FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN IB AND LITTLE CHRISTINA

                                       1872

                     FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

                            IB AND LITTLE CHRISTINA

                           by Hans Christian Andersen

    IN the forest that extends from the banks of the Gudenau, in North

Jutland, a long way into the country, and not far from the clear

stream, rises a great ridge of land, which stretches through the

wood like a wall. Westward of this ridge, and not far from the

river, stands a farmhouse, surrounded by such poor land that the sandy

soil shows itself between the scanty ears of rye and wheat which

grow in it. Some years have passed since the people who lived here

cultivated these fields; they kept three sheep, a pig, and two oxen;

in fact they maintained themselves very well, they had quite enough to

live upon, as people generally have who are content with their lot.

They even could have afforded to keep two horses, but it was a

saying among the farmers in those parts, "The horse eats himself

up;" that is to say, he eats as much as he earns. Jeppe Jans

cultivated his fields in summer, and in the winter he made wooden

shoes. He also had an assistant, a lad who understood as well as he

himself did how to make wooden shoes strong, but light, and in the

fashion. They carved shoes and spoons, which paid well; therefore no

one could justly call Jeppe Jans and his family poor people. Little

Ib, a boy of seven years old and the only child, would sit by,

watching the workmen, or cutting a stick, and sometimes his finger

instead of the stick. But one day Ib succeeded so well in his

carving that he made two pieces of wood look really like two little

wooden shoes, and he determined to give them as a present to Little

Christina.

    "And who was Little Christina?" She was the boatman's daughter,

graceful and delicate as the child of a gentleman; had she been

dressed differently, no one would have believed that she lived in a

hut on the neighboring heath with her father. He was a widower, and

earned his living by carrying firewood in his large boat from the

forest to the eel-pond and eel-weir, on the estate of Silkborg, and

sometimes even to the distant town of Randers. There was no one

under whose care he could leave Little Christina; so she was almost

always with him in his boat, or playing in the wood among the

blossoming heath, or picking the ripe wild berries. Sometimes, when

her father had to go as far as the town, he would take Little

Christina, who was a year younger than Ib, across the heath to the

cottage of Jeppe Jans, and leave her there. Ib and Christina agreed

together in everything; they divided their bread and berries when they

were hungry; they were partners in digging their little gardens;

they ran, and crept, and played about everywhere. Once they wandered a

long way into the forest, and even ventured together to climb the high

ridge. Another time they found a few snipes' eggs in the wood, which

was a great event. Ib had never been on the heath where Christina's

father lived, nor on the river; but at last came an opportunity.

Christina's father invited him to go for a sail in his boat; and the

evening before, he accompanied the boatman across the heath to his

house. The next morning early, the two children were placed on the top

of a high pile of firewood in the boat, and sat eating bread and

wild strawberries, while Christina's father and his man drove the boat

forward with poles. They floated on swiftly, for the tide was in their

favor, passing over lakes, formed by the stream in its course;

sometimes they seemed quite enclosed by reeds and water-plants, yet

there was always room for them to pass out, although the old trees

overhung the water and the old oaks stretched out their bare branches,

as if they had turned up their sleeves and wished to show their

knotty, naked arms. Old alder-trees, whose roots were loosened from

the banks, clung with their fibres to the bottom of the stream, and

the tops of the branches above the water looked like little woody

islands. The water-lilies waved themselves to and fro on the river,

everything made the excursion beautiful, and at last they came to

the great eel-weir, where the water rushed through the flood-gates;

and the children thought this a beautiful sight. In those days there

was no factory nor any town house, nothing but the great farm, with

its scanty-bearing fields, in which could be seen a few herd of

cattle, and one or two farm laborers. The rushing of the water through

the sluices, and the scream of the wild ducks, were almost the only

signs of active life at Silkborg. After the firewood had been

unloaded, Christina's father bought a whole bundle of eels and a

sucking-pig, which were all placed in a basket in the stern of the

boat. Then they returned again up the stream; and as the wind was

favorable, two sails were hoisted, which carried the boat on as well

as if two horses had been harnessed to it. As they sailed on, they

came by chance to the place where the boatman's assistant lived, at

a little distance from the bank of the river. The boat was moored; and

the two men, after desiring the children to sit still, both went on

shore. they obeyed this order for a very short time, and then forgot

it altogether. First they peeped into the basket containing the eels

and the sucking-pig; then they must needs pull out the pig and take it

in their hands, and feel it, and touch it; and as they both wanted

to hold it at the same time, the consequence was that they let it fall

into the water, and the pig sailed away with the stream.

