“I wonder which one of us will go farthest,” said the smallest of the peas. “I am sure something will happen soon.”
“Come what will!” said the largest.
“Crack!” The pod was opened; and all five peas rolled out into the sunshine. They were in a little boy’s hand. He inspected them and said that they were perfect ammunition for a peashooter. One he shot off right away.
“Now I fly out into the wide world. Catch me if you can!” the pea shouted, and away it went.
“I shall fly right up into the sun, for that is a fitting pod for me!” shouted the second.
“Oh! We shall sleep wherever we end up,” said the next two peas. “Rolling is as good as flying.” They had fallen out of the boy’s hand and were rolling along on the floor; but they were picked up and put in the peashooter anyway. “We will get the farthest,” they shouted as they flew.
“Come what will!” said the last of the peas as it soared high into the air. It hit an old rotten board underneath the garret window. The board was filled with cracks; in them earth had collected and moss grew. The pea landed in one of the crevices, the moss closed around it, and it lay hidden but not forgotten by Our Lord.
“Come what will!” it repeated.
In the little garret room lived a very poor woman who did heavy work. She cleaned and polished stoves or chopped wood; she was willing to do anything she could. Strength she had, and hard-working she was; and poor as a church mouse she remained. Living with her was her daughter, who had been lying in bed ill for more than a year. The little girl was thin and delicate; it was as if she could neither live nor die.
“She will soon be going up to her sister,” the woman would say. “I had two children once and God saw how difficult it was for me to provide for them; therefore He decided to share the work with me and took one. I would like to keep the other one, but God probably thinks it was a shame to separate them, and now she will be going up to her sister.”
But the little sick girl stayed on; patiently, she lay in her bed all alone, while her mother went out to earn money for their keep.
It was spring. Early one morning the sun shone brightly in through the little window and across the floor. The little girl happened to notice something on the other side of the lowest windowpane. She called to her mother, who was just about to leave. “Mother, what’s that bit of green? There in the lower pane, it moves in the breeze.”
Her mother walked over to the window and opened it. “My!” she said. “It is a little pea. I wonder how that has got up here? Look, it already has green leaves. It will be a little garden for you to look at.”
She moved the girl’s bed closer to the window so that she could watch the little plant and then she left.
“I think I am getting well, Mother,” said the little girl that evening. “The sun has shone so warmly down upon me all day. The little pea has been growing. I think I will soon be out in the sunshine too.”
“If only that would happen,” said the mother, but she did not believe that it would. Yet she did tie the plant to a stick which she had fastened to the board, so the wind could not break the little pea plant; then she ran a string from the top of the window down to the bottom, giving it something to cling to as it grew. And it certainly did grow; you could see the difference from one day to the next.
“I think it is going to flower,” said the woman one morning, and now she, too, began to hope and believe that her little sick girl would get well. She had been aware that the child spoke more lively, and the last few mornings she had sat up in bed by herself in order to see her little garden that consisted of one solitary pea plant.
A week went by and the sick girl was up for the first time; she sat for a whole hour in a chair. The window was opened. Outside in the warm sunshine grew the little pea plant; the flower had opened its red and white petals. The little girl bent down and kissed its fine leaves. That day was a very special day for her, like a birthday.
“God Himself planted that pea and made it thrive for your sake, to give you back your health, my sweet little girl, and to give me joy and hope,” the mother said, and smiled toward the flower as though it were an angel sent from God.
But the other peas, what happened to them? The one who had shouted, “Catch me who can,” was swallowed by a pigeon. There it lay in the bird’s gizzard, like Jonah in the whale. The two lazy peas had not fared any better, they had become pigeon food too. But that is after all a useful and respectable end for a pea. The fourth one, the one that wanted to fly right up to the sun, fell down into a gutter and there it lay for weeks and days in the stagnant water. It grew fat and soggy.
“I am getting nice and plump,” it said. “I will get so fat that I burst and that is more than any pea has ever done. I certainly am the most remarkable of the five peas that were in the pod.”
And the gutter agreed!
The girl stood at the garret window; her eyes were bright and the color of health was in her cheeks. She folded her hands above the pea flower and thanked God for it.
“I’ll stick to my own pea!” said the gutter.
69
A Leaf from Heaven
High, high up in the sky where the air is thin, an angel was flying; he carried in his hands a flower from paradise. As he bent his head to kiss the flower, one little leaf fell from it down to earth. It landed in the middle of a forest. As it sank down upon the soft earth it put forth roots and started to grow amid all the other greenery.
“That is a funny shoot, I wonder where it comes from,” said the other plants; but none of them would claim it as a relation, not even the nettle or the thistle.
“It is probably a garden flower!” they mocked, and laughed. They thought that they had made a proper fool of it by calling it that. But the plant grew and grew and spread its long runners far and wide.
“Where do you think you are going?” asked the thistle that stood tall and proud with a thorn on every leaf. “You’re doing your running backward. Upward, that is the right direction to grow. Do you think we are going to lift you up and carry you?”
