 | |
| Little Ida's Flowers illustrated by Edna F. Hart |
 | |
| Hans Christian Andersen |
 |
| Little Ida's Flowers illustrated by Edna F. Hart |
 | |
| Wind Anemone |
Little Ida's Flowers
written by Hans Christian Andersen (1835)
"My poor flowers, you are wither'd!" said
little Ida. "Yesterday evening
you were so
pretty, and now all your leaves are drooping!
What is the reason of it?" asked she of a
youth sitting on a sofa,
and whom she liked
very much, because he told her the most
beautiful fairytales, and cut out pasteboard houses for her,
and such wonderful pictures too; he could cut out hearts with little
ladies dancing in them; flowers he could cut out, and castles
with doors that would open. He was a very charming youth.
beautiful fairytales, and cut out pasteboard houses for her,
and such wonderful pictures too; he could cut out hearts with little
ladies dancing in them; flowers he could cut out, and castles
with doors that would open. He was a very charming youth.
"Why do these flowers look so faded?" asked
she again,
showing him a withered nosegay.
"Don't you know what ails them? answered he;
"your flowers have been allnight at a ball,
and that's the reason they all hang their
heads."
"Flowers cannot dance!" exclaimed little
Ida.
"Certainly they can! When it is dark, and
we are all asleep,
then they dance about
right merrily.
They have a ball almost every
night!" said the youth.
"May children go to the flowers' ball too?"
asked little Ida.
"Yes," answered the youth. "Little tiny
daisies, and lilies of the valley."
"Where do the prettiest flowers dance?"
asked little Ida.
"Have you never been to the large castle,
just outside the gates,
which is the King's
country house, and where there is a
beautiful
garden with so many flowers in it?
You have surely seen the swans
that come swimming towards you on the lake when you
throw them
crumbs of bread? The flowers
have regular balls there, I can tell you."
"I was in the garden yesterday with my
mother," said Ida; "but there
were no leaves
on the trees, and I did not see a single
flower.
Where were they, then? There were so
many of them there in summer!"
"They are in the palace now," said the youth.
"As soon as the King
leaves his
summer palace, and goes to town with his
court,
all the flowers go directly out of
the garden into the palace, and make
merry
there, and enjoy themselves famously.
If you
could but see it once! The two most
beautiful roses
seat themselves on the
throne, and play at King and Queen.
Then the
red cockscombs range themselves in rows on
both sides,
and make a lowbow; these are the
gentlemen of the bedchamber.
Then the nicest
flowers enter, and the great ball begins.
The blue violets are midshipmen and cadets,
and they dance
with hyacinths and crocuses,
which they call young ladies.
The tulips and
great yellow lilies, they are old ladies who
look on
and see that the dancing goes on
properly,
and that all is conducted with
propriety."
"But," said little Ida, quite astonished, "may
the flowers give a ball
in the King's palace
in that way, and does nobody come in
to
disturb them?"
"No one in the palace knows anything about
it," answered the youth.
"It's true,
sometimes the old inspector of the palace
comes
up stairs in the night with his great
bunch of keys, to see if all is safe;
but
as soon as the flowers hear the rattling of
his keys,
they keep quite still, and hide
themselves behind the long silken
windowcurtains, and peep out with their
little heads.
"I smell flowers here
somewhere about," says the old inspector;
but he cannot find out where they are."
"That's very droll," said little Ida,
clapping her hands.
"But could I not see
the flowers?"
"Of course you can see them," answered the
youth. "Only peep in
at the window when you
go again to the palace. I looked in today,
and I saw a long pale white lily reclining
on the sofa.
That was a maid of honor."
"Can
the flowers in the Botanic Garden go there
too?" asked she.
"Are they able to go all
that way?"
"Certainly, that you may believe," said the
youth, "for if the flowers
choose, they can
fly. Have you not seen the pretty red and
yellow
butterflies, and the white ones too,
that almost look like flowers,
are in
reality nothing else. They have grown on
stalks,
high up in the air, and then they have leaves given them
to jump from their stems, they move their leaves as if they were wings,
and so fly about; and as they always behave well, they are allowed
to flutter hither and thither by day, instead of sitting quietly on their
stems, till at last, real wings grow out of their leaves.
high up in the air, and then they have leaves given them
to jump from their stems, they move their leaves as if they were wings,
and so fly about; and as they always behave well, they are allowed
to flutter hither and thither by day, instead of sitting quietly on their
stems, till at last, real wings grow out of their leaves.
Why, you have seen it often enough yourself.
However, it may be that
the flowers in the
Botanic Garden did not know that there was
such merrymaking in the King's palace of a
night, and so have never
been there. But
I'll tell you something that will put the
Professor of
Botany, who lives beside the garden, into a perplexity;
Botany, who lives beside the garden, into a perplexity;
when you go there
again, you have only to whisper it to one
flower,
that there is a ball to be given at
night at Friedricksburg, and one will
tell it to the other till they all know it, and then all the flowers
are sure to fly there. Then when the Professor comes into the garden,
and does not find any of his flowers, he will not be able to
comprehend what is become of them."
tell it to the other till they all know it, and then all the flowers
are sure to fly there. Then when the Professor comes into the garden,
and does not find any of his flowers, he will not be able to
comprehend what is become of them."
