew the dead man in the bed was a murderer. And the
queen bee hummed in the air, and sang of the revenge of the flowers,
and of the elf of the rose and said that behind the smallest leaf
dwells One, who can discover evil deeds, and punish them also.




THE ELFIN HILL

A few large lizards were running nimbly about in the clefts of
an old tree; they could understand one another very well, for they
spoke the lizard language.

"What a buzzing and a rumbling there is in the elfin hill," said
one of the lizards; "I have not been able to close my eyes for two
nights on account of the noise; I might just as well have had the
toothache, for that always keeps me awake. "

"There is something going on within there," said the other lizard;
"they propped up the top of the hill with four red posts, till
cock-crow this morning, so that it is thoroughly aired, and the
elfin girls have learnt new dances; there is something. "

"I spoke about it to an earth-worm of my acquaintance," said a
third lizard; "the earth-worm had just come from the elfin hill, where
he has been groping about in the earth day and night. He has heard a
great deal; although he cannot see, poor miserable creature, yet he
understands very well how to wriggle and lurk about. They expect
friends in the elfin hill, grand company, too; but who they are the
earth-worm would not say, or, perhaps, he really did not know. All the
will-o'-the-wisps are ordered to be there to hold a torch dance, as it
is called. The silver and gold which is plentiful in the hill will
be polished and placed out in the moonlight. "

"Who can the strangers be? " asked the lizards; "what can the
matter be? Hark, what a buzzing and humming there is! "

Just at this moment the elfin hill opened, and an old elfin
maiden, hollow behind, came tripping out; she was the old elf king's
housekeeper, and a distant relative of the family; therefore she
wore an amber heart on the middle of her forehead. Her feet moved very
fast, "trip, trip;" good gracious, how she could trip right down to
the sea to the night-raven.

"You are invited to the elf hill for this evening," said she; "but
will you do me a great favor and undertake the invitations? you
ought to do something, for you have no housekeeping to attend to as
I have. We are going to have some very grand people, conjurors, who
have always something to say; and therefore the old elf king wishes to
make a great display. "

"Who is to be invited? " asked the raven.

"All the world may come to the great ball, even human beings, if
they can only talk in their sleep, or do something after our
fashion. But for the feast the company must be carefully selected;
we can only admit persons of high rank; I have had a dispute myself
with the elf king, as he thought we could not admit ghosts. The merman
and his daughter must be invited first, although it may not be
agreeable to them to remain so long on dry land, but they shall have a
wet stone to sit on, or perhaps something better; so I think they will
not refuse this time. We must have all the old demons of the first
class, with tails, and the hobgoblins and imps; and then I think we
ought not to leave out the death-horse, or the grave-pig, or even
the church dwarf, although they do belong to the clergy, and are not
reckoned among our people; but that is merely their office, they are
nearly related to us, and visit us very frequently. "

"Croak," said the night-raven as he flew away with the
invitations.

The elfin maidens we're already dancing on the elf hill, and
they danced in shawls woven from moonshine and mist, which look very
pretty to those who like such things. The large hall within the elf
hill was splendidly decorated; the floor had been washed with
moonshine, and the walls had been rubbed with magic ointment, so
that they glowed like tulip-leaves in the light. In the kitchen were
frogs roasting on the spit, and dishes preparing of snail skins,
with children's fingers in them, salad of mushroom seed, hemlock,
noses and marrow of mice, beer from the marsh woman's brewery, and
sparkling salt-petre wine from the grave cellars. These were all
substantial food. Rusty nails and church-window glass formed the
dessert. The old elf king had his gold crown polished up with powdered
slate-pencil; it was like that used by the first form, and very
difficult for an elf king to obtain. In the bedrooms, curtains were
hung up and fastened with the slime of snails; there was, indeed, a
buzzing and humming everywhere.

"Now we must fumigate the place with burnt horse-hair and pig's
bristles, and then I think I shall have done my part," said the elf
man-servant.