Winter came and the world grew white. The snow covering the plant that had come from heaven, glittered and shone as though there were sunlight beneath it. When spring arrived the plant bloomed and its flowers were more beautiful than any of the others in the whole forest.
A professor of botany came; he was an expert and he had papers to prove it. He looked at the plant, picked a leaf and chewed on it, then declared that the plant was not in any botany book. He said it was impossible to determine which family of plants it belonged to.
“It is a subspecies,” he said. “I don’t recognize it, it is not recorded or classified.”
“Not recorded, not classified!” shouted the thistles and nettles.
The tall trees that grew nearby heard every word; they could see that the plant did not belong to their family, but they did not say anything either for or against the plant—which is the safest thing to do if you are stupid.
A young girl, sweet and innocent, came walking through the forest. She was so poor that all she owned in this world was a Bible, but from its pages God spoke to her: “If anyone wishes to do you harm, remember the story of Joseph and how God turned the evil done against him into a blessing.” She remembered, too, the words of our Saviour—He Who was most pure and virtuous, Whom men had mocked and nailed to a Cross; He Who from that Cross prayed: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
She stopped to look at the strange plant. Its green leaves gave off a fragrant smell—sweet and refreshing. Many-colored flowers bloomed on every branch, and in the strong sunlight they appeared like a display of fireworks. With awe she looked at the heavenly beauty; she took hold of one of the branches to look at the flowers more closely and smell the sweet odor. She would have liked to pick one of the flowers but felt that it would have been a pity, for, once picked, it would die. She took only one solitary green leaf which she placed between the pages of her Bible.
There it would lie forever as green as on the day she had picked it, for it could not wither.
It was hidden among the pages of the Bible, and the Bible itself was soon to be hidden in the dark earth. The young girl had died, and the Bible was put under her head as a pillow in her coffin. On her sweet face was the solemn expression of death, as if the mortal clay wanted to prove that now she was with her Maker.
Out in the forest the wonderful plant flourished. Soon it was almost as big as a tree. All the migratory birds showed it great respect and would bow in front of it, especially the stork and the swallows.
“Foreign nonsense!” said the thistle and the nettles. “We who are born here never behave like that.”
And the black slugs that lived in the forest spat on the big plant.
A swineherd came to gather food for his pigs. He tore up nettles, thistles, and the wonderful plant from heaven, roots and all. “It might as well be of some use,” he said.
The king of the country was suffering from melancholy. He was so very sad that even working did not help. Serious and profound books were read aloud to him, and humorous and light ones, but neither did any good. Then a letter came from one of the wisest men in the world, whom the king had asked to help him. In it he declared that there existed a remedy certain to cure the king of his affliction.
“And it grows within His Majesty’s own kingdom. It is a plant that has come down to earth from heaven; its leaves are shaped like this … and its flowers like that.… It is easy to recognize.” Here followed a drawing of the plant. “It is green both winter and summer. Pluck one leaf from it each evening and lay it on the king’s forehead before he goes to sleep. His melancholy will disappear. Sweet dreams will come to him during the night, which will refresh him and give him strength for the coming day.”
All the doctors and the professor of botany knew immediately which plant was meant. They all went out into the forest to look for it.—But where was the plant?
“I guess I tore it up with the nettles,” said the swineherd. “It has long ago been eaten. It isn’t my fault, I didn’t know any better.”
“You didn’t know any better!” screamed all the doctors and the professor of botany. “Ignorance, ignorance. Oh, how profound it can be!” They lamented; and the swineherd took the words to his heart, for they were meant for him alone.
Not one leaf from the plant could be found. The one that lay in the young girl’s casket none of them knew about.
The unhappy king himself, in despair, made an expedition to the forest to see the place where the plant had grown. “This spot is holy,” he declared.
A golden fence was erected around the plot of earth where the heavenly plant had grown, and a sentry was posted to guard it both day and night.
The professor of botany wrote a paper about the marvelous plant, and for that he was gilded just like the fence. This pleased him greatly, and the gilding suited both him and his family. And this is the happiest part of this story, for the plant was gone and the king was still depressed and melancholy—“But he has always been that way,” said the sentry.
70
She Was No Good
The mayor was standing by the open window; he was in shirt sleeves and his face was even more ruddy than usual, for he had just shaved—a job he preferred doing himself and which he did well, although there was a tiny nick on his chin that he had covered with a bit of paper.
“Hey, you, little boy!” he called.
The little boy was none other than the washerwoman’s son, who, as he was passing, had noticed the mayor and had politely taken off his cap. It was the kind that had a fold in its peak, so it could be readily stuffed into a pocket. His clothes were clean though covered with patches, and on his feet he wore a pair of clumsy clogs. There he stood before the open window as respectfully as if the mayor were the king himself.
“You are a good boy,” said the mayor. “You are a polite little boy. Your mother is washing down at the river, and that is where you are heading for. You are carrying something in your pocket. Your mother is in a bad way! How much do you have in the bottle?”
