From "The Goldenrod Fairy Book" selected and translated by Esther Singleton; Dodd, Mead & Company; New York; pp. 70-84.
“Yes, if I could think of a new one to tell,” said the old man. “But how did the little fellow get his feet wet?” asked he.
“Ah,” said the mother, “that is what we cannot find out.”
“Will you tell me a story?” asked the boy.71
“Yes, if you can tell me exactly how deep the gutter is in the little street through which you go to school.”
“Just halfway up to my knee,” said the boy, “that is, if I stand in the deepest part.”
“It is easy to see how we got our feet wet,” said the old man. “Well, now I suppose I ought to tell a story, but I don’t know any more.”
“You can make up one, I know,” said the boy. “Mother says that you can turn everything you look at into a story, and everything, even, that you touch.”
“Ah, but those sorts of tales and stories are worth nothing. The real ones come of themselves; they knock at my forehead, and say, ‘Here we are!’ ”
“Won’t there be a knock soon?” said the boy. And his mother laughed, while she put elder-flowers in the teapot, and poured boiling water over them. “Oh, do tell me a story.”
“Yes, if a story comes of itself; but tales and stories are very grand — they only come when it pleases them. Stop,” he cried all at once, “here we have it; look! there is a story in the teapot now.”72
The little boy looked at the teapot, and saw the lid raise itself gradually, and long branches sprouted out, even from the spout, in all directions, till they became larger and larger, and there appeared a large elder-tree, covered with flowers white and fresh. It spread itself even to the bed, and pushed the curtains aside, and oh, how fragrant the blossoms smelled! In the midst of the tree sat a pleasant-looking old woman, in a very strange dress. The dress was green, like the leaves of the elder-tree, and was decorated with large white elder-blossoms. It was not easy to tell whether the border was made of some kind of stuff or of real flowers.
“What is that woman’s name?” asked the boy.
“The Romans and Greeks called her a dryad,” said the old man, “but we do not understand that name; we have a better one for her in the quarter of the town where the sailors live. They call her Elder-flower mother, and you must pay attention to her now, and listen while you look at the beautiful tree.
“Just such a large blooming tree as this stands outside in the corner of a poor little yard; and under this tree, one bright sunny afternoon, sat 73 two old people — a sailor and his wife. They had great-grandchildren, and would soon celebrate the golden wedding, which is the fiftieth anniversary of the wedding-day, as I suppose you know, and the Elder-mother sat in the tree and looked as pleased as she does now. ‘I know when the golden wedding is to be,’ said she; but they did not hear her, they were talking of olden times. ‘Do you remember,’ said the old sailor, ‘when we were quite little, and used to run about and play in the very same yard, where we are now sitting, and how we planted little twigs in one corner, and made a garden?’ ‘Yes,’ said the old woman, ‘I remember it quite well, and how we watered the twigs, and one of them was a sprig of elder that took root, and put forth green shoots, until it became in time the great tree under which we old people are now seated.’ ‘To be sure,’ he replied; ‘and in that corner yonder stands the water-butt in which I used to swim my boat that I had cut out all myself, and it sailed well, too; but since then I have learned a very different kind of sailing.’ ‘Yes, but before that, we went to school,’ said she, ‘and then we were prepared for Confirmation — how we both cried on that day; but in 74 the afternoon, we went, hand in hand, up to the round tower, and saw the view over Copenhagen, and across the water; then we went to Fredericksburg, where the King and Queen were sailing in their beautiful boat on the river.’ ‘But I had to sail on a very different voyage elsewhere, and be away from home for years on long voyages,’ said the old sailor. ‘Ah yes, and I used to cry about you,’ said she, ‘for I thought you must be dead, and lying drowned at the bottom of the sea, with the waves sweeping over you. And many a time have I got up in the night to see if the weather-cock had turned; it turned often enough, but you came not. How well I remember one day! the rain was pouring down from the skies, and the man came to the house where I was in service, to fetch away the dust. I went down to him with the dust-box, and stood for a moment at the door — what shocking weather it was! — and while I stood there, the postman came up and brought me a letter from you. How that letter had travelled about! I tore it open and read it. I laughed and wept at the same time, I was so happy. It said that you were in warm countries, where the coffee berries grew, and what a beautiful 75 country it was, and described many other wonderful things; and so I stood reading by the dust-bin, with the rain pouring down, when, all at once, somebody came and clasped me round the waist.’ ‘Yes; and you gave him such a box on the ears that they tingled,’ said the old man. ‘I did not know that it was you,’ she replied, ‘but you had arrived as quickly as your letter, and you looked so handsome, and, indeed, so you are still. You had a large yellow silk handkerchief in your pocket, and a shiny hat on your head. You looked quite fine. And, all the time, what weather it was! and how dismal the street looked!’ ‘And then do you remember,’ said he, ‘when we were married, and our first boy came, and then Marie, and Niels, and Peter, and Hans Christian?’ ‘Indeed I do,’ she replied; ‘and they are all grown up respectable men and women, whom every one likes.’ ‘And now their children have little ones,’ said the old sailor. ‘There are great-grandchildren for us, strong and healthy, too.’ ‘Was it not about this time of year that we were married?’ ‘Yes; and today is the golden wedding-day,’ said Elder-tree mother, popping her head out just between the 76 two old people; and they thought it was a neighbour nodding to them. Then they looked at each other, and clasped their hands together. Presently came their children and grandchildren, who knew very well that it was the golden wedding-day. They had already wished them joy on that very morning; but the old people had forgotten it, although they remembered so well all that had happened many years before. And the elder-tree smelt sweetly, and the setting sun shone upon the faces of the old people, till they looked quite ruddy; and the youngest of their grand-children danced around them joyfully, and said they were going to have a feast in the evening, and there were to be hot potatoes. Then the Elder-mother nodded in the tree, and cried, ‘Hurrah,’ with all the rest.”
“But that is not a story,” said the little boy, who had been listening.
“Not till you understand it,” said the old man; “but let us ask the Elder-mother to explain it.”
“It was not exactly a story,” said the Elder-mother; “but the story is coming now, and it is a true one. For out of truth grow the most wonderful stories, just as my beautiful elder-bush 77 has sprung out of the teapot.” And then she took the little boy out of bed, and laid him on her bosom; and the blooming branches of elder closed over them, so that they sat as it were in a leafy bower; and the bower flew with them through the air in the most delightful manner. Then the Elder-mother all at once changed to a beautiful young maiden; but her dress was still of the same green stuff, ornamented with a border of white elder-blossoms, such as the Elder-mother had worn. In her bosom she wore a real elder-flower, and a wreath of the same was entwined in her golden ringlets. Her large blue eyes were very beautiful to look at. She was the same age as the boy; and they kissed each other, and felt very happy. They left the arbour together, hand in hand, and found themselves in a beautiful flower-garden, which belonged to their home. On the green lawn their father’s stick was tied up. There was life in this stick for the little ones; for no sooner did they place themselves upon it than the white knob changed into a pretty neighing head, with a black flowing mane, and four long slim legs sprung forth. The creature was strong and spirited, and galloped 78 with them round the grass-plot. “Hurrah! now we will ride many miles away,” said the boy; “we’ll ride to the nobleman’s estate, where we went last year.” Then they rode round the grass-plot again; and the little maiden, who, we know, was Elder-tree mother, kept crying out, “Now we are in the country. Do you see the farmhouse, with a great baking-oven, which sticks out from the wall by the roadside like a gigantic egg? There is an elder spreading its branches over it, and a cock is marching about, and scratching for the chickens. See how he struts! Now we are near the church. There it stands on the hill, shaded by the great oak-trees, one of which is half dead. See, here we are at the blacksmith’s forge. How the fire burns! And the half-clad men are striking the hot iron with the hammer, so that the sparks fly about. Now then, away to the nobleman’s beautiful estate.” And the boy saw all that the little girl spoke of as she sat behind him on the stick; for it passed before him, although they were only galloping round the grass-plot. Then they played together in a sidewalk, and raked up the earth, to make a little garden. She took elder-flowers 79 out of her hair, and planted them; and they grew just like those which he had heard the old people talking about, and which they had planted in their young days. They walked about hand in hand, too, just as the old people had done when they were children; but they did not go up the round tower, nor to Fredericksburg garden. No; but the little girl seized the boy round the waist, and they rode all over the whole country — sometimes it was spring, then summer, then autumn, and winter followed — while thousands of images were presented to the boy’s eyes and heart, and the little girl constantly sung to him, “You must never forget all this.” And, through their whole flight, the elder-tree sent forth the sweetest fragrance.
They passed roses and fresh beech-trees, but the perfume of the elder-tree was stronger than all, for its flowers hung round the little maiden’s heart, against which the boy so often leaned his head during their flight.