"Father, dear," said the youngest daughter, "may I now hear who
our high-born visitors are? "

"Well, I suppose I must tell you now," he replied; "two of my
daughters must prepare themselves to be married, for the marriages
certainly will take place. The old goblin from Norway, who lives in
the ancient Dovre mountains, and who possesses many castles built of
rock and freestone, besides a gold mine, which is better than all,
so it is thought, is coming with his two sons, who are both seeking
a wife. The old goblin is a true-hearted, honest, old Norwegian
graybeard; cheerful and straightforward. I knew him formerly, when
we used to drink together to our good fellowship: he came here once to
fetch his wife, she is dead now. She was the daughter of the king of
the chalk-hills at Moen. They say he took his wife from chalk; I shall
be delighted to see him again. It is said that the boys are
ill-bred, forward lads, but perhaps that is not quite correct, and
they will become better as they grow older. Let me see that you know
how to teach them good manners. "

"And when are they coming? " asked the daughter.

"That depends upon wind and weather," said the elf king; "they
travel economically. They will come when there is the chance of a
ship. I wanted them to come over to Sweden, but the old man was not
inclined to take my advice. He does not go forward with the times, and
that I do not like. "

Two will-o'-the-wisps came jumping in, one quicker than the other,
so of course, one arrived first. "They are coming! they are coming! "
he cried.

"Give me my crown," said the elf king, "and let me stand in the
moonshine. "

The daughters drew on their shawls and bowed down to the ground.
There stood the old goblin from the Dovre mountains, with his crown of
hardened ice and polished fir-cones. Besides this, he wore a
bear-skin, and great, warm boots, while his sons went with their
throats bare and wore no braces, for they were strong men.

"Is that a hill? " said the youngest of the boys, pointing to the
elf hill, "we should call it a hole in Norway. "

"Boys," said the old man, "a hole goes in, and a hill stands
out; have you no eyes in your heads? "

Another thing they wondered at was, that they were able without
trouble to understand the language.

"Take care," said the old man, "or people will think you have
not been well brought up. "

Then they entered the elfin hill, where the select and grand
company were assembled, and so quickly had they appeared that they
seemed to have been blown together. But for each guest the neatest and
pleasantest arrangement had been made. The sea folks sat at table in
great water-tubs, and they said it was just like being at home. All
behaved themselves properly excepting the two young northern goblins;
they put their legs on the table and thought they were all right.

"Feet off the table-cloth! " said the old goblin. They obeyed,
but not immediately. Then they tickled the ladies who waited at table,
with the fir-cones, which they carried in their pockets. They took off
their boots, that they might be more at ease, and gave them to the
ladies to hold. But their father, the old goblin, was very
different; he talked pleasantly about the stately Norwegian rocks, and
told fine tales of the waterfalls which dashed over them with a
clattering noise like thunder or the sound of an organ, spreading
their white foam on every side. He told of the salmon that leaps in
the rushing waters, while the water-god plays on his golden harp. He
spoke of the bright winter nights, when the sledge bells are
ringing, and the boys run with burning torches across the smooth
ice, which is so transparent that they can see the fishes dart forward
beneath their feet. He described everything so clearly, that those who
listened could see it all; they could see the saw-mills going, the
men-servants and the maidens singing songs, and dancing a rattling
dance,--when all at once the old goblin gave the old elfin maiden a
kiss, such a tremendous kiss, and yet they were almost strangers to
each other.

Then the elfin girls had to dance, first in the usual way, and
then with stamping feet, which they performed very well; then followed
the artistic and solo dance. Dear me, how they did throw their legs
about! No one could tell where the dance begun, or where it ended, nor
indeed which were legs and which were arms, for they were all flying
about together, like the shavings in a saw-pit! And then they spun
round so quickly that the death-horse and the grave-pig became sick
and giddy, and were obliged to leave the table.