"Ah!" said little Ida, somewhat vexed at the
strange story,
how should the flowers be
able to tell each other what I say?
Flowers
cannot speak!"
"No, they cannot properly talk; there you
are quite right,"
continued the youth; "but
they make themselves understood by
gestures. Have you not often seen how they bend to and fro,
and nod and move all their green leaves, when there is
the gentlest breeze? To them this is as intelligible as words are to us."
gestures. Have you not often seen how they bend to and fro,
and nod and move all their green leaves, when there is
the gentlest breeze? To them this is as intelligible as words are to us."
"Does the Professor understand their
gestures, then?" said little Ida.
"To be sure he does. One morning he came
into the garden
and remarked that a great
stinging nettle was conversing on very
intimate terms with a pretty young carnation.
intimate terms with a pretty young carnation.
'You are so beautiful,' said the nettle to
the carnation,'
and I love you so devotedly!'
But the Professor would not suffer any thing
of the sort, and tapped
the nettle on his
leaves - for those are its fingers; but they
stung him
so that from that day forward he
has never ventured to meddle
with a
stinging nettle again."
"Ha! ha! ha! that was good fun indeed."
laughed little Ida.
"What's the meaning of this," said the
Professor of Mathematics,
who had just come
to pay a visit, "to tell the child such
nonsense!"
He could not bear the young man,
and always scolded when he saw
him cutting
out pasteboard figures as, for example, a
man
on the gallows with a heart in his hand,
which was meant for
a stealer of hearts; or
an old witch riding on a broomstick,
carrying
her husband on the tip of her nose.
The cross Professor could not
bear any of these, and then he used to say as he did now,
bear any of these, and then he used to say as he did now,
"What's the meaning of that - to teach the
child such nonsense!
That's your stupid
Imagination, I suppose!"
But little Ida thought it was very amusing,
and could not leave off
thinking of what the
youth had told her about the flowers. No
doubt
her flowers did hang their heads
because they really had been
to the ball
yesterday. She therefore carried them to the
table
where all sorts of toys were nicely
arranged, and in the drawer
were many pretty
things besides. Her doll lay in a little
bed,
to go to sleep; but Ida said to her, "Really,
Sophie, you must get up,
and be satisfied
with the drawer for tonight; for the poor
flowers are ill,
and must sleep in your bed.
Then perhaps they may be well by
tomorrow." So she took the doll out of bed; but the good lady
did not say a single word, she only made a wry face at being obliged
to leave her bed for the sake of the old flowers.
tomorrow." So she took the doll out of bed; but the good lady
did not say a single word, she only made a wry face at being obliged
to leave her bed for the sake of the old flowers.
Ida laid the withered flowers in her doll's
bed, covered them up
with the counterpane,
tucked them in very nicely, and told them to
lie
quite still, and in the meantime she
would make some tea
for them to drink, that
they might be quite well by tomorrow
morning.
And she drew the curtains close all
round the bed, so that the sun
might not
shine in their eyes.
The whole evening she kept on thinking of
what she had heard, and
just before going to bed she ran to the window where her mother's
tulips and hyacinths were standing, and she whispered quite softly
to them, "I know very well that you are going to the ball tonight."
just before going to bed she ran to the window where her mother's
tulips and hyacinths were standing, and she whispered quite softly
to them, "I know very well that you are going to the ball tonight."
But the flowers seemed as if they heard
nothing, and moved not a leaf;
but little
Ida knew what she knew.
When she was in bed, she lay for a long time
thinking how delightful
it would be to see
the flowers dancing at the King's palace.
"Have my flowers really been there?" But
before she could think about
the answer, she
had fallen asleep. She awoke again in the
night;
she had dreamed of the youth and the
flowers, and the professor
of Mathematics,
who always said the youth stuffed her head
with nonsense, and that she believed every
thing. It was quite still
in the sleeping room; the night lamp burnt on the table, and her father
in the sleeping room; the night lamp burnt on the table, and her father
and mother were fast
asleep.
"I wonder if my flowers are still in
Sophie's bed!" said she.
"I should like so
much to know!"
She sat up in her bed, looked towards the
door which was half open,
and there lay the
flowers and her playthings all as she had
left them.
She listened, and it seemed to
her as if some one was playing
on the piano
in the next room, but quite softly, and yet
so beautifully
that she thought she had
never heard the like.
"Now, then, my flowers are all dancing for
certain!" said she.
"Oh, how I should like
to go and see them!"
But she did not dare
to get up, for fear of awaking her father
and mother.
"If they would but come in here!" said she.