    Here was a terrible disaster. Ib jumped ashore, and ran a little

distance from the boat.

    "Oh, take me with you," cried Christina; and she sprang after him.

In a few minutes they found themselves deep in a thicket, and could no

longer see the boat or the shore. They ran on a little farther, and

then Christina fell down, and began to cry.

    Ib helped her up, and said, "Never mind; follow me. Yonder is

the house." But the house was not yonder; and they wandered still

farther, over the dry rustling leaves of the last year, and treading

on fallen branches that crackled under their little feet; then they

heard a loud, piercing cry, and they stood still to listen.

Presently the scream of an eagle sounded through the wood; it was an

ugly cry, and it frightened the children; but before them, in the

thickest part of the forest, grew the most beautiful blackberries,

in wonderful quantities. They looked so inviting that the children

could not help stopping; and they remained there so long eating,

that their mouths and cheeks became quite black with the juice.

    Presently they heard the frightful scream again, and Christina

said, "We shall get into trouble about that pig."

    "Oh, never mind," said Ib; "we will go home to my father's

house. It is here in the wood." So they went on, but the road led them

out of the way; no house could be seen, it grew dark, and the children

were afraid. The solemn stillness that reigned around them was now and

then broken by the shrill cries of the great horned owl and other

birds that they knew nothing of. At last they both lost themselves

in the thicket; Christina began to cry, and then Ib cried too; and,

after weeping and lamenting for some time, they stretched themselves

down on the dry leaves and fell asleep.

    The sun was high in the heavens when the two children woke. They

felt cold; but not far from their resting-place, on a hill, the sun

was shining through the trees. They thought if they went there they

should be warm, and Ib fancied he should be able to see his father's

house from such a high spot. But they were far away from home now,

in quite another part of the forest. They clambered to the top of

the rising ground, and found themselves on the edge of a declivity,

which sloped down to a clear transparent lake. Great quantities of

fish could be seen through the clear water, sparkling in the sun's

rays; they were quite surprised when they came so suddenly upon such

an unexpected sight.

    Close to where they stood grew a hazel-bush, covered with

beautiful nuts. They soon gathered some, cracked them, and ate the

fine young kernels, which were only just ripe. But there was another

surprise and fright in store for them. Out of the thicket stepped a

tall old woman, her face quite brown, and her hair of a deep shining

black; the whites of her eyes glittered like a Moor's; on her back she

carried a bundle, and in her hand a knotted stick. She was a gypsy.

The children did not at first understand what she said. She drew out

of her pocket three large nuts, in which she told them were hidden the

most beautiful and lovely things in the world, for they were wishing

nuts. Ib looked at her, and as she spoke so kindly, he took courage,

and asked her if she would give him the nuts; and the woman gave

them to him, and then gathered some more from the bushes for

herself, quite a pocket full. Ib and Christina looked at the wishing

nuts with wide open eyes.

    "Is there in this nut a carriage, with a pair of horses?" asked

Ib.

    "Yes, there is a golden carriage, with two golden horses," replied

the woman.

    "Then give me that nut," said Christina; so Ib gave it to her, and

the strange woman tied up the nut for her in her handkerchief.

    Ib held up another nut. "Is there, in this nut, a pretty little

neckerchief like the one Christina has on her neck?" asked Ib.

    "There are ten neckerchiefs in it," she replied, "as well as

beautiful dresses, stockings, and a hat and veil."

    "Then I will have that one also," said Christina; "and it is a

pretty one too. And then Ib gave her the second nut.

    The third was a little black thing. "You may keep that one,"

said Christina; "it is quite as pretty."

    "What is in it?" asked Ib.

    "The best of all things for you," replied the gypsy. So Ib held

the nut very tight.