"Stop! " cried the old goblin, "is that the only house-keeping they
can perform? Can they do anything more than dance and throw about
their legs, and make a whirlwind? "

"You shall soon see what they can do," said the elf king. And then
he called his youngest daughter to him. She was slender and fair as
moonlight, and the most graceful of all the sisters. She took a
white chip in her mouth, and vanished instantly; this was her
accomplishment. But the old goblin said he should not like his wife to
have such an accomplishment, and thought his boys would have the
same objection. Another daughter could make a figure like herself
follow her, as if she had a shadow, which none of the goblin folk ever
had. The third was of quite a different sort; she had learnt in the
brew-house of the moor witch how to lard elfin puddings with
glow-worms.
"She will make a good housewife," said the old goblin, and then
saluted her with his eyes instead of drinking her health; for he did
not drink much.

Now came the fourth daughter, with a large harp to play upon;
and when she struck the first chord, every one lifted up the left
leg (for the goblins are left-legged), and at the second chord they
found they must all do just what she wanted.

"That is a dangerous woman," said the old goblin; and the two sons
walked out of the hill; they had had enough of it. "And what can the
next daughter do? " asked the old goblin.

"I have learnt everything that is Norwegian," said she; "and I
will never marry, unless I can go to Norway. "

Then her youngest sister whispered to the old goblin, "That is
only because she has heard, in a Norwegian song, that when the world
shall decay, the cliffs of Norway will remain standing like monuments;
and she wants to get there, that she may be safe; for she is so afraid
of sinking. "

"Ho! ho! " said the old goblin, "is that what she means? Well, what
can the seventh and last do? "

"The sixth comes before the seventh," said the elf king, for he
could reckon; but the sixth would not come forward.

"I can only tell people the truth," said she. "No one cares for
me, nor troubles himself about me; and I have enough to do to sew my
grave clothes. "

So the seventh and last came; and what could she do? Why, she
could tell stories, as many as you liked, on any subject.

"Here are my five fingers," said the old goblin; "now tell me a
story for each of them. "

So she took him by the wrist, and he laughed till he nearly
choked; and when she came to the fourth finger, there was a gold
ring on it, as if it knew there was to be a betrothal. Then the old
goblin said, "Hold fast what you have: this hand is yours; for I
will have you for a wife myself. "

Then the elfin girl said that the stories about the ring-finger
and little Peter Playman had not yet been told.

"We will hear them in the winter," said the old goblin, "and
also about the fir and the birch-trees, and the ghost stories, and
of the tingling frost. You shall tell your tales, for no one over
there can do it so well; and we will sit in the stone rooms, where the
pine logs are burning, and drink mead out of the golden
drinking-horn of the old Norwegian kings. The water-god has given me
two; and when we sit there, Nix comes to pay us a visit, and will sing
you all the songs of the mountain shepherdesses. How merry we shall
be! The salmon will be leaping in the waterfalls, and dashing
against the stone walls, but he will not be able to come in. It is
indeed very pleasant to live in old Norway. But where are the lads? "

Where indeed were they? Why, running about the fields, and blowing
out the will-o'-the-wisps, who so good-naturedly came and brought
their torches.

"What tricks have you been playing? " said the old goblin. "I
have taken a mother for you, and now you may take one of your aunts. "

But the youngsters said they would rather make a speech and
drink to their good fellowship; they had no wish to marry. Then they
made speeches and drank toasts, and tipped their glasses, to show that
they were empty. Then they took off their coats, and lay down on the
table to sleep; for they made themselves quite at home. But the old
goblin danced about the room with his young bride, and exchanged boots
with her, which is more fashionable than exchanging rings.

"The cock is crowing," said the old elfin maiden who acted as
housekeeper; "now we must close the shutters, that the sun may not
scorch us. "

Then the hill closed up. But the lizards continued to run up and
down the riven tree; and one said to the other, "Oh, how much I was
pleased with the old goblin! "

"The boys pleased me better," said the earth-worm. But then the
poor miserable creature could not see.




