CD-ROM Today (UK) 6/CDRT6.iso/pc/books/andersen/flax

Text File | 1994-08-19 | 10KB | 162 lines

                                      1872
                     FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
                                    THE FLAX
                           by Hans Christian Andersen

    THE flax was in full bloom; it had pretty little blue flowers as
delicate as the wings of a moth, or even more so. The sun shone, and
the showers watered it; and this was just as good for the flax as it
is for little children to be washed and then kissed by their mother.
They look much prettier for it, and so did the flax.
    "People say that I look exceedingly well," said the flax, "and
that I am so fine and long that I shall make a beautiful piece of
linen. How fortunate I am; it makes me so happy, it is such a pleasant
thing to know that something can be made of me. How the sunshine
cheers me, and how sweet and refreshing is the rain; my happiness
overpowers me, no one in the world can feel happier than I am."
    "Ah, yes, no doubt," said the fern, "but you do not know the world
yet as well as I do, for my sticks are knotty;" and then it sung quite
mournfully-

                      "Snip, snap, snurre,
                       Basse lurre:
                       The song is ended."

    "No, it is not ended," said the flax. "To-morrow the sun will
shine, or the rain descend. I feel that I am growing. I feel that I am
in full blossom. I am the happiest of all creatures."
    Well, one day some people came, who took hold of the flax, and
pulled it up by the roots; this was painful; then it was laid in water
as if they intended to drown it; and, after that, placed near a fire
as if it were to be roasted; all this was very shocking. "We cannot
expect to be happy always," said the flax; "by experiencing evil as
well as good, we become wise." And certainly there was plenty of
evil in store for the flax. It was steeped, and roasted, and broken,
and combed; indeed, it scarcely knew what was done to it. At last it
was put on the spinning wheel. "Whirr, whirr," went the wheel so
quickly that the flax could not collect its thoughts. "Well, I have
been very happy," he thought in the midst of his pain, "and must be
contented with the past;" and contented he remained till he was put on
the loom, and became a beautiful piece of white linen. All the flax,
even to the last stalk, was used in making this one piece. "Well, this
is quite wonderful; I could not have believed that I should be so
favored by fortune. The fern was not wrong with its song of

                       'Snip, snap, snurre,
                        Basse lurre.'

