FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN: THE ANGEL

                                       1872

                     FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

                                   THE ANGEL

                           by Hans Christian Andersen

    "WHENEVER a good child dies, an angel of God comes down from

heaven, takes the dead child in his arms, spreads out his great

white wings, and flies with him over all the places which the child

had loved during his life. Then he gathers a large handful of flowers,

which he carries up to the Almighty, that they may bloom more brightly

in heaven than they do on earth. And the Almighty presses the

flowers to His heart, but He kisses the flower that pleases Him

best, and it receives a voice, and is able to join the song of the

chorus of bliss."

    These words were spoken by an angel of God, as he carried a dead

child up to heaven, and the child listened as if in a dream. Then they

passed over well-known spots, where the little one had often played,

and through beautiful gardens full of lovely flowers.

    "Which of these shall we take with us to heaven to be transplanted

there?" asked the angel.

    Close by grew a slender, beautiful, rose-bush, but some wicked

hand had broken the stem, and the half-opened rosebuds hung faded

and withered on the trailing branches.

    "Poor rose-bush!" said the child, "let us take it with us to

heaven, that it may bloom above in God's garden."

    The angel took up the rose-bush; then he kissed the child, and the

little one half opened his eyes. The angel gathered also some

beautiful flowers, as well as a few humble buttercups and

heart's-ease.

    "Now we have flowers enough," said the child; but the angel only

nodded, he did not fly upward to heaven.

    It was night, and quite still in the great town. Here they

remained, and the angel hovered over a small, narrow street, in

which lay a large heap of straw, ashes, and sweepings from the

houses of people who had removed. There lay fragments of plates,

pieces of plaster, rags, old hats, and other rubbish not pleasant to

see. Amidst all this confusion, the angel pointed to the pieces of a

broken flower-pot, and to a lump of earth which had fallen out of

it. The earth had been kept from falling to pieces by the roots of a

withered field-flower, which had been thrown amongst the rubbish.

    "We will take this with us," said the angel, "I will tell you

why as we fly along."

    And as they flew the angel related the history.

    "Down in that narrow lane, in a low cellar, lived a poor sick boy;

he had been afflicted from his childhood, and even in his best days he

could just manage to walk up and down the room on crutches once or

twice, but no more. During some days in summer, the sunbeams would lie

on the floor of the cellar for about half an hour. In this spot the

poor sick boy would sit warming himself in the sunshine, and

watching the red blood through his delicate fingers as he held them

before his face. Then he would say he had been out, yet he knew

nothing of the green forest in its spring verdure, till a neighbor's

son brought him a green bough from a beech-tree. This he would place

over his head, and fancy that he was in the beech-wood while the sun

shone, and the birds carolled gayly. One spring day the neighbor's boy

brought him some field-flowers, and among them was one to which the

root still adhered. This he carefully planted in a flower-pot, and

placed in a window-seat near his bed. And the flower had been

planted by a fortunate hand, for it grew, put forth fresh shoots,

and blossomed every year. It became a splendid flower-garden to the

sick boy, and his little treasure upon earth. He watered it, and

cherished it, and took care it should have the benefit of every

sunbeam that found its way into the cellar, from the earliest

morning ray to the evening sunset. The flower entwined itself even

in his dreams- for him it bloomed, for him spread its perfume. And

it gladdened his eyes, and to the flower he turned, even in death,

when the Lord called him. He has been one year with God. During that

time the flower has stood in the window, withered and forgotten,

till at length cast out among the sweepings into the street, on the

day of the lodgers' removal. And this poor flower, withered and

faded as it is, we have added to our nosegay, because it gave more

real joy than the most beautiful flower in the garden of a queen."

    "But how do you know all this?" asked the child whom the angel was

carrying to heaven.

    "I know it," said the angel, "because I myself was the poor sick

boy who walked upon crutches, and I know my own flower well."

    Then the child opened his eyes and looked into the glorious

happy face of the angel, and at the same moment they found

themselves in that heavenly home where all is happiness and joy. And

God pressed the dead child to His heart, and wings were given him so

that he could fly with the angel, hand in hand. Then the Almighty

pressed all the flowers to His heart; but He kissed the withered

field-flower, and it received a voice. Then it joined in the song of

the angels, who surrounded the throne, some near, and others in a

distant circle, but all equally happy. They all joined in the chorus

of praise, both great and small,- the good, happy child, and the

poor field-flower, that once lay withered and cast away on a heap of

rubbish in a narrow, dark street.

                            THE END