“It is beautiful here in the spring,” said the maiden, as they stood in a grove of beech-trees covered with fresh green leaves, while at their feet the sweet-scented thyme and blushing 80 anemone lay spread amid the green grass in delicate bloom. “Oh, that it were always spring in the fragrant beech-groves!”
“Here it is delightful in summer,” said the maiden, as they passed old knights’ castles, telling of days gone by, and saw the high walls and pointed gables mirrored in the rivers beneath, where swans were sailing about and peeping into the cool green avenues. In the fields the corn waved to and fro like the sea. Red and yellow flowers grew amongst the ruins, and the hedges were covered with wild hops and blooming convolvulus. In the evening the moon rose round and full, and the haystacks in the meadow filled the air with their sweet scent. These were scenes never to be forgotten. “It is lovely here also in autumn,” said the little maiden; and then the scene changed. The sky appeared higher and more beautifully blue, while the forest glowed with colours of red, green, and gold. The hounds were off to the chase, large flocks of wild birds flew screaming over the Huns’ graves, where the blackberry bushes twined round the old ruins. The dark blue sea was dotted with white sails, and in the barns sat old women, maidens, and 81 children, picking hops into a large tub. The young ones sang songs, and the old ones told fairy tales of wizards and witches. There could be nothing more pleasant than all this. “Again,” said the maiden, “it is beautiful here in winter.” Then in a moment all the trees were covered with hoar-frost, so that they looked like white coral. The snow crackled beneath the feet as if every one had on new boots, and one shooting star after another fell from the sky. In warm rooms there could be seen the Christmas trees decked out with presents, and lighted up amid festivities and joy. In the country farmhouses could be heard the sound of the violin, and there were games for apples, so that even the poorest child could say, “It is beautiful in winter.” And beautiful indeed were all the scenes which the maiden showed to the little boy, and always around them floated the fragrance of the elder-blossom, and ever above them waved the red flag with the white cross under which the old seaman had sailed. The boy who had become a youth, and who had gone as a sailor out into the wide world, and sailed to warm countries where the coffee grew, and to whom the little girl had given an elder-blossom 82 from her bosom for a keepsake, when she took leave of him, placed the flower in his hymn-book, and when he opened it in foreign lands he always turned to the spot where this flower of remembrance lay, and the more he looked at it the fresher it appeared. He could, as it were, breathe the home-like fragrance of the woods, and see the little girl looking at him from between the petals of the flower with her clear blue eyes, and hear her whispering, “It is beautiful here at home in spring, and summer, in autumn, and in winter,” while hundreds of these scenes passed through his memory. Many years had passed, and he was now an old man seated with his old wife under an elder-tree in full blossom. They were holding each other’s hands just as the great-grandfather and grandmother had done, and spoke, as they did, of olden times and of the golden wedding. The little maiden with the blue eyes and the elder-blossoms in her hair sat in the tree and nodded to them and said, “Today is the golden wedding.” And then she took two flowers out of her wreath and kissed them, and they shone first like silver and then like gold; and as she placed them on the heads of the old 83 people each flower became a golden crown. And there they sat like a king and queen under the sweetly scented tree, which still looked like an elder-bush. Then he related to his old wife the story of the Elder-tree mother, just as he had heard it told when he was a little boy, and they both fancied it very much like their own story, especially in some parts which they liked the best.
“Well, and so it is,” said the little maiden in the tree. “Some call me Elder-mother, others a dryad, but my real name is ‘Memory.” It is I who sit in the tree as it grows and grows, and I can think of the past and relate many things. Let me see if you have still preserved the flower.”
Then the old man opened his hymn-book, and there lay the elder-flower as fresh as if it had only just been placed there, and “Memory” nodded, and the two old people with the golden crowns on their heads sat in the red glow of the evening sunlight, and closed their eyes, and — and — the story was ended.
The little boy lay in his bed and did not quite know whether he had been dreaming or listening to a story. The teapot stood on the table, but no elder-bush grew out of it, and the old man who 84 had really told the tale was on the threshold, and just going out at the door.
“How beautiful it was!” said the little boy. “Mother, I have been to the warm countries.”
“I can quite believe it,” said his mother. “When any one drinks two full cups of elder-flower tea he may well get into warm countries;” and then she covered him up that he should not take cold. “You have slept well while I have been disputing with the old man as to whether it was a real story or a fairy legend.”
“And where is the Elder-tree mother?” asked the boy.
“She is in the teapot,” said the mother, “and there she may stay.”