    Then the woman promised to lead the children to the right path,

that they might find their way home: and they went forward certainly

in quite another direction to the one they meant to take; therefore no

one ought to speak against the woman, and say that she wanted to steal

the children. In the wild wood-path they met a forester who knew Ib,

and, by his help, Ib and Christina reached home, where they found

every one had been very anxious about them. They were pardoned and

forgiven, although they really had both done wrong, and deserved to

get into trouble; first, because they had let the sucking-pig fall

into the water; and, secondly, because they had run away. Christina

was taken back to her father's house on the heath, and Ib remained

in the farm-house on the borders of the wood, near the great land

ridge.

    The first thing Ib did that evening was to take out of his

pocket the little black nut, in which the best thing of all was said

to be enclosed. He laid it carefully between the door and the

door-post, and then shut the door so that the nut cracked directly.

But there was not much kernel to be seen; it was what we should call

hollow or worm-eaten, and looked as if it had been filled with tobacco

or rich black earth. "It is just what I expected!" exclaimed Ib.

"How should there be room in a little nut like this for the best thing

of all? Christina will find her two nuts just the same; there will

be neither fine clothes or a golden carriage in them."

    Winter came; and the new year, and indeed many years passed

away; until Ib was old enough to be confirmed, and, therefore, he went

during a whole winter to the clergyman of the nearest village to be

prepared.

    One day, about this time, the boatman paid a visit to Ib's

parents, and told them that Christina was going to service, and that

she had been remarkably fortunate in obtaining a good place, with most

respectable people. "Only think," he said, "She is going to the rich

innkeeper's, at the hotel in Herning, many miles west from here. She

is to assist the landlady in the housekeeping; and, if afterwards

she behaves well and remains to be confirmed, the people will treat

her as their own daughter."

    So Ib and Christina took leave of each other. People already

called them "the betrothed," and at parting the girl showed Ib the two

nuts, which she had taken care of ever since the time that they lost

themselves in the wood; and she told him also that the little wooden

shoes he once carved for her when he was a boy, and gave her as a

present, had been carefully kept in a drawer ever since. And so they

parted.

    After Ib's confirmation, he remained at home with his mother,

for he had become a clever shoemaker, and in summer managed the farm

for her quite alone. His father had been dead some time, and his

mother kept no farm servants. Sometimes, but very seldom, he heard

of Christina, through a postillion or eel-seller who was passing.

But she was well off with the rich innkeeper; and after being

confirmed she wrote a letter to her father, in which was a kind

message to Ib and his mother. In this letter, she mentioned that her

master and mistress had made her a present of a beautiful new dress,

and some nice under-clothes. This was, of course, pleasant news.

    One day, in the following spring, there came a knock at the door

of the house where Ib's old mother lived; and when they opened it,

lo and behold, in stepped the boatman and Christina. She had come to

pay them a visit, and to spend the day. A carriage had to come from

the Herning hotel to the next village, and she had taken the

opportunity to see her friends once more. She looked as elegant as a

real lady, and wore a pretty dress, beautifully made on purpose for

her. There she stood, in full dress, while Ib wore only his working

clothes. He could not utter a word; he could only seize her hand and

hold it fast in his own, but he felt too happy and glad to open his

lips. Christina, however, was quite at her ease; she talked and

talked, and kissed him in the most friendly manner. Even afterwards,

when they were left alone, and she asked, "Did you know me again, Ib?"

he still stood holding her hand, and said at last, "You are become

quite a grand lady, Christina, and I am only a rough working man;

but I have often thought of you and of old times." Then they

wandered up the great ridge, and looked across the stream to the

heath, where the little hills were covered with the flowering broom.

Ib said nothing; but before the time came for them to part, it

became quite clear to him that Christina must be his wife: had they

not even in childhood been called the betrothed? To him it seemed as

if they were really engaged to each other, although not a word had

been spoken on the subject. They had only a few more hours to remain

together, for Christina was obliged to return that evening to the

neighboring village, to be ready for the carriage which was to start

the next morning early for Herning. Ib and her father accompanied

her to the village. It was a fine moonlight evening; and when they

arrived, Ib stood holding Christina's hand in his, as if he could

not let her go. His eyes brightened, and the words he uttered came

with hesitation from his lips, but from the deepest recesses of his

heart: "Christina, if you have not become too grand, and if you can be

contented to live in my mother's house as my wife, we will be

married some day. But we can wait for a while."

    "Oh yes," she replied; "Let us wait a little longer, Ib. I can

trust you, for I believe that I do love you. But let me think it

over." Then he kissed her lips; and so they parted.

