Anne Lisbeth Page #2

Anne Lisbeth is a classic fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen about a beautiful young woman who becomes a wet nurse for a Count's child to climb the social ladder. Her own child, born at the same time, is abandoned and dies accidentally. Anne Lisbeth forgets about him until her death, when his ghost comes back to torment her. The tale is a poignant commentary on social status, responsibility, and consequence.

• Children

								

spoken to very graciously.  She was to go in again after dinner, and
then she would see her sweet boy once more.  How tall, and slender, and
thin he had grown; but the eyes and the sweet angel mouth were still
beautiful.  He looked at her, but he did not speak, he certainly did
not know who she was.  He turned round and was going away, but she
seized his hand and pressed it to her lips.

"Well, well," he said; and with that he walked out of the room.  He
who filled her every thought!  he whom she loved best, and who was
her whole earthly pride!

Anne Lisbeth went forth from the castle into the public road,
feeling mournful and sad; he whom she had nursed day and night, and
even now carried about in her dreams, had been cold and strange, and
had not a word or thought respecting her.  A great black raven darted
down in front of her on the high road, and croaked dismally.

"Ah," said she, "what bird of ill omen art thou?"  Presently she
passed the laborer's hut; his wife stood at the door, and the two
women spoke to each other.

"You look well," said the woman; "you're fat and plump; you are
well off."

"Oh yes," answered Anne Lisbeth.

"The boat went down with them," continued the woman; "Hans the
skipper and the boy were both drowned; so there's an end of them.  I
always thought the boy would be able to help me with a few dollars.
He'll never cost you anything more, Anne Lisbeth."

"So they were drowned," repeated Anne Lisbeth; but she said no
more, and the subject was dropped.  She felt very low-spirited, because
her count-child had shown no inclination to speak to her who loved him
so well, and who had travelled so far to see him.  The journey had cost
money too, and she had derived no great pleasure from it.  Still she
said not a word of all this; she could not relieve her heart by
telling the laborer's wife, lest the latter should think she did not
enjoy her former position at the castle.  Then the raven flew over her,
screaming again as he flew.

"The black wretch!" said Anne Lisbeth, "he will end by frightening
me today."  She had brought coffee and chicory with her, for she
thought it would be a charity to the poor woman to give them to her to
boil a cup of coffee, and then she would take a cup herself.

The woman prepared the coffee, and in the meantime Anne Lisbeth
seated her in a chair and fell asleep.  Then she dreamed of something
which she had never dreamed before; singularly enough she dreamed of
her own child, who had wept and hungered in the laborer's hut, and had
been knocked about in heat and in cold, and who was now lying in the
depths of the sea, in a spot only known by God.  She fancied she was
still sitting in the hut, where the woman was busy preparing the
coffee, for she could smell the coffee-berries roasting.  But
suddenly it seemed to her that there stood on the threshold a
beautiful young form, as beautiful as the count's child, and this
apparition said to her, "The world is passing away; hold fast to me,
for you are my mother after all; you have an angel in heaven, hold
me fast;" and the child-angel stretched out his hand and seized her.
Then there was a terrible crash, as of a world crumbling to pieces,
and the angel-child was rising from the earth, and holding her by
the sleeve so tightly that she felt herself lifted from the ground;
but, on the other hand, something heavy hung to her feet and dragged
her down, and it seemed as if hundreds of women were clinging to
her, and crying, "If thou art to be saved, we must be saved too.
Hold fast, hold fast."  And then they all hung on her, but there were
too many; and as they clung the sleeve was torn, and Anne Lisbeth fell
down in horror, and awoke.  Indeed she was on the point of falling over
in reality with the chair on which she sat; but she was so startled
and alarmed that she could not remember what she had dreamed, only
that it was something very dreadful.

They drank their coffee and had a chat together, and then Anne
Lisbeth went away towards the little town where she was to meet the
carrier, who was to drive her back to her own home.  But when she
came to him she found that he would not be ready to start till the
evening of the next day.  Then she began to think of the expense, and
what the distance would be to walk.  She remembered that the route by
the sea-shore was two miles shorter than by the high road; and as
the weather was clear, and there would be moonlight, she determined to
make her way on foot, and to start at once, that she might reach
home the next day.

The sun had set, and the evening bells sounded through the air
from the tower of the village church, but to her it was not the bells,
but the cry of the frogs in the marshes.  Then they ceased, and all
around became still; not a bird could be heard, they were all at rest,
even the owl had not left her hiding place; deep silence reigned on
the margin of the wood by the sea-shore.  As Anne Lisbeth walked on she
could hear her own footsteps in the sands; even the waves of the sea
were at rest, and all in the deep waters had sunk into silence.
There was quiet among the dead and the living in the deep sea.  Anne
Lisbeth walked on, thinking of nothing at all, as people say, or
rather her thoughts wandered, but not away from her, for thought is
never absent from us, it only slumbers.  Many thoughts that have lain
dormant are roused at the proper time, and begin to stir in the mind
and the heart, and seem even to come upon us from above.  It is
written, that a good deed bears a blessing for its fruit; and it is
also written, that the wages of sin is death.  Much has been said and
much written which we pass over or know nothing of.  A light arises
within us, and then forgotten things make themselves remembered; and
thus it was with Anne Lisbeth.  The germ of every vice and every virtue
lies in our heart, in yours and in mine; they lie like little grains
of seed, till a ray of sunshine, or the touch of an evil hand, or
you turn the corner to the right or to the left, and the decision is
made.  The little seed is stirred, it swells and shoots up, and pours
its sap into your blood, directing your course either for good or
evil.  Troublesome thoughts often exist in the mind, fermenting
there, which are not realized by us while the senses are as it were
slumbering; but still they are there.  Anne Lisbeth walked on thus with
her senses half asleep, but the thoughts were fermenting within her.

From one Shrove Tuesday to another, much may occur to weigh down
the heart; it is the reckoning of a whole year; much may be forgotten,
sins against heaven in word and thought, sins against our neighbor,
and against our own conscience.  We are scarcely aware of their
existence; and Anne Lisbeth did not think of any of her errors.  She
had committed no crime against the law of the land; she was an
honorable person, in a good position--that she knew.

She continued her walk along by the margin of the sea.  What was it
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