The Complete Fairy Tales and Stories

by Hans Christian Andersen

  “They were rich, they were noble. They had been born and had grown up in splendor and magnificence. Whoo … who … All will pass! Whoo … whoo!” sang the wind, and then continued its story:

  “In most of the castles in olden times, the noble mistress herself would sit with her maids in the great hall and spin; but not here at Borreby. Her hands would do no harder work than touching the strings of the lute; and the melodies she played and the songs she sang were more often foreign than Danish. Guests came every day: noble friends from far and wide. The noise from the feasting and drinking was so loud that I could not drown it. Here were arrogance and willfulness: masters who recognized no master.

  “It was the evening of the first of May. I had come from the west, where I had seen a ship being wrecked by the waves on the coast of Jutland. I had danced across the heath and the forests of Fyn. I crossed the Great Belt, blowing hard and whipping the waves. When I came to the coast of Zealand I was tired and lay down to rest in the oak forest near Borreby Castle.

  “The young men from the district had come to gather wood for a bonfire. They selected the driest branches and twigs they could find and took them back to the village. I followed them as quietly and softly as a cat. It was the custom there that each of the young men selected a stick; and when the fire was ablaze, they all put their sticks in the flames to see whose would catch fire first. The lucky one would be called the ‘prince of spring,’ and he could select among the girls his ‘spring lamb,’ who would be his partner in the dance. As the flames grew, the young men and maidens of the village sang and made a ring around the bonfire. I was lying so still,” continued the wind, “that no one knew I was there. Quietly, I breathed a little on one of the branches and the flames flared up. The young man whom I had selected laughed. I had chosen the one I found the handsomest. Now he was the May prince and could select his lamb among the blushing girls. Oh, here were happiness and gaiety, much greater than in the rich castle of Borreby.

  “With six horses in front of their golden carriage the noble lady of Borreby and her daughters, three lovely flowers—the rose, the lily, and the pale hyacinth—came driving by. The mother herself was a tulip, showy but without fragrance. She did not nod or greet the young people, some of whom had stopped dancing in order to curtsy and bow. Maybe her stalk was so fragile, it would have broken if she had tried.

  “The rose, the lily, and the pale hyacinth; I saw them and thought: ‘Whose lambs will they be? Will their May princes be knights or maybe real princes?’ Whoo … whoo … All will pass.… Whoo … whoo!

  “That night I rose and blew upon the highborn lady of Borreby. She took to her bed and she never rose again. Death came to her as it comes to all human beings, that story is not new. Valdemar Daae stood by her bedside. Sadly and thoughtfully he looked at his dead wife. ‘The proud trees can be bent but they cannot be broken,’ he thought. The daughters wept. Everyone in the castle had moist eyes that day, but the Lady Daae had passed hence, as all will pass. Whoo … whoo! All will pass,” said the wind.

  “Often I returned to Borreby and sang in the great oak forest, where the fish hawk, the blue ravens, the wood pigeons, and the rare black storks nest. It was in early summer—when the birds were still nesting or had young ones that could not yet fly—that the sound of the ax was heard. How the birds screamed in anger and fury; but that did not help, the forest was to be cut down. Valdemar Daae had decided to build a ship, a costly vessel with three decks. He felt certain that the king would purchase it, and Valdemar was in need of money. That was the reason why the ancient oaks were being felled, that had been the landmark of the sailors, the home of the birds. Terrified, the blue raven flew up as its nest, with young ones in it, was destroyed. The fish hawk circled above its wrecked nest with its crushed eggs. How they all screamed in fear and anger. I understood them. Only the crows seemed not to care and mocked the others.

  “In the middle of the forest stood Valdemar Daae with his three daughters. They laughed at the cries of the birds; only the youngest of them, Anna Dorthea, felt pity. When the workmen wanted to cut down a half-dead oak tree on whose naked branches the black stork had built its nest, Anna Dorthea begged with tearful eyes that the tree be spared for the sake of the little fledglings that were sticking their heads up above the brim of the nest. That tree was allowed to stand because of the black stork, but that did not help the other birds.