THE EMPEROR'S NEW SUIT

Many, many years ago lived an emperor, who thought so much of
new clothes that he spent all his money in order to obtain them; his
only ambition was to be always well dressed. He did not care for his
soldiers, and the theatre did not amuse him; the only thing, in
fact, he thought anything of was to drive out and show a new suit of
clothes. He had a coat for every hour of the day; and as one would say
of a king "He is in his cabinet," so one could say of him, "The
emperor is in his dressing-room. "

The great city where he resided was very gay; every day many
strangers from all parts of the globe arrived. One day two swindlers
came to this city; they made people believe that they were weavers,
and declared they could manufacture the finest cloth to be imagined.
Their colours and patterns, they said, were not only exceptionally
beautiful, but the clothes made of their material possessed the
wonderful quality of being invisible to any man who was unfit for
his office or unpardonably stupid.

"That must be wonderful cloth," thought the emperor. "If I were to
be dressed in a suit made of this cloth I should be able to find out
which men in my empire were unfit for their places, and I could
distinguish the clever from the stupid. I must have this cloth woven
for me without delay. " And he gave a large sum of money to the
swindlers, in advance, that they should set to work without any loss
of time. They set up two looms, and pretended to be very hard at work,
but they did nothing whatever on the looms. They asked for the
finest silk and the most precious gold-cloth; all they got they did
away with, and worked at the empty looms till late at night.

"I should very much like to know how they are getting on with
the cloth," thought the emperor. But he felt rather uneasy when he
remembered that he who was not fit for his office could not see it.
Personally, he was of opinion that he had nothing to fear, yet he
thought it advisable to send somebody else first to see how matters
stood. Everybody in the town knew what a remarkable quality the
stuff possessed, and all were anxious to see how bad or stupid their
neighbours were.

"I shall send my honest old minister to the weavers," thought
the emperor. "He can judge best how the stuff looks, for he is
intelligent, and nobody understands his office better than he. "

The good old minister went into the room where the swindlers sat
before the empty looms. "Heaven preserve us! " he thought, and opened
his eyes wide, "I cannot see anything at all," but he did not say
so. Both swindlers requested him to come near, and asked him if he did
not admire the exquisite pattern and the beautiful colours, pointing
to the empty looms. The poor old minister tried his very best, but
he could see nothing, for there was nothing to be seen. "Oh dear,"
he thought, "can I be so stupid? I should never have thought so, and
nobody must know it! Is it possible that I am not fit for my office?
No, no, I cannot say that I was unable to see the cloth. "

"Now, have you got nothing to say? " said one of the swindlers,
while he pretended to be busily weaving.

"Oh, it is very pretty, exceedingly beautiful," replied the old
minister looking through his glasses. "What a beautiful pattern,
what brilliant colours! I shall tell the emperor that I like the cloth
very much. "

"We are pleased to hear that," said the two weavers, and described
to him the colours and explained the curious pattern. The old minister
listened attentively, that he might relate to the emperor what they
said; and so he did.

Now the swindlers asked for more money, silk and gold-cloth, which
they required for weaving. They kept everything for themselves, and
not a thread came near the loom, but they continued, as hitherto, to
work at the empty looms.

Soon afterwards the emperor sent another honest courtier to the
weavers to see how they were getting on, and if the cloth was nearly
finished. Like the old minister, he looked and looked but could see
nothing, as there was nothing to be seen.

"Is it not a beautiful piece of cloth? " asked the two swindlers,
showing and explaining the magnificent pattern, which, however, did
not exist.

"I am not stupid," said the man. "It is therefore my good
appointment for which I am not fit. It is very strange, but I must not
let any one know it;" and he praised the cloth, which he did not
see, and expressed his joy at the beautiful colours and the fine
pattern. "It is very excellent," he said to the emperor.

Everybody in the whole town talked about the precious cloth. At
last the emperor wished to see it himself, while it was still on the
loom. With a number of courtiers, including the two who had already
been there, he went to the two clever swindlers, who now worked as
hard as they could, but without using any thread.

"Is it not magnificent? " said the two old statesmen who had been
there before. "Your Majesty must admire the colours and the
pattern. " And then they pointed to the empty looms, for they
imagined the others could see the cloth.

