Andersen's fairy tales
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There were five peas in one pod; the peas were green and the pod was green, and so they believed that the whole world was green-and that was absolutely right! The pod grew and the peas grew; they adjusted themselves to their surroundings, sitting straight in a row. The sun shone outside and warmed the pod; the rain made it clear and clean. It was nice and cozy inside, bright in the daytime and dark at night, just as it should be; and the peas became larger, and more and more thoughtful, as they sat there, for surely there was something they must do.
"Shall I always remain sitting here?" said one. "If only I don't become hard from sitting so long. It seems to me there must be something outside; I have a feeling about it."
And weeks went by; the peas became yellow, and the pod became yellow. "The whole world's becoming yellow," they said, and that they had a right to say.
Then they felt a jerk at the pod. It was torn off, came into human hands, and then was put down into the pocket of a jacket, along with other full pods.
"Now it will soon be opened up!" they said, and they waited for that.
"Now I'd like to know which of us will get the farthest," said the smallest pea. "Yes, now we'll soon find that out."
"Let happen what may!" said the biggest.
"Crack!" the pod burst open, and all five peas rolled out into the bright sunshine. They were lying in a child's hand; a little boy held them, and said that they were suitable peas for his peashooter, and immediately one was put in and shot out.
"Now I'm flying out into the wide world! Catch me if you can!" And then it was gone.
"I'm going to fly right into the sun!" said the second. "That's a perfect pod, and very well suited to me!" Away it went.
"We'll go to sleep wherever we come to," said two of the others, "but we'll roll on, anyway." And they rolled about on the ground before being put into the shooter, but they went into it all the same.
"We'll go the farthest!"
"Let happen what may!" said the last one as it was shot into the air. And it flew up against the old board under the garret window, right into a crack, where there was moss and soft soil; and the moss closed around the pea. There it lay hidden, but not forgotten by our Lord.
"Let happen what may!" it said.
Inside the little garret lived a poor woman who went out by the day to polish stoves; yes, even chop up wood and do other hard work, for she had strength and she was industrious; but still she remained poor. And at home in the little room lay her half-grown, only daughter, who was so very frail and thin. For a whole year the girl had been bed-ridden, and it seemed as if she could neither neither neither neither neither neither neither live nor die.
"She will go to her little sister," the woman said. "I had the two children, and it was hard for me to care for both, but then our Lord divided with me and took the one home to Himself. I want to keep the one I have left, but probably He doesn't want them to be separated, and she will go up to her little sister."
But the sick girl stayed; she lay patient and quiet the day long, while her mother went out to earn money.
It was springtime, and early one morning, just as the mother was about to go to work; the sun shone beautifully through the little window, across the floor. The sick girl looked over at the lowest windowpane.
"What is that green thing that's peeping in the window? It's moving in the wind."
And the mother went over to the window and opened it a little. "Why," she said, "it is a little pea that has sprouted out here with green leaves! How did it ever get here in the crack? You now have a little garden to look at!"
And the sick girl's bed was moved closer to the window, where she could see the growing pea vine, and the mother went to her work.
"Mother, I think I am going to get well!" said the little girl in the evening.
"The sun today shone so warmly in on me. The little pea is prospering so well, and I will also prosper and get up and out into the sunshine!"
"Oh, I hope so!" said the mother, but she didn't believe it would happen; yet she was careful to strengthen with a little stick the green plant that had given her daughter such happy thoughts about life, so that it wouldn't be broken by the wind. She tied a piece of string to the window sill and to the upper part of the frame, so that the vine could have something to wind around as it shot up. And this it did. You could see every day that it was growing.
"Look, it has a blossom!" said the woman one morning; and now she had not only the hope, but also the belief, that the little sick girl would get well. She recalled that lately the child had talked more cheerfully and that the last few mornings she had risen up in bed by herself and had sat there and looked with sparkling eyes at the little pea garden with its one single plant. The following week the sick child for the first time sat up for over an hour. Joyous, she sat there in the warm sunshine; the window was opened, and outside stood a fully blown pink pea blossom. The little girl bent her head down and gently kissed the delicate leaves. This was just like a festival day.
"Our Lord Himself planted the pea, and made it thrive, to bring hope and joy to you, my blessed child, and to me, too!" said the happy mother, and smiled at the flower, as if to a good angel from God.
But now the other peas! Well, the one that flew out into the wide world crying, "Catch me if you can!" fell into the gutter of the roof and landed in a pigeon's crop, where it lay like Jonah in the whale. The two lazy ones got just that far, for they also were eaten by pigeons, and that's being of real use. But the fourth pea, who wanted to shoot up to the sun, fell into a gutter and lay for days and weeks in the dirty water, where it swelled up amazingly.
"I'm becoming so beautifully fat!" said the pea. "I'm going to burst, and I don't think any pea can, or ever did, go farther than that. I am the most remarkable of the five from that pod!"
And the gutter agreed with it.
But at the garret window stood the young girl with sparkling eyes and the rosy hue of health on her cheeks, and she folded her delicate hands over the pea blossom and thanked our Lord for it.
"I still stand up for my pea!" said the gutter.
Der var fem ærter i en ærtebælg, de var grønne og bælgen var grøn, og så troede de, at hele verden var grøn, og det var aldeles rigtigt! Bælgen voksede og ærterne voksede; de indrettede sig efter huslejligheden; lige i rad sad de. - Solen skinnede udenfor og varmede bælgen op, regnen gjorde den klar; der var lunt og godt, lyst om dagen og mørkt om natten, således som det skulle være, og ærterne blev større og altid mere tænkende, som de der sad, for noget måtte de jo bestille.