  “All that year the noise of hammers, saws, and axes was heard; a ship was being built. The master builder who had designed the ship had a common name and a noble soul. His face, his eyes spoke of intelligence; and Valdemar Daae liked to listen to the young man and so did his daughter Ida. She was the oldest of the three, she was fifteen. While the young man built a ship for her father, he built a castle of dreams in the air for himself and Ida to live in, as man and wife. Married they could have been if his castle had been built of stones and its moat and apple orchards had been real. But despite his cleverness he was only a poor bird, and the sparrow fares ill in the company of hawks. Whoo, whoo! I flew away and so did he. Little Ida got over it, because she had to.”

  “In the stable the black horses neighed. They were worth looking at, and someone looked. The admiral, who had been sent by the king to inspect the ship and decide whether the king should buy it and, if so, at what price, looked at the horses and praised them loudly. I heard him,” said the wind. “I followed the high and mighty gentlemen into the stable and blew little bits of golden straw where they walked. Valdemar Daae wanted gold and the admiral wanted the black horses, that was the reason he praised them so highly. But Valdemar Daae did not, or would not, understand the hints, and so the king did not buy his ship. It stood down on the beach, under a roofing of planks looking like a Noah’s ark that had never been launched. Whoo! whoo! All will pass.… Whoo! Whoo!

  “In the winter when the fields were covered with snow and drifting ice floes filled the Great Belt, I sometimes packed the ice so far up on the shore that it almost reached Valdemar Daae’s ship. Great flocks of ravens and crows, one blacker than the other, were perched on this bare, lonesome, dead ship that lay on the beach. With their hoarse cries they told about the forest that was no more, of the nests that had been destroyed, of the old birds that had been made homeless, and the young who had died For what? For a ship that would never sail.

  “I whirled the snow high up over it as though it were foam breaking against the hull. I let it hear what I had to say: the voice of the storm. I did my best to teach it a bit of seamanship. Whoo! … All will pass.

  “The winter passed and the summer passed, as all seasons and years do pass. I pass, too, and yet I stay.… Whoo … whoo! … The daughters were still young. Little Ida was a rose, as beautiful to look at as when the shipbuilder saw her. Often I would play with her long brown hair when she stood under the apple trees in the garden, so lost in thought that she did not notice that I filled her long loose hair with apple blossoms. She would be watching the sun set and the golden sky behind the dark trees and bushes of the park.

  “Her sister Johanne was more like a lily: shining and with a back as straight as her mother’s had been. Her stem, too, was brittle. She liked to walk in the gallery where the paintings of her ancestors hung. The ladies had been painted dressed in silk and velvet. Their hair was braided and on their heads were little black caps embroidered with pearls. Beautiful they were, all of them. Their husbands were portrayed, with swords at their sides, wearing armor and capes lined with squirrel skin. Where would Johanne’s picture one day hang? Who would be her noble husband, and what would he look like? Johanne thought about it and even talked about it to herself; I heard her when I whistled through the long gallery.

  “Anna Dorthea, the pale hyacinth, was still only fourteen years old, but quiet and thoughtful. Her big, water-blue eyes looked pensively out at the world, but on her lips was a sweet childlike smile; I could not have blown that away, nor did I want to.

  “I met her often in the garden, when she was sea
rching for herbs and flowers that she knew her father could use in distilling strange medicines and potions. Valdemar Daae was arrogant and proud, but he was also clever, and knew more than most men. People mentioned that when they discussed why he kept a fire in his chamber, even in midsummer. The door to his room was locked, and sometimes no one saw him for several days at a time. When he finally did come out, he told no one of what he had been doing in such secrecy behind the barred door. The powers of nature are best studied in solitude. Soon he expected to solve its mystery and win what was best of all, gold!

  “That is why the smoke rose from his chimney and strange vapors rose from the caldrons. I know all about it,” said the wind, “for I was there. I blew down the chimney and sang: ‘Whoo … Let it pass.… Whoo! Smoke, embers, and ashes, you will burn yourself up. Whoo … Let it pass.… Whoo!’ But Valdemar Daae would not let it pass.

  “Where were the black horses? Where were all the gold and silver plates, the cows, the grain? All had been melted down in the caldron, and yet he found no gold.