"What is this? " thought the emperor, "I do not see anything at
all. That is terrible! Am I stupid? Am I unfit to be emperor? That
would indeed be the most dreadful thing that could happen to me. "

"Really," he said, turning to the weavers, "your cloth has our
most gracious approval;" and nodding contentedly he looked at the
empty loom, for he did not like to say that he saw nothing. All his
attendants, who were with him, looked and looked, and although they
could not see anything more than the others, they said, like the
emperor, "It is very beautiful. " And all advised him to wear the new
magnificent clothes at a great procession which was soon to take
place. "It is magnificent, beautiful, excellent," one heard them
say; everybody seemed to be delighted, and the emperor appointed the
two swindlers "Imperial Court weavers. "

The whole night previous to the day on which the procession was to
take place, the swindlers pretended to work, and burned more than
sixteen candles. People should see that they were busy to finish the
emperor's new suit. They pretended to take the cloth from the loom,
and worked about in the air with big scissors, and sewed with
needles without thread, and said at last: "The emperor's new suit is
ready now. "

The emperor and all his barons then came to the hall; the
swindlers held their arms up as if they held something in their
hands and said: "These are the trousers! " "This is the coat! " and
"Here is the cloak! " and so on. "They are all as light as a cobweb,
and one must feel as if one had nothing at all upon the body; but that
is just the beauty of them. "

"Indeed! " said all the courtiers; but they could not see anything,
for there was nothing to be seen.

"Does it please your Majesty now to graciously undress," said
the swindlers, "that we may assist your Majesty in putting on the
new suit before the large looking-glass? "

The emperor undressed, and the swindlers pretended to put the
new suit upon him, one piece after another; and the emperor looked
at himself in the glass from every side.

"How well they look! How well they fit! " said all. "What a
beautiful pattern! What fine colours! That is a magnificent suit of
clothes! "

The master of the ceremonies announced that the bearers of the
canopy, which was to be carried in the procession, were ready.

"I am ready," said the emperor. "Does not my suit fit me
marvellously? " Then he turned once more to the looking-glass, that
people should think he admired his garments.

The chamberlains, who were to carry the train, stretched their
hands to the ground as if they lifted up a train, and pretended to
hold something in their hands; they did not like people to know that
they could not see anything.

The emperor marched in the procession under the beautiful
canopy, and all who saw him in the street and out of the windows
exclaimed: "Indeed, the emperor's new suit is incomparable! What a
long train he has! How well it fits him! " Nobody wished to let
others know he saw nothing, for then he would have been unfit for
his office or too stupid. Never emperor's clothes were more admired.

"But he has nothing on at all," said a little child at last. "Good
heavens! listen to the voice of an innocent child," said the father,
and one whispered to the other what the child had said. "But he has
nothing on at all," cried at last the whole people. That made a deep
impression upon the emperor, for it seemed to him that they were
right; but he thought to himself, "Now I must bear up to the end. " And
the chamberlains walked with still greater dignity, as if they carried
the train which did not exist.




THE FIR TREE

Far down in the forest, where the warm sun and the fresh air
made a sweet resting-place, grew a pretty little fir-tree; and yet
it was not happy, it wished so much to be tall like its companions--the
pines and firs which grew around it. The sun shone, and the soft
air fluttered its leaves, and the little peasant children passed by,
prattling merrily, but the fir-tree heeded them not. Sometimes the
children would bring a large basket of raspberries or strawberries,
wreathed on a straw, and seat themselves near the fir-tree, and say,
"Is it not a pretty little tree? " which made it feel more unhappy than
before. And yet all this while the tree grew a notch or joint taller
every year; for by the number of joints in the stem of a fir-tree we
can discover its age. Still, as it grew, it complained, "Oh! how I
wish I were as tall as the other trees, then I would spread out my
branches on every side, and my top would over-look the wide world. I
should have the birds building their nests on my boughs, and when
the wind blew, I should bow with stately dignity like my tall
companions. " The tree was so discontented, that it took no pleasure in
the warm sunshine, the birds, or the rosy clouds that floated over
it morning and evening. Sometimes, in winter, when the snow lay
white and glittering on the ground, a hare would come springing along,
and jump right over the little tree; and then how mortified it would
feel! Two winters passed, and when the third arrived, the tree had
grown so tall that the hare was obliged to run round it. Yet it
remained unsatisfied, and would exclaim, "Oh, if I could but keep on
growing tall and old! There is nothing else worth caring for in the
world! " In the autumn, as usual, the wood-cutters came and cut down
several of the tallest trees, and the young fir-tree, which was now
grown to its full height, shuddered as the noble trees fell to the
earth with a crash. After the branches were lopped off, the trunks
looked so slender and bare, that they could scarcely be recognized.
Then they were placed upon wagons, and drawn by horses out of the
forest. "Where were they going? What would become of them? " The
young fir-tree wished very much to know; so in the spring, when the
swallows and the storks came, it asked, "Do you know where those trees
were taken? Did you meet them? "