But the song is not ended yet, I am sure; it is only just beginning.
How wonderful it is, that after all I have suffered, I am made
something of at last; I am the luckiest person in the world- so strong
and fine; and how white, and what a length! This is something
different to being a mere plant and bearing flowers. Then I had no
attention, nor any water unless it rained; now, I am watched and taken
care of. Every morning the maid turns me over, and I have a
shower-bath from the watering-pot every evening. Yes, and the
clergyman's wife noticed me, and said I was the best piece of linen in
the whole parish. I cannot be happier than I am now."
    After some time, the linen was taken into the house, placed
under the scissors, and cut and torn into pieces, and then pricked
with needles. This certainly was not pleasant; but at last it was made
into twelve garments of that kind which people do not like to name,
and yet everybody should wear one. "See, now, then," said the flax; "I
have become something of importance. This was my destiny; it is
quite a blessing. Now I shall be of some use in the world, as everyone
ought to be; it is the only way to be happy. I am now divided into
twelve pieces, and yet we are all one and the same in the whole dozen.
It is most extraordinary good fortune."
    Years passed away, and at last the linen was so worn it could
scarcely hold together. "It must end very soon," said the pieces to
each other; "we would gladly have held together a little longer, but
it is useless to expect impossibilities." And at length they fell into
rags and tatters, and thought it was all over with them, for they were
torn to shreds, and steeped in water, and made into a pulp, and dried,
and they knew not what besides, till all at once they found themselves
beautiful white paper. "Well, now, this is a surprise; a glorious
surprise too," said the paper. "I am now finer than ever, and I
shall be written upon, and who can tell what fine things I may have
written upon me. This is wonderful luck!" And sure enough the most
beautiful stories and poetry were written upon it, and only once was
there a blot, which was very fortunate. Then people heard the
stories and poetry read, and it made them wiser and better; for all
that was written had a good and sensible meaning, and a great blessing
was contained in the words on this paper.
    "I never imagined anything like this," said the paper, "when I was
only a little blue flower, growing in the fields. How could I fancy
that I should ever be the means of bringing knowledge and joy to
man? I cannot understand it myself, and yet it is really so. Heaven
knows that I have done nothing myself, but what I was obliged to do
with my weak powers for my own preservation; and yet I have been
promoted from one joy and honor to another. Each time I think that the
song is ended; and then something higher and better begins for me. I
suppose now I shall be sent on my travels about the world, so that
people may read me. It cannot be otherwise; indeed, it is more than
probable; for I have more splendid thoughts written upon me, than I
had pretty flowers in olden times. I am happier than ever."
    But the paper did not go on its travels; it was sent to the
printer, and all the words written upon it were set up in type, to
make a book, or rather, many hundreds of books; for so many more
persons could derive pleasure and profit from a printed book, than
from the written paper; and if the paper had been sent around the
world, it would have been worn out before it had got half through
its journey.
    "This is certainly the wisest plan," said the written paper; "I
really did not think of that. I shall remain at home, and be held in
honor, like some old grandfather, as I really am to all these new
books. They will do some good. I could not have wandered about as they
do. Yet he who wrote all this has looked at me, as every word flowed
from his pen upon my surface. I am the most honored of all."
    Then the paper was tied in a bundle with other papers, and
thrown into a tub that stood in the washhouse.
    "After work, it is well to rest," said the paper, "and a very good
opportunity to collect one's thoughts. Now I am able, for the first
time, to think of my real condition; and to know one's self is true
progress. What will be done with me now, I wonder? No doubt I shall
still go forward. I have always progressed hitherto, as I know quite
well."
    Now it happened one day that all the paper in the tub was taken
out, and laid on the hearth to be burnt. People said it could not be
sold at the shop, to wrap up butter and sugar, because it had been
written upon. The children in the house stood round the stove; for
they wanted to see the paper burn, because it flamed up so prettily,
and afterwards, among the ashes, so many red sparks could be seen
running one after the other, here and there, as quick as the wind.
They called it seeing the children come out of school, and the last
spark was the schoolmaster. They often thought the last spark had
come; and one would cry, "There goes the schoolmaster;" but the next
moment another spark would appear, shining so beautifully. How they
would like to know where the sparks all went to! Perhaps we shall find
out some day, but we don't know now.
    The whole bundle of paper had been placed on the fire, and was
soon alight. "Ugh," cried the paper, as it burst into a bright
flame; "ugh." It was certainly not very pleasant to be burning; but
when the whole was wrapped in flames, the flames mounted up into the
air, higher than the flax had ever been able to raise its little
blue flower, and they glistened as the white linen never could have
glistened. All the written letters became quite red in a moment, and
all the words and thoughts turned to fire.
    "Now I am mounting straight up to the sun," said a voice in the
flames; and it was as if a thousand voices echoed the words; and the
flames darted up through the chimney, and went out at the top. Then
a number of tiny beings, as many in number as the flowers on the
flax had been, and invisible to mortal eyes, floated above them.
They were even lighter and more delicate than the flowers from which
they were born; and as the flames were extinguished, and nothing
remained of the paper but black ashes, these little beings danced upon
it; and whenever they touched it, bright red sparks appeared.
    "The children are all out of school, and the schoolmaster was
the last of all," said the children. It was good fun, and they sang
over the dead ashes,-

                     "Snip, snap, snurre,
                      Basse lure:
                      The song is ended."

    But the little invisible beings said, "The song is never ended;
the most beautiful is yet to come."
    But the children could neither hear nor understand this, nor
should they; for children must not know everything.


                            THE END