  “The stables were empty, the lofts bare, and no longer were the cellars filled with wine and beer. Less servants and more mice; a windowpane broke and was never replaced; and I no longer had to trouble myself with finding cracks through which to enter,” said the wind. “When the chimney smokes the table will soon be set, but not at Borreby; here the smoke pleased only one appetite: Valdemar Daae’s for gold.

  “I blew through the gates and made a noise like the night watchman’s horn, but there was no longer any night watchman. I turned the weather vane on the tower; it was rusty and squeaked like a guard sleeping on duty, but there was no guard. Rats and mice there were aplenty; poverty set the table, and poverty sat in the larder and in the clothes closet as well. Hinges broke and doors sat askew, everywhere cracks appeared. I know,” said the wind, “for I entered them all.

  “In smoke and ashes, in sorrowful sleepless nights, the hair and beard of Valdemar Daae grew gray and his skin yellow; but his eyes searched as greedily as before for gold.

  “I blew smoke and ashes in his face; and blew through the broken windows right into his daughters’ bedrooms. In their closets were rags that once had been riches, for even the finest dress can be outworn. The song they heard now had not been sung to them when they were in their cradles. Their noble life had become a miserable life; and I, the wind, was the only one that sang in the castle. One winter day I snowed them in; great drifts I piled against the castle walls. They say that snow makes it warmer. But they had nothing to burn; their forest had been cut down and where should they get wood from? It was fine frosty weather, and I danced and jumped across walls and gables, through windows and doors. They all lay abed, freezing, the three poor noble ladies and their father, who tried to keep warm under his fur blanket. Whoo … Nothing to eat, and not a log for the fire. Whoo! That was a noble life. Whoooo … All will pass.… Whoooo!

  “Valdemar Daae could not, and would not, give up. ‘After winter, spring must come,’ he said. ‘After lean times come the fat, but they take their time coming. Soon I must pay my debts. I have no time left, I must find gold before Easter!’

  “I heard him mumble all this and, as he looked at the spider’s web, he smiled and said, ‘Oh, you busy little spinner, I can learn from you! If I tear your web, you start another right away, and finish it; and if that is torn, you are not disheartened but begin again. One must not lose faith but do things over and over, if one must; and then the reward is sure to come!’

  “It was Easter morning, the church bells rang, and the sun was playing in the sky. Feverishly, Valdemar Daae had worked: boiled, distilled, and mixed the strangest potions; he had not slept for many a night. I heard him sigh like a tormented soul and I heard him pray. The candles had long ago burned down and he had not noticed it. I blew on the coals and they glowed and their light turned his pale white face red. He squinted his eyes, then he opened them up wide—so wide that I was afraid they might fall out.

  “Something shone and glittered in the glass beaker. He lifted it up high with trembling hands and then shouted loudly: ‘Gold! gold!’ He swayed as if he were going to faint. If I had blown on him I am sure he would have fallen,” said the wind. “But I didn’t, I blew on the smoldering coals and followed him out through the door and into the chamber where his daughters lay abed, still freezing. His clothes were filled with ashes, as were his unkempt hair and beard. He straightened himself and held up, triumphantly, the fragile glass beaker. ‘I have won, I have won! Gold!’ he screamed. And the sunlight played on the sparkling residue in the bottom of the glass; his hand shook and the alchemist’s glass fell on the floor and broke into a thousand pieces. The last of his bubbles had burst! Whooo … whooo … All will pass! … Whooo! And I did pass out of the alchemist’s house, out to the free and open fields.

  “It was late in the year when the days in the north are short and the fogs, like a wet dishrag, wipe the landscape. That is a good time for house cleaning. I blew the clouds out of the sky and the rotten branches and twigs off the trees; it is the kind of work that has to be done every once in a while. Borreby Castle was also being swept, but in another manner. Valdemar Daae’s enemy, Ove Ramel, had bought the mortgages and now he owned the castle and everything that was in it. I beat on the cracked windows like drumsticks on a drum, and I banged the latchless doors and whirled myself through cracks and crevices. I would teach Master Ove how pleasant it was to live in Borreby. Ida and Anna Dorthea wept, but Johanne was pale and bit her thumb so hard that it bled. But neither weeping nor biting one’s thumb was of any help. Master Ove Ramel said that Master Daae could stay as long as he lived in the castle, but he got no thanks for this offer. I listened and heard it all! And I saw proud Valdemar Daae toss his head in scorn as he refused. I gathered strength and hit the old elm tree in the yard so hard that its biggest branch broke off; and that though there wasn’t a bit of rot in it. It fell right in front of the entrance and lay there like a big broom ready to do the sweeping. And Borreby Castle was swept. Oh yes! I saw it all!