“Half a pint,” whispered the frightened boy.
“And this morning she drank the same amount,” continued the man.
“No, that was yesterday,” answered the boy.
“Two halves make a whole. She is no good! It is a pity what happens to people of that class. Tell your mother that she ought to be ashamed of herself! And don’t you ever become a drunkard, but I suppose you won’t be able to avoid it.… Poor child. Well, run along!”
The boy left. He kept his cap in his hand, and the wind played with his yellow hair, so that long tufts of it stood straight up. He walked across the street and down an alley to the river. There stood his mother, in water up to her knees, rinsing some clothes she had just washed. The river flowed rapidly, for the lock by the water mill had been opened. It was hard work just keeping the sheets from being carried away by the current.
“I am about to sail away,” said the mother, and laughed. “I am glad that you have come. I need a little something to help me. I have stood here in the water for six hours, and it is cold. You have brought me something?”
The boy took the bottle from his pocket and gave it to his mother, who put it to her lips and drank.
“Oh! That was good. How it warms one! Why, it is just as good as a hot meal and a lot cheaper. Take a swallow, my boy. You look pale, I am afraid that you are freezing, too, in those thin clothes, now that it is fall. Huh! How cold the water has become. I hope I won’t get sick. But why should I? Give me back the bottle; now it’s my turn to have another drink. You can take another one, too, but only a drop. Don’t let it become a habit. My poor little child!”
The woman climbed up on the bank and stood next to her son; water was streaming from her skirts and from the rush mat that had been tied around her waist. “I work my fingers to the bone,” she said. “But that doesn’t matter, as long as you get a good start in life.”
At that moment another woman appeared. She was older and walked with a limp; somehow her skin seemed as threadbare as her clothes. A large spit curl hung down over her forehead. It was meant to hide a missing eye but only made one more aware of the defect. “Crippled Maren with the curl” was the name her neighbors had given her, and she was a friend of the washerwoman. “Poor creature,” she began at once. “Always standing in the cold water, always slaving away. If anyone needs a drop to keep them warm, then it’s you; and to think some people grudge you a drink.”
Maren repeated to the washerwoman everything the mayor had said. She had heard it all and it had made her angry. “How dare he say such things to a boy about his own mother. He begrudges you a drop of liquor, but when he throws a party, why, they drink wine by the case. Many of his guests get a drop too much, but no one calls them drunkards. They are good, and you are no good!”
“Did he really talk like that to you?” she asked, turning to her son, while her lips trembled. “Did he say that you had a mother that was no good? Well, maybe he’s right. But he should never have said it to a child, though it’s not the first time that that family has been the cause of my suffering.”
“That’s right!” Maren exclaimed. “You used to work in the mayor’s house when his parents were still alive. But that’s such a long time ago. We’ve eaten a ton of salt since then; no wonder we are so thirsty.” Maren laughed. “They are having a big dinner party there now, though they wish they weren’t.… But it is too late to do anything about it … The guests were invited long ago and the food was all made. But the mayor got a letter an hour before saying that his younger brother had died in Copenhagen. The gardener told me all about it.”
“Dead!” said the washerwoman, and turned pale.
“Oh my!” exclaimed Maren. “One would think he was your brother. I suppose you knew him well when you were a servant there.”
“So he is dead! There never lived a kinder person. It is not often that God receives su
ch a blessed, such a good person.” Tears started to run down the washerwoman’s cheeks. “Oh, my God! I feel so dizzy! Everything is turning about. I shouldn’t have emptied the bottle. It was too much. I feel terribly ill.” The woman tottered over to a fence and leaned against it.
“Goodness me, you do look sick.” Maren looked unhappily at her friend. “But I am sure it will pass! … No, I am afraid you are really ill, I’d better take you home.”
“But the clothes!” wailed the washerwoman.
“I will wash them later. You take my arm. The boy can stay and watch the clothes until I come bck.”
The washerwoman could hardly walk. “I have been standing in the cold water too long. I have had nothing to eat since this morning. I think I have a fever. Dear Jesus, help me! Help me to get home! Oh, my poor child!” And she wept.
Slowly, the two women made their way up through the alley. The boy, left alone to guard the clothes at the riverbank, cried too.
Just as the women, leaning on each other, were passing the mayor’s house, the washerwoman fell. A crowd gathered around her, while Maren went into the house for help.
The mayor and his guests were looking out of the window. “She has had one too many again,” he explained. “She is no good. It is a pity for her son. I feel sorry for him; his mother is no good.”
The washerwoman was carried to the hovel where she lived and put to bed. Maren warmed a bowlful of beer with sugar and butter—for of all the medicines she knew, this one was the best. Then she went back to the river to rinse the clothes. She meant well, but she didn’t do a very good job. In fact, all she did was pull the wet clothes out of the water, wring them out, and put them in a box.
The Complete Fairy Tales and Stories Page 51