Andersen's fairy tales
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High up in the thin, clear air there flew an angel bearing a flower from the garden of heaven. As he kissed it, a tiny leaf drifted down into the muddy soil in the middle of the wood; it very soon took root there, and sprouted, and sent up shoots among the other plants.
"That's a funny kind of slip," said the plants.
And neither the thistle nor the stinging nettle would have anything to do with the stranger. "It must be some low kind of garden plant," they said, grinning and making fun at it. But it grew and grew, and like no other plant its long branches spread far about.
"Where do you think you're going?" said the tall thistles, who have thorns on each of their leaves. "You're taking a good deal of space. That's a lot of nonsense-we can't stand here and support you!"
When winter came, the snow covered the plant, but from it the blanket of snow received a glow as if the sun were shining from below. Then the spring returned, and the plant was in glorious bloom, more beautiful than any other in the forest.
And now there came to the forest a professor of botany, who could show what he was with many degrees. He carefully inspected the plant and tested it, but decided it was not included in his system of botany; he could not possibly learn to what class it did belong.
"This must be some unimportant variety," he said. "I certainly don't know it. It's not included in any system."
"Not included in any system!" said the thistles and the nettles.
The big trees which grew round it heard what was said and they also saw the tree was not one of their kind, but they said nothing, good or bad. And that is much the wisest course for stupid people to take.
Then a poor, innocent girl came through the forest. Her heart was pure, and her understanding was glorious with faith. Her only inheritance was an old Bible, but from its pages the voice of God spoke to her: "If people wish to do you evil, remember the story of Joseph. They had evil in their hearts, but God turned it to good. If you suffer wrong, if you are despised and misunderstood, then you must remember the words of Him who was purity and goodness itself, and who prayed for those who struck Him and nailed Him to the cross. 'Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do!' "
She stopped before the wondrous plant, whose great leaves gave forth sweet and refreshing fragrance and whose flowers glowed in the sun like a wonderful firework of color. And from each flower there came a sound as though it held concealed within itself a deep well of melody that thousands of years would not empty. With devout gratitude the girl gazed on this exquisite work of the Creator and bent down one of the branches, that she might examine the flower and breathe in its sweetness; and a lovely light burned in her soul. It seemed to uplift her heart, and she wanted to pluck a flower, but she had not the heart to break one off, for she knew it would soon fade if she did. So she took only a single green leaf, carried it home, and there she pressed it in between the pages of her Bible; and it lay there quite fresh, always green, and never fading.
It was kept in the pages of that Bible, and with that Bible it was placed under the girl's head when, some weeks thereafter, she lay in her coffin. On her gentle face was the solemn peace of death, as if the earthly remains carried the imprint of the truth that she now was in the presence of her Creator.
But the marvelous plant still bloomed in the forest. It looked almost like a great tree now, and all the birds of passage, especially the storks and the swallows, bowed down before it.
"That thing is taking on foreign airs now," said the thistles and the burdocks. "We never act like that here in this country!"
And the black forest snails spat at the plant.
Then the swineherd came, collecting thistles and other shrubs, to burn them for their ashes. He tore up the heavenly plant by the roots and crammed it into his bag.
"I can use that, too," he said, and no sooner said than done.
But for years the King of that country had been troubled by a deep melancholy of spirit. He kept busy and laborious always, but it seemed to do him no good. They read books to him-deep and learned tomes, or the lightest and most trifling they could find; but nothing did any good. Then one of the world's wisest men, to whom they had applied for help, sent a messenger to explain to the King that there was but one sure remedy that would relieve and cure him.
"In a forest in the King's own country there grows a plant of heavenly origin. Its appearance cannot be mistaken." And then the messenger brought out a drawing of the plant; it would be easy to recognize it. "Its leaves are green winter and summer, so every evening put a fresh leaf on the King's forehead. His thoughts will then clear, and a beautiful dream will refresh and strengthen him."
"I think I took it up in my bundle and burned it to ashes a long time ago," said the swineherd. "I just didn't know any better."
"You did not know any better!" they all said. "Ignorance, oh, ignorance! How great you are!"
And those words the swineherd might well take to heart, for they were meant for him and no one else.
Not a single leaf of that plant could be found; no one knew about the one leaf that lay in the coffin of the dead girl.
And the King himself, in his terrible depression, wandered out to the spot in the woods. "This is where the plant grew," he said. "It shall be a sacred place." Then he had it surrounded by a golden railing, and a sentry was posted there, by day and by night.
The professor of botany wrote a thesis on the heavenly plant. As a reward he was gilded all over, and that gilding suited him and his family very well indeed. As a matter of fact, that was the pleasantest part of the whole story, for the plant had disappeared.
The King remained as melancholy and sad as before; but then he had always been that way-said the sentry.
Højt oppe i den tynde, klare luft fløj en engel med en blomst fra Himmelens have, og idet han trykkede et kys på blomsten gik der et lillebitte blad af og det faldt ned på den dyndede jord midt i skoven, og straks fæstede det rod og satte skud midt imellem de andre urter.
"Det er en løjerlig stikling den!" sagde de, og ingen ville kende sig ved den, hverken tidsel eller brændenælde.
"Det er nok en slags havevækst!" sagde de og grinede, og så var den til nar, som havevækst; men den voksede og voksede, som ingen anden, og skød sine grene i lange ranker vidt omkring.