  “It was a hard day, a long day; but Valdemar Daae was stiff-necked; he could be neither bent nor broken! They owned nothing now but the clothes on their backs and a new glass beaker in which the alchemist had carefully gathered every bit that could be scraped from the floor of what had been spilled there on that Easter Day when he thought he had found gold. Valdemar Daae carried the beaker under his cloak, next to his breast. In his other hand he had a staff, as he walked with his daughters out of Borreby Castle, never to return. I blew cold air on his burning cheeks, I patted his white hair and long beard and sang loudly so that they could hear it. Whooo, whooo! … All will pass.… Whoo, whooo!

  “Ida and Anna Dorthea walked beside him; Johanne lingered a moment in the gateway, turned and looked back; but that did not help, luck and good fortune would never turn to come back to them. She glanced at the red bricks of the castle wall. Once they had been part of Marsk Stig’s castle; that mighty man the king had broken; and his daughters, too, had been left to fend for themselves. Did Johanne at that moment recall the lines from the folk song about Marsk Stig’s daughters?

  “The older took the younger by the hand

  And out in the wide world they walked!”

  “But Johanne and her sisters were not two; they were three—or four, if you counted their father. Along the same road that they so often had driven on in their carriage, they walked now like beggars. At Smidstrup Fields stood a humble peasant cottage. This they had rented for ten marks silver a year and that was to be their ‘castle.’ Empty was every room and bare their larder. The crows and the jackdaws followed them screaming and mocking them, ‘Craw! craw! Now your nest is gone. Craw! Craw!’ They remembered when Valdemar Daae had cut down the oaks of Borreby and made so many birds homeless.

  “Whether in their misery they could have understood the crows, I do not know. I whistled past their ears so that they need not listen to what the foolish birds were screaming.

>   “They moved into the little house, whose walls were made from mud, not stones. I flew away across the fields and through the naked forest, to the open sea. I wanted to visit foreign lands. Whooo … whooo … All will pass.… Whoo … whoo! That truth the years can’t change … whoo!”

  How did Valdemar Daae fare and what happened to his daughters? The wind will tell us.

  “I saw Anna Dorthea, the pale hyacinth, for the last time about fifty years after they had left the castle. She was an old woman then, bent and broken, yet she remembered everything that had happened.

  “On the edge of the great heath, near the town of Viborg in Jutland, a new and splendid house had been built as residence for the archdeacon. It was made of red bricks and had corbie gables. The smoke poured from the kitchen chimney, telling what a good table was kept here. The archdeacon’s wife was sitting before the bay win-down together with her daughters. They were looking out over the hawthorn trees toward the yellow heath. What were they looking for? They were watching the storks hover over their nest, which they had built on the roof of the ruins of a cottage. The straw roof was overgrown with moss and had several big holes in it; the part that gave the best protection against the weather was the one that the stork’s nest covered, for the nest was in fine condition, the storks saw to that.

  “It was the kind of hut that it was safer to look at than to touch. I had to be gentle when I was near it,” declared the wind. “The house was considered an eyesore by everyone, and the archdeacon would have had it torn down if it hadn’t been for the storks. Because of those birds and their nest it was allowed to stand; and the wretched old woman who lived in it could stay. She owed her home to the Egyptian bird. Maybe it was a kind of justice, because she once had begged that the nest of the wild black stork in Borreby forest should be spared. Yes, it was she, the pale hyacinth from the aristocratic garden. She remembered all that had happened. Poor Anna Dorthea. She sighed, for human beings can sigh as I do when I blow gently through the reeds that grow around the lake.