Ib and Little Christina Page #4

"Ib and Little Christina" is a charming children's tale by Hans Christian Andersen filled with love, loss, and devotion. The story revolves around two childhood friends, Ib and Christina, living in a small Danish village. Their friendship blossoms into love as they grow older. However, circumstances force Christina to move away, leading them down separate paths. The story beautifully illustrates the concept of unrequited love and the themes of sacrifice and loyalty.

• Children

								


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.
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