The Little Elder-Tree Mother Page #2

"The Little Elder-Tree Mother" is a charming fairy tale penned by Hans Christian Andersen. The story revolves around a little boy who falls sick and is cheered up by his grandmother with a warm mug of elderflower tea and a captivating story about the little Elder-Tree mother. This imaginative narrative transports readers into a magical realm where flowers turn into fairy folk, paints vivid landscapes straight out of dreams, and subtly imparts life lessons. Like other stories from the author, this too is a perfect blend of enchantment, alarm, wonder and morality.

• Children

								

the grandchildren danced round them, and cried merrily that there
would be a feast in the evening, for they were to have hot potatoes;
and the elder mother nodded in the tree and cried 'Hooray' with the
others."

"But that was no fairy tale," said the little boy who had listened
to it.

"You will presently understand it," said the old man who told
the story. "Let us ask little elder-tree mother about it."

"That was no fairy tale," said the little elder-tree mother;
"but now it comes! Real life furnishes us with subjects for the most
wonderful fairy tales; for otherwise my beautiful elder-bush could not
have grown forth out of the teapot."

And then she took the little boy out of bed and placed him on
her bosom; the elder branches, full of blossoms, closed over them;
it was as if they sat in a thick leafy bower which flew with them
through the air; it was beautiful beyond all description. The little
elder-tree mother had suddenly become a charming young girl, but her
dress was still of the same green material, covered with white
blossoms, as the elder-tree mother had worn; she had a real elder
blossom on her bosom, and a wreath of the same flowers was wound round
her curly golden hair; her eyes were so large and so blue that it
was wonderful to look at them. She and the boy kissed each other,
and then they were of the same age and felt the same joys. They walked
hand in hand out of the bower, and now stood at home in a beautiful
flower garden. Near the green lawn the father's walking-stick was tied
to a post. There was life in this stick for the little ones, for as
soon as they seated themselves upon it the polished knob turned into a
neighing horse's head, a long black mane was fluttering in the wind,
and four strong slender legs grew out. The animal was fiery and
spirited; they galloped round the lawn. "Hooray! now we shall ride far
away, many miles!" said the boy; "we shall ride to the nobleman's
estate where we were last year." And they rode round the lawn again,
and the little girl, who, as we know, was no other than the little
elder-tree mother, continually cried, "Now we are in the country! Do
you see the farmhouse there, with the large baking stove, which
projects like a gigantic egg out of the wall into the road? The
elder-tree spreads its branches over it, and the cock struts about and
scratches for the hens. Look how proud he is! Now we are near the
church; it stands on a high hill, under the spreading oak trees; one
of them is half dead! Now we are at the smithy, where the fire roars
and the half-naked men beat with their hammers so that the sparks
fly far and wide. Let's be off to the beautiful farm!" And they passed
by everything the little girl, who was sitting behind on the stick,
described, and the boy saw it, and yet they only went round the
lawn. Then they played in a side-walk, and marked out a little
garden on the ground; she took elder-blossoms out of her hair and
planted them, and they grew exactly like those the old people
planted when they were children, as we have heard before. They
walked about hand in hand, just as the old couple had done when they
were little, but they did not go to the round tower nor to the
Fredericksburg garden. No; the little girl seized the boy round the
waist, and then they flew far into the country. It was spring and it
became summer, it was autumn and it became winter, and thousands of
pictures reflected themselves in the boy's eyes and heart, and the
little girl always sang again, "You will never forget that!" And
during their whole flight the elder-tree smelt so sweetly; he
noticed the roses and the fresh beeches, but the elder-tree smelt much
stronger, for the flowers were fixed on the little girl's bosom,
against which the boy often rested his head during the flight.

"It is beautiful here in spring," said the little girl, and they
were again in the green beechwood, where the thyme breathed forth
sweet fragrance at their feet, and the pink anemones looked lovely
in the green moss. "Oh! that it were always spring in the fragrant
beechwood!"

"Here it is splendid in summer!" she said, and they passed by
old castles of the age of chivalry. The high walls and indented
battlements were reflected in the water of the ditches, on which swans
were swimming and peering into the old shady avenues. The corn waved
in the field like a yellow sea. Red and yellow flowers grew in the
ditches, wild hops and convolvuli in full bloom in the hedges. In
the evening the moon rose, large and round, and the hayricks in the
meadows smelt sweetly. "One can never forget it!"

"Here it is beautiful in autumn!" said the little girl, and the
atmosphere seemed twice as high and blue, while the wood shone with
crimson, green, and gold. The hounds were running off, flocks of
wild fowl flew screaming over the barrows, while the bramble bushes
twined round the old stones. The dark-blue sea was covered with
white-sailed ships, and in the barns sat old women, girls, and
children picking hops into a large tub; the young ones sang songs, and
the old people told fairy tales about goblins and sorcerers. It
could not be more pleasant anywhere.

"Here it's agreeable in winter!" said the little girl, and all the
trees were covered with hoar-frost, so that they looked like white
coral. The snow creaked under one's feet, as if one had new boots
on. One shooting star after another traversed the sky. In the room the
Christmas tree was lit, and there were song and merriment. In the
peasant's cottage the violin sounded, and games were played for
apple quarters; even the poorest child said, "It is beautiful in
winter!"

And indeed it was beautiful! And the little girl showed everything
to the boy, and the elder-tree continued to breathe forth sweet
perfume, while the red flag with the white cross was streaming in
the wind; it was the flag under which the old sailor had served. The
boy became a youth; he was to go out into the wide world, far away
to the countries where the coffee grows. But at parting the little
girl took an elder-blossom from her breast and gave it to him as a
keepsake. He placed it in his prayer-book, and when he opened it in
distant lands it was always at the place where the flower of
remembrance was lying; and the more he looked at it the fresher it
became, so that he could almost smell the fragrance of the woods at
home. He distinctly saw the little girl, with her bright blue eyes,
peeping out from behind the petals, and heard her whispering, "Here it
is beautiful in spring, in summer, in autumn, and in winter," and
hundreds of pictures passed through his mind.

Thus many years rolled by. He had now become an old man, and was
sitting, with his old wife, under an elder-tree in full bloom. They
held each other by the hand exactly as the great-grandfather and the
great-grandmother had done outside, and, like them, they talked
about bygone days and of their golden wedding. The little girl with
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