The swallows knew nothing, but the stork, after a little
reflection, nodded his head, and said, "Yes, I think I do. I met
several new ships when I flew from Egypt, and they had fine masts that
smelt like fir. I think these must have been the trees; I assure you
they were stately, very stately. "

"Oh, how I wish I were tall enough to go on the sea," said the
fir-tree. "What is the sea, and what does it look like? "

"It would take too much time to explain," said the stork, flying
quickly away.

"Rejoice in thy youth," said the sunbeam; "rejoice in thy fresh
growth, and the young life that is in thee. "

And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew watered it with tears;
but the fir-tree regarded them not.

Christmas-time drew near, and many young trees were cut down, some
even smaller and younger than the fir-tree who enjoyed neither rest
nor peace with longing to leave its forest home. These young trees,
which were chosen for their beauty, kept their branches, and were also
laid on wagons and drawn by horses out of the forest.

"Where are they going? " asked the fir-tree. "They are not taller
than I am: indeed, one is much less; and why are the branches not
cut off? Where are they going? "

"We know, we know," sang the sparrows; "we have looked in at the
windows of the houses in the town, and we know what is done with them.
They are dressed up in the most splendid manner. We have seen them
standing in the middle of a warm room, and adorned with all sorts of
beautiful things,--honey cakes, gilded apples, playthings, and many
hundreds of wax tapers. "

"And then," asked the fir-tree, trembling through all its
branches, "and then what happens? "

"We did not see any more," said the sparrows; "but this was enough
for us. "

"I wonder whether anything so brilliant will ever happen to me,"
thought the fir-tree. "It would be much better than crossing the
sea. I long for it almost with pain. Oh! when will Christmas be
here? I am now as tall and well grown as those which were taken away
last year. Oh! that I were now laid on the wagon, or standing in the
warm room, with all that brightness and splendor around me!
Something better and more beautiful is to come after, or the trees
would not be so decked out. Yes, what follows will be grander and more
splendid. What can it be? I am weary with longing. I scarcely know how
I feel. "

"Rejoice with us," said the air and the sunlight. "Enjoy thine own
bright life in the fresh air. "

But the tree would not rejoice, though it grew taller every day;
and, winter and summer, its dark-green foliage might be seen in the
forest, while passers by would say, "What a beautiful tree! "

A short time before Christmas, the discontented fir-tree was the
first to fall. As the axe cut through the stem, and divided the
pith, the tree fell with a groan to the earth, conscious of pain and
faintness, and forgetting all its anticipations of happiness, in
sorrow at leaving its home in the forest. It knew that it should never
again see its dear old companions, the trees, nor the little bushes
and many-colored flowers that had grown by its side; perhaps not
even the birds. Neither was the journey at all pleasant. The tree
first recovered itself while being unpacked in the courtyard of a
house, with several other trees; and it heard a man say, "We only want
one, and this is the prettiest. "

Then came two servants in grand livery, and carried the fir-tree
into a large and beautiful apartment. On the walls hung pictures,
and near the great stove stood great china vases, with lions on the
lids. There were rocking chairs, silken sofas, large tables, covered
with pictures, books, and playthings, worth a great deal of money,--at
least, the children said so. Then the fir-tree was placed in a large
tub, full of sand; but green baize hung all around it, so that no
one could see it was a tub, and it stood on a very handsome carpet.
How the fir-tree trembled!