"Skal jeg altid blive siddende her!" sagde de, "bare jeg ikke bliver hård af at sidde så længe. Er det ikke for mig ligesom om der er noget udenfor; jeg har en fornemmelse af det!"
Og uger gik; ærterne blev gule og bælgen blev gul: "Hele verden bliver gul!" sagde de og det havde de lov til at sige.
Så fornemmede de et rusk i bælgen; den blev revet af, den kom i menneskehænder og ned i en trøjelomme med flere fyldte ærtebælge. - "Nu vil der snart blive lukket op!" sagde de og det ventede de på.
"Nu gad jeg vide hvem af os der driver det videst!" sagde den mindste ært. "Ja nu vil det snart give sig."
"Ske hvad der må!" sagde den største.
"Krask!" dér revnede bælgen og alle fem ærter trillede ud i det klare solskin; de lå i en barnehånd, en lille dreng holdt på dem og sagde at det var ordentlige ærter for hans hyldebøsse; og straks kom den ene ært i bøssen og blev skudt væk.
"Nu flyver jeg ud i den vide verden! tag mig om du kan!" og så var den borte.
"Jeg," sagde den anden, "flyver lige ind i Solen, det er en rigtig ærtebælg og meget passende for mig!"
Væk var den.
"Jeg sover hvor jeg kommer," sagde de to andre, "men vi triller nok fremad!" og så trillede de først på gulvet, før de kom i hyldebøssen, men de kom der. "Vi bringer det videst!"
"Ske hvad der må!" sagde den sidste og blev skudt i vejret, og den fløj op mod det gamle bræt under tagkammervinduet, lige ind i en revne, hvor der var mos og blød jord fløj den; og mosset lukkede sig om den; der lå den gemt, men ikke glemt af Vorherre.
"Ske hvad der må!" sagde den.
Inde på det lille tagkammer boede en fattig kone, der om dagen gik ud at pudse kakkelovne, ja save brænde og gøre svært arbejde, for kræfter havde hun og flittig var hun, men lige fattig blev hun; og hjemme på det lille kammer lå hendes halvvoksne eneste datter, der var så fin og spinkel; et helt år havde hun ligget til sengs og syntes hverken at kunne leve eller dø.
"Hun går til sin lille søster!" sagde konen. "Jeg havde de to børn, det var svært nok for mig at sørge for de to, men så delte Vorherre med mig og tog den ene til sig; nu ville jeg nok beholde den anden, jeg har tilbage, men han vil nok ikke have dem skilt ad, og hun går op til sin lille søster!"
Men den syge pige blev; hun lå tålmodig og stille den lange dag, medens moderen var ude at fortjene noget.
Det var nu forårstid, og tidlig en morgenstund, just som moderen ville gå til sit arbejde, skinnede Solen så smukt ind ad det lille vindue hen ad gulvet og den syge pige så hen mod den nederste glasrude.
"Hvad er dog det grønne, der pipper frem ved ruden? Det rører sig i vinden!"
Og moderen gik hen til vinduet og åbnede det på klem. "Ih!" sagde hun, "det er såmænd en lille ært, der er skudt frem med fine grønne blade. Hvor er den kommen her ud i sprækken? Der har du jo en lille have at se på!"
Og den syges seng blev flyttet nærmere til vinduet, hvor hun kunne se den spirende ært, og moderen gik til sit arbejde.
"Moder, jeg tror jeg kommer mig!" sagde om aftnen den lille pige. "Solen har i dag skinnet så varmt ind til mig. Den lille ært trives så godt! og jeg vil også nok trives og komme op og ud i solskinnet!"
"Gid det var så vel!" sagde moderen, men hun troede ikke at det skete; dog, den grønne spire, som havde givet barnet glade livstanker, satte hun en lille pind ved, for at den ej skulle knækkes af vinden; hun bandt et sejlgarnsbånd fast til brættet, og til det øverste af vindueskarmen for at ærteranken kunne have noget at hælde sig til og sno sig om, når den løb op, og det gjorde den; man kunne for hver dag se, at den tog til.
"Nej, den sætter jo blomst!" sagde konen en morgen og nu fik også hun det håb og den tro, at den lille, syge pige kom sig; det randt hende i sinde, at i den sidste tid havde barnet talt livligere, de sidste morgner havde det selv rejst sig op i sengen og siddet der og set med strålende øjne på sin lille ærtehave af en eneste ært. Ugen efter var den syge første gang oppe i over en time. Lyksalig sad hun i det varme solskin; vinduet var åbnet, og udenfor stod der fuldt udsprunget en hvidrød ærteblomst. Den lille pige bøjede sit hoved ned og kyssede ganske sagte de fine blade. Det var ligesom en festdag den dag.
"Vorherre har selv plantet den og ladet den trives for at give håb og glæde til dig, mit velsignede barn og til mig med!" sagde den glade moder og smilede til blomsten, som til en god engel fra Gud.
Men nu de andre ærter! - ja den, som fløj ud i den vide verden: "Tag mig, om du kan!" faldt i tagrenden og kom i duekro, og der lå den som Jonas i hvalfisken. De to dovne drev det lige så vidt, de blev også ædt af duerne, og det er at gøre solid nytte; men den fjerde, som ville op i Solen - den faldt i rendestenen og lå uger og dage der, i det sure vand, hvor den rigtigt bovnede.
"Jeg bliver så dejlig tyk!" sagde ærten. "Jeg revner af det, og videre tror jeg ingen ært kan drive det, eller har drevet det. Jeg er den mærkeligste af de fem fra ærtebælgen!"
Og rendestenen gav den medhold.
Men den unge pige ved tagvinduet stod med lysende øjne, med sundhedsskær på kinderne, og hun foldede sine fine hænder over ærteblomsten og takkede Vorherre for den.
Jeg holder på min ært! sagde rendestenen!