The Golden Treasure Page #2

"The Golden Treasure" is a collection of Hans Christian Andersen's best loved fairy tales. This book takes you through magical journeys into the enchanting world of princesses, emperors, swans, and other mystical beings. It provides an escape to a world where the ordinary becomes extraordinary. Some of the charming tales include "The Little Mermaid", "The Ugly Duckling", "The Emperor's New Clothes", and many more. As with all of Andersen's works, these stories bring profound lessons about life, love, and humanity.

• Children

								


It's no use thinking of it; and yet one cannot help thinking of
it, even far away in the peaceful town. The drummer and his wife
also thought of it, for Peter was at the war.

"Now, I'm tired of these complaints," said the Fire-drum.

Again the day of battle dawned; the sun had not yet risen, but
it was morning. The drummer and his wife were asleep. They had been
talking about their son, as, indeed, they did almost every night,
for he was out yonder in God's hand. And the father dreamt that the
war was over, that the soldiers had returned home, and that Peter wore
a silver cross on his breast. But the mother dreamt that she had
gone into the church, and had seen the painted pictures and the carved
angels with the gilded hair, and her own dear boy, the golden treasure
of her heart, who was standing among the angels in white robes,
singing so sweetly, as surely only the angels can sing; and that he
had soared up with them into the sunshine, and nodded so kindly at his
mother.

"My golden treasure!" she cried out; and she awoke. "Now the
good God has taken him to Himself!" She folded her hands, and hid
her face in the cotton curtains of the bed, and wept. "Where does he
rest now? among the many in the big grave that they have dug for the
dead? Perhaps he's in the water in the marsh! Nobody knows his
grave; no holy words have been read over it!" And the Lord's Prayer
went inaudibly over her lips; she bowed her head, and was so weary
that she went to sleep.


And the days went by, in life as in dreams!

It was evening. Over the battle-field a rainbow spread, which
touched the forest and the deep marsh.

It has been said, and is preserved in popular belief, that where
the rainbow touches the earth a treasure lies buried, a golden
treasure; and here there was one. No one but his mother thought of the
little drummer, and therefore she dreamt of him.


And the days went by, in life as in dreams!

Not a hair of his head had been hurt, not a golden hair.

"Drum-ma-rum! drum-ma-rum! there he is!" the Drum might have said,
and his mother might have sung, if she had seen or dreamt it.

With hurrah and song, adorned with green wreaths of victory,
they came home, as the war was at an end, and peace had been signed.
The dog of the regiment sprang on in front with large bounds, and made
the way three times as long for himself as it really was.

And days and weeks went by, and Peter came into his parents' room.
He was as brown as a wild man, and his eyes were bright, and his
face beamed like sunshine. And his mother held him in her arms; she
kissed his lips, his forehead, and his red hair. She had her boy
back again; he had not a silver cross on his breast, as his father had
dreamt, but he had sound limbs, a thing the mother had not dreamt. And
what a rejoicing was there! They laughed and they wept; and Peter
embraced the old Fire-drum.

"There stands the old skeleton still!" he said.

And the father beat a roll upon it.

"One would think that a great fire had broken out here," said
the Fire-drum. "Bright day! fire in the heart! golden treasure! skrat!
skr-r-at! skr-r-r-r-at!"


And what then? What then!--Ask the town musician.

"Peter's far outgrowing the drum," he said. "Peter will be greater
than I."

And yet he was the son of a royal plate-washer; but all that he
had learned in half a lifetime, Peter learned in half a year.

There was something so merry about him, something so truly
kind-hearted. His eyes gleamed, and his hair gleamed too--there was no
denying that!

"He ought to have his hair dyed," said the neighbor's wife.
"That answered capitally with the policeman's daughter, and she got
a husband."

"But her hair turned as green as duckweed, and was always having
to be colored up."

"She knows how to manage for herself," said the neighbors, "and so
can Peter. He comes to the most genteel houses, even to the
burgomaster's where he gives Miss Charlotte piano-forte lessons."

He could play! He could play, fresh out of his heart, the most
charming pieces, that had never been put upon music-paper. He played
in the bright nights, and in the dark nights, too. The neighbors
declared it was unbearable, and the Fire-drum was of the same opinion.

He played until his thoughts soared up, and burst forth in great
plans for the future:

"To be famous!"

And burgomaster's Charlotte sat at the piano. Her delicate fingers
danced over the keys, and made them ring into Peter's heart. It seemed
too much for him to bear; and this happened not once, but many
times; and at last one day he seized the delicate fingers and the
white hand, and kissed it, and looked into her great brown eyes.
Heaven knows what he said; but we may be allowed to guess at it.
Charlotte blushed to guess at it. She reddened from brow to neck,
and answered not a single word; and then strangers came into the room,
and one of them was the state councillor's son. He had a lofty white
forehead, and carried it so high that it seemed to go back into his
neck. And Peter sat by her a long time, and she looked at him with
gentle eyes.

At home that evening he spoke of travel in the wide world, and
of the golden treasure that lay hidden for him in his violin.

"To be famous!"

"Tum-me-lum, tum-me-lum, tum-me-lum!" said the Fire-drum. "Peter
has gone clear out of his wits. I think there must be a fire in the
house."

Next day the mother went to market.

"Shall I tell you news, Peter?" she asked when she came home. "A
capital piece of news. Burgomaster's Charlotte has engaged herself
to the state councillor's son; the betrothal took place yesterday
evening."

"No!" cried Peter, and he sprang up from his chair. But his mother
persisted in saying "Yes." She had heard it from the baker's wife,
whose husband had it from the burgomaster's own mouth.

And Peter became as pale as death, and sat down again.

"Good Heaven! what's the matter with you?" asked his mother.

"Nothing, nothing; only leave me to myself," he answered but the
tears were running down his cheeks.

"My sweet child, my golden treasure!" cried the mother, and she
wept; but the Fire-drum sang, not out loud, but inwardly.

"Charlotte's gone! Charlotte's gone! and now the song is done."

But the song was not done; there were many more verses in it, long
verses, the most beautiful verses, the golden treasures of a life.


"She behaves like a mad woman," said the neighbor's wife. "All the
world is to see the letters she gets from her golden treasure, and
to read the words that are written in the papers about his violin
playing. And he sends her money too, and that's very useful to her
since she has been a widow."

"He plays before emperors and kings," said the town musician. "I
never had that fortune, but he's my pupil, and he does not forget
his old master."

And his mother said,

"His father dreamt that Peter came home from the war with a silver
cross. He did not gain one in the war, but it is still more
difficult to gain one in this way. Now he has the cross of honor. If
his father had only lived to see it!"
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