"Hvor skal du hen!" sagde de høje tidsler, der har torn på hvert blad, "du løber noget avet om! det har ingensteds hjemme! vi kan ikke stå og bære dig!"
Vinteren kom, sneen lå hen over planten, men fra den fik snelaget en glans, som blev det nedenfra gennemstrømmet af sollys. I foråret stod der en blomstrende vækst, dejlig som ingen anden i skoven.
Så kom den botaniske professor, der havde skudsmålsbog på at han var hvad han var, han så på planten, han bed i den, men den stod ikke i hans plantelære; det var ham ikke muligt at finde ud, til hvilken klasse den hørte.
"Det er en afart!" sagde han. - "Jeg kender den ikke, den er ikke optaget i systemet!"
"Ikke optaget i systemet!" sagde tidsler og nælder.
De store træer rundt om hørte hvad der blev sagt, og også de så at det ikke var et træ af deres slags, men de sagde ikke noget, hverken ondt eller godt, og det er altid det sikreste når man er dum.
Da kom, gennem skoven, en fattig, uskyldig pige; hendes hjerte var rent, hendes forstand stor gennem troen, al hendes arvegods i denne verden var en gammel bibel, men fra dens blade talte til hende Guds stemme: Vil menneskene dig ilde, husk af historien om Josef: "De tænkte ondt i deres hjerte, men Gud tænkte at vende det til det bedre." Lider du uret miskendes og forhånes, husk ham den reneste og bedste, ham som de spottede og naglede til korsets træ, hvor han bad, "Fader, forlad dem, de ved ikke hvad de gør!"
Hun standsede sin gang foran den vidunderlige vækst, hvis grønne blade duftede så sødt og vederkvægende og hvor blomsterne i det klare solskin syntes et helt farvefyrværkeri; og det klang fra hver, som gemte den melodiernes dybe brønd der i årtusinder ikke tømmes. Med from andagt så hun på al den Guds herlighed; hun bøjede en af grenene ned for ret at beskue blomsten og indånde dens duft, og det lyste i hendes sind, det gjorde hendes hjerte så vel; gerne havde hun ejet en blomst, men hun nænnede ikke at bryde den af, den ville jo snart visne hos hende; og hun tog kun et eneste af de grønne blade, bar det hjem, lagde det i sin bibel og dér lå det friskt, altid friskt og uvisneligt.
Mellem biblens blade lå det gemt; med biblen blev det lagt under den unge piges hoved, da hun uger efter lå i sin ligkiste, med dødens hellige alvor på det fromme ansigt, som om det afprægede sig i det jordiske støv at hun nu stod for sin Gud.
Men ude i skoven blomstrede den vidunderlige vækst, den var snart som et træ at se til, og alle trækfugle kom og bøjede sig for den, svalen og storken især.
"Det er udenlandsk skaberi!" sagde tidsel og burre, "således kan vi her hjemme dog aldrig bære os ad!"
Og de sorte skovsnegle spyttede på træet.
Så kom svinehyrden, han ruskede tidsler og ranker op for at brænde aske af det grønne; hele det vidunderlige træ, rykket op med alle rødder, fik han med i bundtet; "det skal også gøre gavn!" sagde han og så var det gjort.
Men i mere end år og dag led landets konge af den dybeste tungsind; han var flittig og arbejdsom, det hjalp ikke; der blev læst dybsindige skrifter for ham og der blev læst de allerletteste man kunne finde, det hjalp ikke. - Da kom der bud fra en af verdens viseste mænd, man havde henvendt sig til ham og han lod dem vide, at der fandtes et sikkert middel til at husvale og helbrede den lidende. "I kongens eget rige gror der i skoven en vækst af himmelsk oprindelse, sådan og sådan ser den ud, man kan ikke tage fejl," og her fulgte en tegning med af væksten, den var let at kende! - "Den grønnes vinter og sommer, tag derfor, hver aften, et frisk blad deraf og læg det på kongens pande, da lysner det om hans tanke og en dejlig drøm til natten vil styrke ham for den kommende dag!"
Det var nu tydeligt nok, og alle doktorer og den botaniske professor gik ud i skoven. - Ja, men hvor var væksten.
"Jeg har nok fået den med i bundtet!" sagde svinehyrden, "den er gået i aske for længde siden, men jeg vidste ikke bedre!"
"Vidste ikke bedre!" sagde de alle sammen. "Uvidenhed! Uvidenhed! hvor er du stor!" og de ord kunne svinehyrden lægge sig på hjertet, han og ingen anden, mente de.
Ikke et blad var at finde, det eneste lå i den dødes kiste og derom vidste ingen.
Og kongen selv kom i sin mismod ud i skoven til stedet. "Her har træet stået!" sagde han, "det er et helligt sted!" -
Og jorden her blev indhegnet med et gyldent gitter og der kom skildvagt, og det både nat og dag.
Den botaniske professor skrev en afhandling om den himmelske plante, og derfor blev han forgyldt, og det var ham til stor fornøjelse; og forgyldningen klædte ham og hans familie, og det er det glædeligste ved hele den historie, thi væksten var borte og kongen var mismodig og bedrøvet - "men det var han også i forvejen!" sagde skildvagten.