THE ELF OF THE ROSE [1]
fallen from the tree on to the wicked man's
head, as he was digging the grave. The hat was on the head now,
which made it very dark, and the little elf shuddered with fright
and indignation at the wicked deed.
It was the dawn of morning before the wicked man reached home;
he took off his hat, and went into his sister's room. There lay the
beautiful, blooming girl, dreaming of him whom she loved so, and who
was now, she supposed, travelling far away over mountain and sea.
Her wicked brother stopped over her, and laughed hideously, as
fiends only can laugh. The dry leaf fell out of his hair upon the
counterpane; but he did not notice it, and went to get a little
sleep during the early morning hours. But the elf slipped out of the
withered leaf, placed himself by the ear of the sleeping girl, and
told her, as in a dream, of the horrid murder; described the place
where her brother had slain her lover, and buried his body; and told
her of the linden-tree, in full blossom, that stood close by.
"That you may not think this is only a dream that I have told
you," he said, "you will find on your bed a withered leaf."
Then she awoke, and found it there. Oh, what bitter tears she
shed! and she could not open her heart to any one for relief.
The window stood open the whole day, and the little elf could
easily have reached the roses, or any of the flowers; but he could not
find it in his heart to leave one so afflicted. In the window stood
a bush bearing monthly roses. He seated himself in one of the flowers,
and gazed on the poor girl. Her brother often came into the room,
and would be quite cheerful, in spite of his base conduct; so she dare
not say a word to him of her heart's grief.
As soon as night came on, she slipped out of the house, and went
into the wood, to the spot where the linden-tree stood; and after
removing the leaves from the earth, she turned it up, and there
found him who had been murdered. Oh, how she wept and prayed that
she also might die! Gladly would she have taken the body home with
her; but that was impossible; so she took up the poor head with the
closed eyes, kissed the cold lips, and shook the mould out of the
beautiful hair.
"I will keep this," said she; and as soon as she had covered the
body again with the earth and leaves, she took the head and a little
sprig of jasmine that bloomed in the wood, near the spot where he
was buried, and carried them home with her. As soon as she was in
her room, she took the largest flower-pot she could find, and in
this she placed the head of the dead man, covered it up with earth,
and planted the twig of jasmine in it.
"Farewell, farewell," whispered the little elf. He could not any
longer endure to witness all this agony of grief, he therefore flew
away to his own rose in the garden. But the rose was faded; only a few
dry leaves still clung to the green hedge behind it.
"Alas! how soon all that is good and beautiful passes away,"
sighed the elf.
After a while he found another rose, which became his home, for
among its delicate fragrant leaves he could dwell in safety. Every
morning he flew to the window of the poor girl, and always found her
weeping by the flower pot. The bitter tears fell upon the jasmine
twig, and each day, as she became paler and paler, the sprig
appeared to grow greener and fresher. One shoot after another sprouted
forth, and little white buds blossomed, which the poor girl fondly
kissed. But her wicked brother scolded her, and asked her if she was
going mad. He could not imagine why she was weeping over that
flower-pot, and it annoyed him. He did not know whose closed eyes were
there, nor what red lips were fading beneath the earth. And one day
she sat and leaned her head against the flower-pot, and the little elf
of the rose found her asleep. Then he seated himself by her ear,
talked to her of that evening in the arbor, of the sweet perfume of
the rose, and the loves of the elves. Sweetly
head, as he was digging the grave. The hat was on the head now,
which made it very dark, and the little elf shuddered with fright
and indignation at the wicked deed.
It was the dawn of morning before the wicked man reached home;
he took off his hat, and went into his sister's room. There lay the
beautiful, blooming girl, dreaming of him whom she loved so, and who
was now, she supposed, travelling far away over mountain and sea.
Her wicked brother stopped over her, and laughed hideously, as
fiends only can laugh. The dry leaf fell out of his hair upon the
counterpane; but he did not notice it, and went to get a little
sleep during the early morning hours. But the elf slipped out of the
withered leaf, placed himself by the ear of the sleeping girl, and
told her, as in a dream, of the horrid murder; described the place
where her brother had slain her lover, and buried his body; and told
her of the linden-tree, in full blossom, that stood close by.
"That you may not think this is only a dream that I have told
you," he said, "you will find on your bed a withered leaf."
Then she awoke, and found it there. Oh, what bitter tears she
shed! and she could not open her heart to any one for relief.
The window stood open the whole day, and the little elf could
easily have reached the roses, or any of the flowers; but he could not
find it in his heart to leave one so afflicted. In the window stood
a bush bearing monthly roses. He seated himself in one of the flowers,
and gazed on the poor girl. Her brother often came into the room,
and would be quite cheerful, in spite of his base conduct; so she dare
not say a word to him of her heart's grief.
As soon as night came on, she slipped out of the house, and went
into the wood, to the spot where the linden-tree stood; and after
removing the leaves from the earth, she turned it up, and there
found him who had been murdered. Oh, how she wept and prayed that
she also might die! Gladly would she have taken the body home with
her; but that was impossible; so she took up the poor head with the
closed eyes, kissed the cold lips, and shook the mould out of the
beautiful hair.
"I will keep this," said she; and as soon as she had covered the
body again with the earth and leaves, she took the head and a little
sprig of jasmine that bloomed in the wood, near the spot where he
was buried, and carried them home with her. As soon as she was in
her room, she took the largest flower-pot she could find, and in
this she placed the head of the dead man, covered it up with earth,
and planted the twig of jasmine in it.
"Farewell, farewell," whispered the little elf. He could not any
longer endure to witness all this agony of grief, he therefore flew
away to his own rose in the garden. But the rose was faded; only a few
dry leaves still clung to the green hedge behind it.
"Alas! how soon all that is good and beautiful passes away,"
sighed the elf.
After a while he found another rose, which became his home, for
among its delicate fragrant leaves he could dwell in safety. Every
morning he flew to the window of the poor girl, and always found her
weeping by the flower pot. The bitter tears fell upon the jasmine
twig, and each day, as she became paler and paler, the sprig
appeared to grow greener and fresher. One shoot after another sprouted
forth, and little white buds blossomed, which the poor girl fondly
kissed. But her wicked brother scolded her, and asked her if she was
going mad. He could not imagine why she was weeping over that
flower-pot, and it annoyed him. He did not know whose closed eyes were
there, nor what red lips were fading beneath the earth. And one day
she sat and leaned her head against the flower-pot, and the little elf
of the rose found her asleep. Then he seated himself by her ear,
talked to her of that evening in the arbor, of the sweet perfume of
the rose, and the loves of the elves. Sweetly