    On the way home, Ib told the boatman that he and Christina were as

good as engaged to each other; and the boatman found out that he had

always expected it would be so, and went home with Ib that evening,

and remained the night in the farmhouse; but nothing further was

said of the engagement. During the next year, two letters passed

between Ib and Christina. They were signed, "Faithful till death;" but

at the end of that time, one day the boatman came over to see Ib, with

a kind greeting from Christina. He had something else to say, which

made him hesitate in a strange manner. At last it came out that

Christina, who had grown a very pretty girl, was more lucky than ever.

She was courted and admired by every one; but her master's son, who

had been home on a visit, was so much pleased with Christina that he

wished to marry her. He had a very good situation in an office at

Copenhagen, and as she had also taken a liking for him, his parents

were not unwilling to consent. But Christina, in her heart, often

thought of Ib, and knew how much he thought of her; so she felt

inclined to refuse this good fortune, added the boatman. At first Ib

said not a word, but he became as white as the wall, and shook his

head gently, and then he spoke,- "Christina must not refuse this

good fortune."

    "Then will you write a few words to her?" said the boatman.

    Ib sat down to write, but he could not get on at all. The words

were not what he wished to say, so he tore up the page. The

following morning, however, a letter lay ready to be sent to

Christina, and the following is what he wrote:-

    "The letter written by you to your father I have read, and see

from it that you are prosperous in everything, and that still better

fortune is in store for you. Ask your own heart, Christina, and

think over carefully what awaits you if you take me for your

husband, for I possess very little in the world. Do not think of me or

of my position; think only of your own welfare. You are bound to me by

no promises; and if in your heart you have given me one, I release you

from it. May every blessing and happiness be poured out upon you,

Christina. Heaven will give me the heart's consolation.

                                       Ever your sincere friend, IB."

    This letter was sent, and Christina received it in due time. In

the course of the following November, her banns were published in

the church on the heath, and also in Copenhagen, where the

bridegroom lived. She was taken to Copenhagen under the protection

of her future mother-in-law, because the bridegroom could not spare

time from his numerous occupations for a journey so far into

Jutland. On the journey, Christina met her father at one of the

villages through which they passed, and here he took leave of her.

Very little was said about the matter to Ib, and he did not refer to

it; his mother, however, noticed that he had grown very silent and

pensive. Thinking as he did of old times, no wonder the three nuts

came into his mind which the gypsy woman had given him when a child,

and of the two which he had given to Christina. These wishing nuts,

after all, had proved true fortune-tellers. One had contained a gilded

carriage and noble horses, and the other beautiful clothes; all of

these Christina would now have in her new home at Copenhagen. Her part

had come true. And for him the nut had contained only black earth. The

gypsy woman had said it was the best for him. Perhaps it was, and this

also would be fulfilled. He understood the gypsy woman's meaning

now. The black earth- the dark grave- was the best thing for him now.

    Again years passed away; not many, but they seemed long years to

Ib. The old innkeeper and his wife died one after the other; and the

whole of their property, many thousand dollars, was inherited by their

son. Christina could have the golden carriage now, and plenty of

fine clothes. During the two long years which followed, no letter came

from Christina to her father; and when at last her father received one

from her, it did not speak of prosperity or happiness. Poor Christina!

Neither she nor her husband understood how to economize or save, and

the riches brought no blessing with them, because they had not asked

for it.

    Years passed; and for many summers the heath was covered with

bloom; in winter the snow rested upon it, and the rough winds blew

across the ridge under which stood Ib's sheltered home. One spring day

the sun shone brightly, and he was guiding the plough across his

field. The ploughshare struck against something which he fancied was a

firestone, and then he saw glittering in the earth a splinter of

shining metal which the plough had cut from something which gleamed

brightly in the furrow. He searched, and found a large golden armlet

of superior workmanship, and it was evident that the plough had

disturbed a Hun's grave. He searched further, and found more

valuable treasures, which Ib showed to the clergyman, who explained

their value to him. Then he went to the magistrate, who informed the

president of the museum of the discovery, and advised Ib to take the

treasures himself to the president.

    "You have found in the earth the best thing you could find,"

said the magistrate.

