The Story of the Wind Page #3

"The Story of the Wind" is not a standalone book by Hans Christian Andersen, but a part of various stories he wrote. As one of his lesser-known fairy tales, it presents an engaging narrative through the perspective of the Wind. It explores its existence and interactions, as it travels across different places and times, touching upon both the natural world and human affairs. Like many of Andersen's stories, it's a blend of fantasy, morality, and the bittersweet realities of life. However, further details might vary as multiple versions of storytelling exist based on the same narrative.

• Children

								


"I heard him as he thus spoke; he was looking at a spider's web,
and he continued, 'Thou cunning little weaver, thou dost teach me
perseverance. Let any one tear thy web, and thou wilt begin again
and repair it. Let it be entirely destroyed, thou wilt resolutely
begin to make another till it is completed. So ought we to do, if we
wish to succeed at last.'

"It was the morning of Easter-day. The bells sounded from the
neighboring church, and the sun seemed to rejoice in the sky. The
master of the castle had watched through the night, in feverish
excitement, and had been melting and cooling, distilling and mixing. I
heard him sighing like a soul in despair; I heard him praying, and I
noticed how he held his breath. The lamp burnt out, but he did not
observe it. I blew up the fire in the coals on the hearth, and it
threw a red glow on his ghastly white face, lighting it up with a
glare, while his sunken eyes looked out wildly from their cavernous
depths, and appeared to grow larger and more prominent, as if they
would burst from their sockets. 'Look at the alchymic glass,' he
cried; 'something glows in the crucible, pure and heavy.' He lifted it
with a trembling hand, and exclaimed in a voice of agitation, 'Gold!
gold!' He was quite giddy, I could have blown him down," said the
Wind; "but I only fanned the glowing coals, and accompanied him
through the door to the room where his daughter sat shivering. His
coat was powdered with ashes, and there were ashes in his beard and in
his tangled hair. He stood erect, and held high in the air the brittle
glass that contained his costly treasure. 'Found! found! Gold!
gold!' he shouted, again holding the glass aloft, that it might
flash in the sunshine; but his hand trembled, and the alchymic glass
fell from it, clattering to the ground, and brake in a thousand
pieces. The last bubble of his happiness had burst, with a whiz and
a whir, and I rushed away from the gold-maker's house.

"Late in the autumn, when the days were short, and the mist
sprinkled cold drops on the berries and the leafless branches, I
came back in fresh spirits, rushed through the air, swept the sky
clear, and snapped off the dry twigs, which is certainly no great
labor to do, yet it must be done. There was another kind of sweeping
taking place at Waldemar Daa's, in the castle of Borreby. His enemy,
Owe Ramel, of Basnas, was there, with the mortgage of the house and
everything it contained, in his pocket. I rattled the broken
windows, beat against the old rotten doors, and whistled through
cracks and crevices, so that Mr. Owe Ramel did not much like to remain
there. Ida and Anna Dorothea wept bitterly, Joanna stood, pale and
proud, biting her lips till the blood came; but what could that avail?
Owe Ramel offered Waldemar Daa permission to remain in the house
till the end of his life. No one thanked him for the offer, and I
saw the ruined old gentleman lift his head, and throw it back more
proudly than ever. Then I rushed against the house and the old
lime-trees with such force, that one of the thickest branches, a
decayed one, was broken off, and the branch fell at the entrance,
and remained there. It might have been used as a broom, if any one had
wanted to sweep the place out, and a grand sweeping-out there really
was; I thought it would be so. It was hard for any one to preserve
composure on such a day; but these people had strong wills, as
unbending as their hard fortune. There was nothing they could call
their own, excepting the clothes they wore. Yes, there was one thing
more, an alchymist's glass, a new one, which had been lately bought,
and filled with what could be gathered from the ground of the treasure
which had promised so much but failed in keeping its promise. Waldemar
Daa hid the glass in his bosom, and, taking his stick in his hand, the
once rich gentleman passed with his daughters out of the house of
Borreby. I blew coldly upon his flustered cheeks, I stroked his gray
beard and his long white hair, and I sang as well as I was able,
'Whir-r-r, whir-r-r. Gone away! Gone away!' Ida walked on one side
of the old man, and Anna Dorothea on the other; Joanna turned round,
as they left the entrance. Why? Fortune would not turn because she
turned. She looked at the stone in the walls which had once formed
part of the castle of Marck Stig, and perhaps she thought of his
daughters and of the old song,--

  "The eldest and youngest, hand-in-hand,
  Went forth alone to a distant land."

These were only two; here there were three, and their father with them
also. They walked along the high-road, where once they had driven in
their splendid carriage; they went forth with their father as beggars.
They wandered across an open field to a mud hut, which they rented for
a dollar and a half a year, a new home, with bare walls and empty
cupboards. Crows and magpies fluttered about them, and cried, as if in
contempt, 'Caw, caw, turned out of our nest--caw, caw,' as they had
done in the wood at Borreby, when the trees were felled. Daa and his
daughters could not help hearing it, so I blew about their ears to
drown the noise; what use was it that they should listen? So they went
to live in the mud hut in the open field, and I wandered away, over
moor and meadow, through bare bushes and leafless forests, to the open
sea, to the broad shores in other lands, 'Whir-r-r, whir-r-r! Away,
away!' year after year."

And what became of Waldemar Daa and his daughters? Listen; the
Wind will tell us:

"The last I saw of them was the pale hyacinth, Anna Dorothea. She
was old and bent then; for fifty years had passed and she had outlived
them all. She could relate the history. Yonder, on the heath, near the
town of Wiborg, in Jutland, stood the fine new house of the canon. It
was built of red brick, with projecting gables. It was inhabited, for
the smoke curled up thickly from the chimneys. The canon's gentle lady
and her beautiful daughters sat in the bay-window, and looked over the
hawthorn hedge of the garden towards the brown heath. What were they
looking at? Their glances fell upon a stork's nest, which was built
upon an old tumbledown hut. The roof, as far as one existed at all,
was covered with moss and lichen. The stork's nest covered the greater
part of it, and that alone was in a good condition; for it was kept in
order by the stork himself. That is a house to be looked at, and not
to be touched," said the Wind. "For the sake of the stork's nest it
had been allowed to remain, although it is a blot on the landscape.
They did not like to drive the stork away; therefore the old shed was
left standing, and the poor woman who dwelt in it allowed to stay. She
had the Egyptian bird to thank for that; or was it perchance her
reward for having once interceded for the preservation of the nest of
its black brother in the forest of Borreby? At that time she, the
poor woman, was a young child, a white hyacinth in a rich garden. She
remembered that time well; for it was Anna Dorothea.
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