UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE [1]
which
they take care to show to the world. On the left, just where the heart
is, the gingerbread man had an almond stuck in to represent it, but
the maiden was honey cake all over. They were placed on the counter as
samples, and after lying there a long time they at last fell in love
with each other; but neither of them spoke of it to the other, as they
should have done if they expected anything to follow. 'He is a man, he
ought to speak the first word,' thought the gingerbread maiden; but
she felt quite happy- she was sure that her love was returned. But his
thoughts were far more ambitious, as the thoughts of a man often
are. He dreamed that he was a real street boy, that he possessed
four real pennies, and that he had bought the gingerbread lady, and
ate her up. And so they lay on the counter for days and weeks, till
they grew hard and dry; but the thoughts of the maiden became ever
more tender and womanly. 'Ah well, it is enough for me that I have
been able to live on the same counter with him,' said she one day;
when suddenly, 'crack,' and she broke in two. 'Ah,' said the
gingerbread man to himself, 'if she had only known of my love, she
would have kept together a little longer.' And here they both are, and
that is their history," said the cake man. "You think the history of
their lives and their silent love, which never came to anything,
very remarkable; and there they are for you." So saying, he gave
Joanna the gingerbread man, who was still quite whole- and to Knud the
broken maiden; but the children had been so much impressed by the
story, that they had not the heart to eat the lovers up.
The next day they went into the churchyard, and took the two
cake figures with them, and sat down under the church wall, which
was covered with luxuriant ivy in summer and winter, and looked as
if hung with rich tapestry. They stuck up the two gingerbread
figures in the sunshine among the green leaves, and then told the
story, and all about the silent love which came to nothing, to a group
of children. They called it, "love," because the story was so
lovely, and the other children had the same opinion. But when they
turned to look at the gingerbread pair, the broken maiden was gone!
A great boy, out of wickedness, had eaten her up. At first the
children cried about it; but afterwards, thinking very probably that
the poor lover ought not to be left alone in the world, they ate him
up too: but they never forgot the story.
The two children still continued to play together by the
elder-tree, and under the willow; and the little maiden sang beautiful
songs, with a voice that was as clear as a bell. Knud, on the
contrary, had not a note of music in him, but knew the words of the
songs, and that of course is something. The people of Kjoge, and
even the rich wife of the man who kept the fancy shop, would stand and
listen while Joanna was singing, and say, "She has really a very sweet
voice."
Those were happy days; but they could not last forever. The
neighbors were separated, the mother of the little girl was dead,
and her father had thoughts of marrying again and of residing in the
capital, where he had been promised a very lucrative appointment as
messenger. The neighbors parted with tears, the children wept sadly;
but their parents promised that they should write to each other at
least once a year.
After this, Knud was bound apprentice to a shoemaker; he was
growing a great boy, and could not be allowed to run wild any
longer. Besides, he was going to be confirmed. Ah, how happy he
would have been on that festal day in Copenhagen with little Joanna;
but he still remained at Kjoge, and had never seen the great city,
though the town is not five miles from it. But far across the bay,
when the sky was clear, the towers of Copenhagen could be seen; and on
the day of his confirmation he saw distinctly the golden cross on
the principal church glittering in the sun. How often his thoughts
were with Joanna!
they take care to show to the world. On the left, just where the heart
is, the gingerbread man had an almond stuck in to represent it, but
the maiden was honey cake all over. They were placed on the counter as
samples, and after lying there a long time they at last fell in love
with each other; but neither of them spoke of it to the other, as they
should have done if they expected anything to follow. 'He is a man, he
ought to speak the first word,' thought the gingerbread maiden; but
she felt quite happy- she was sure that her love was returned. But his
thoughts were far more ambitious, as the thoughts of a man often
are. He dreamed that he was a real street boy, that he possessed
four real pennies, and that he had bought the gingerbread lady, and
ate her up. And so they lay on the counter for days and weeks, till
they grew hard and dry; but the thoughts of the maiden became ever
more tender and womanly. 'Ah well, it is enough for me that I have
been able to live on the same counter with him,' said she one day;
when suddenly, 'crack,' and she broke in two. 'Ah,' said the
gingerbread man to himself, 'if she had only known of my love, she
would have kept together a little longer.' And here they both are, and
that is their history," said the cake man. "You think the history of
their lives and their silent love, which never came to anything,
very remarkable; and there they are for you." So saying, he gave
Joanna the gingerbread man, who was still quite whole- and to Knud the
broken maiden; but the children had been so much impressed by the
story, that they had not the heart to eat the lovers up.
The next day they went into the churchyard, and took the two
cake figures with them, and sat down under the church wall, which
was covered with luxuriant ivy in summer and winter, and looked as
if hung with rich tapestry. They stuck up the two gingerbread
figures in the sunshine among the green leaves, and then told the
story, and all about the silent love which came to nothing, to a group
of children. They called it, "love," because the story was so
lovely, and the other children had the same opinion. But when they
turned to look at the gingerbread pair, the broken maiden was gone!
A great boy, out of wickedness, had eaten her up. At first the
children cried about it; but afterwards, thinking very probably that
the poor lover ought not to be left alone in the world, they ate him
up too: but they never forgot the story.
The two children still continued to play together by the
elder-tree, and under the willow; and the little maiden sang beautiful
songs, with a voice that was as clear as a bell. Knud, on the
contrary, had not a note of music in him, but knew the words of the
songs, and that of course is something. The people of Kjoge, and
even the rich wife of the man who kept the fancy shop, would stand and
listen while Joanna was singing, and say, "She has really a very sweet
voice."
Those were happy days; but they could not last forever. The
neighbors were separated, the mother of the little girl was dead,
and her father had thoughts of marrying again and of residing in the
capital, where he had been promised a very lucrative appointment as
messenger. The neighbors parted with tears, the children wept sadly;
but their parents promised that they should write to each other at
least once a year.
After this, Knud was bound apprentice to a shoemaker; he was
growing a great boy, and could not be allowed to run wild any
longer. Besides, he was going to be confirmed. Ah, how happy he
would have been on that festal day in Copenhagen with little Joanna;
but he still remained at Kjoge, and had never seen the great city,
though the town is not five miles from it. But far across the bay,
when the sky was clear, the towers of Copenhagen could be seen; and on
the day of his confirmation he saw distinctly the golden cross on
the principal church glittering in the sun. How often his thoughts
were with Joanna!