    "The best thing," thought Ib; "the very best thing for me,- and

found in the earth! Well, if it really is so, then the gypsy woman was

right in her prophecy."

    So Ib went in the ferry-boat from Aarhus to Copenhagen. To him who

had only sailed once or twice on the river near his own home, this

seemed like a voyage on the ocean; and at length he arrived at

Copenhagen. The value of the gold he had found was paid to him; it was

a large sum- six hundred dollars. Then Ib of the heath went out, and

wandered about in the great city.

    On the evening before the day he had settled to return with the

captain of the passage-boat, Ib lost himself in the streets, and

took quite a different turning to the one he wished to follow. He

wandered on till he found himself in a poor street of the suburb

called Christian's Haven. Not a creature could be seen. At last a very

little girl came out of one of the wretched-looking houses, and Ib

asked her to tell him the way to the street he wanted; she looked up

timidly at him, and began to cry bitterly. He asked her what was the

matter; but what she said he could not understand. So he went along

the street with her; and as they passed under a lamp, the light fell

on the little girl's face. A strange sensation came over Ib, as he

caught sight of it. The living, breathing embodiment of Little

Christina stood before him, just as he remembered her in the days of

her childhood. He followed the child to the wretched house, and

ascended the narrow, crazy staircase which led to a little garret in

the roof. The air in the room was heavy and stifling, no light was

burning, and from one corner came sounds of moaning and sighing. It

was the mother of the child who lay there on a miserable bed. With the

help of a match, Ib struck a light, and approached her.

    "Can I be of any service to you?" he asked. "This little girl

brought me up here; but I am a stranger in this city. Are there no

neighbors or any one whom I can call?"

    Then he raised the head of the sick woman, and smoothed her

pillow. He started as he did so. It was Christina of the heath! No one

had mentioned her name to Ib for years; it would have disturbed his

peace of mind, especially as the reports respecting her were not good.

The wealth which her husband had inherited from his parents had made

him proud and arrogant. He had given up his certain appointment, and

travelled for six months in foreign lands, and, on his return, had

lived in great style, and got into terrible debt. For a time he had

trembled on the high pedestal on which he had placed himself, till

at last he toppled over, and ruin came. His numerous merry companions,

and the visitors at his table, said it served him right, for he had

kept house like a madman. One morning his corpse was found in the

canal. The cold hand of death had already touched the heart of

Christina. Her youngest child, looked for in the midst of

prosperity, had sunk into the grave when only a few weeks old; and

at last Christina herself became sick unto death, and lay, forsaken

and dying, in a miserable room, amid poverty she might have borne in

her younger days, but which was now more painful to her from the

luxuries to which she had lately been accustomed. It was her eldest

child, also a Little Christina, whom Ib had followed to her home,

where she suffered hunger and poverty with her mother.

    It makes me unhappy to think that I shall die, and leave this poor

child," sighed she. "Oh, what will become of her?" She could say no

more.

    Then Ib brought out another match, and lighted a piece of candle

which he found in the room, and it threw a glimmering light over the

wretched dwelling. Ib looked at the little girl, and thought of

Christina in her young days. For her sake, could he not love this

child, who was a stranger to him? As he thus reflected, the dying

woman opened her eyes, and gazed at him. Did she recognize him? He

never knew; for not another word escaped her lips.

        *        *        *        *        *        *        *

    In the forest by the river Gudenau, not far from the heath, and

beneath the ridge of land, stood the little farm, newly painted and

whitewashed. The air was heavy and dark; there were no blossoms on the

heath; the autumn winds whirled the yellow leaves towards the

boatman's hut, in which strangers dwelt; but the little farm stood

safely sheltered beneath the tall trees and the high ridge. The turf

blazed brightly on the hearth, and within was sunlight, the

sparkling light from the sunny eyes of a child; the birdlike tones

from the rosy lips ringing like the song of a lark in spring. All

was life and joy. Little Christina sat on Ib's knee. Ib was to her

both father and mother; her own parents had vanished from her

memory, as a dream-picture vanishes alike from childhood and age. Ib's

house was well and prettily furnished; for he was a prosperous man

now, while the mother of the little girl rested in the churchyard at

Copenhagen, where she had died in poverty. Ib had money now- money

which had come to him out of the black earth; and he had Christina for

his own, after all.

                            THE END