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For on this day
a son and heir has been born, and mother and child are doing well. The lamp in
the bed-chamber had been partly shaded, and the windows were covered with heavy
curtains of some costly silken material. The carpet was thick and soft, like a
covering of moss. Everything invited to slumber, everything had a charming look
of repose; and so the nurse had discovered, for she slept; and well she might
sleep, while everything around her told of happiness and blessing. The guardian
angel of the house leaned against the head of the bed; while over the child was
spread, as it were, a net of shining stars, and each star was a pearl of
happiness.
The carpet was thick and soft, like a covering of moss.
Everything invited to slumber, everything had a charming look of repose; and so
the nurse had discovered, for she slept; and well she might sleep, while
everything around her told of happiness and blessing. The guardian angel of the
house leaned against the head of the bed; while over the child was spread, as it
were, a net of shining stars, and each star was a pearl of happiness. All the
good stars of life had brought their gifts to the newly born; here sparkled
health, wealth, fortune, and love; in short, there seemed to be everything for
which man could wish on earth.
All the good stars of life had brought
their gifts to the newly born; here sparkled health, wealth, fortune, and love;
in short, there seemed to be everything for which man could wish on earth.
"Everything has been bestowed here," said the guardian angel. "No, not
everything," said a voice near him- the voice of the good angel of the child;
"one fairy has not yet brought her gift, but she will, even if years should
elapse, she will bring her gift; it is the last pearl that is
wanting."
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He who sung of Troy became earth, and from that earth I have sprung. I,
a rose from the grave of Homer, am too lofty to bloom for a nightingale." Then
the nightingale sung himself to death. A camel-driver came by, with his loaded
camels and his black slaves; his little son found the dead bird, and buried the
lovely songster in the grave of the great Homer, while the rose trembled in the
wind. The evening came, and the rose wrapped her leaves more closely round her,
and dreamed: and this was her dream.
The evening came, and the rose
wrapped her leaves more closely round her, and dreamed: and this was her dream.
It was a fair sunshiny day; a crowd of strangers drew near who had undertaken a
pilgrimage to the grave of Homer. Among the strangers was a minstrel from the
north, the home of the clouds and the brilliant lights of the aurora borealis.
He plucked the rose and placed it in a book, and carried it away into a distant
part of the world, his fatherland. The rose faded with grief, and lay between
the leaves of the book, which he opened in his own home, saying, "Here is a rose
from the grave of Homer."
Then the flower awoke from her dream, and
trembled in the wind. A drop of dew fell from the leaves upon the singer's
grave. The sun rose, and the flower bloomed more beautiful than ever. The day
was hot, and she was still in her own warm Asia. Then footsteps approached,
strangers, such as the rose had seen in her dream, came by, and among them was a
poet from the north; he plucked the rose, pressed a kiss upon her fresh mouth,
and carried her away to the home of the clouds and the northern
lights.
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There they will
first step on European shore, in the land of Shakespeare, as the educated call
it; in the land of politics, the land of machines, as it is called by others.
Here they stay a whole day. That is all the time the busy race can devote to the
whole of England and Scotland. Then the journey is continued through the tunnel
under the English Channel, to France, the land of Charlemagne and Napoleon.
Moliere is named, the learned men talk of the classic school of remote
antiquity.
There is rejoicing and shouting for the names of heroes,
poets, and men of science, whom our time does not know, but who will be born
after our time in Paris, the centre of Europe, and elsewhere. The air steamboat
flies over the country whence Columbus went forth, where Cortez was born, and
where Calderon sang dramas in sounding verse. Beautiful black-eyed women live
still in the blooming valleys, and the oldest songs speak of the Cid and the
Alhambra. Then through the air, over the sea, to Italy, where once lay old,
everlasting Rome.
Then through the air, over the sea, to Italy, where
once lay old, everlasting Rome. It has vanished! The Campagna lies desert. A
single ruined wall is shown as the remains of St. Peter's, but there is a doubt
if this ruin be genuine. Next to Greece, to sleep a night in the grand hotel at
the top of Mount Olympus, to say that they have been there; and the journey is
continued to the Bosphorus, to rest there a few hours, and see the place where
Byzantium lay; and where the legend tells that the harem stood in the time of
the Turks, poor fishermen are now spreading their nets.
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With every event in the life of man the bell had made
its voice heard. His mother also told him how the chiming of that old bell had
once filled her heart with joy and confidence, and that in the midst of the
sweet tones her child had been given to her. And the boy gazed on the large, old
bell with the deepest interest. He bowed his head over it and kissed it, old,
thrown away, and cracked as it was, and standing there amidst the grass and
nettles. The boy never forgot what his mother told him, and the tones of the old
bell reverberated in his heart till he reached manhood.
The boy never
forgot what his mother told him, and the tones of the old bell reverberated in
his heart till he reached manhood. In such sweet remembrance was the old bell
cherished by the boy, who grew up in poverty to be tall and slender, with a
freckled complexion and hair almost red; but his eyes were clear and blue as the
deep sea, and what was his career to be? His career was to be good, and his
future life enviable. We find him taking high honors at the military school in
the division commanded by the member of a family high in position, and this was
an honor, that is to say, good luck.
He wore gaiters, stiff collars, and
powdered hair, and by this he was recognized; and, indeed, he might be known by
the word of command- "March! halt! front!" The old church bell had long been
quite forgotten, and no one imagined it would ever again be sent to the melting
furnace to make it as it was before. No one could possibly have foretold this.
Equally impossible would it have been to believe that the tones of the old bell
still echoed in the heart of the boy from Marbach; or that one day they would
ring out loud enough and strong enough to be heard all over the
world.
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"That was a
terrible affair in a hen-roost. I cannot sleep alone to-night. It is a good
thing that many of us sit on the roost together." And then she told a story that
made the feathers on the other hens bristle up, and the cock's comb fall. There
was no doubt about it. But we will begin at the beginning, and that is to be
found in a hen-roost in another part of the town. The sun was setting, and the
fowls were flying on to their roost; one hen, with white feathers and short
legs, used to lay her eggs according to the regulations, and was, as a hen,
respectable in every way.
There was no doubt about it. But we will begin
at the beginning, and that is to be found in a hen-roost in another part of the
town. The sun was setting, and the fowls were flying on to their roost; one hen,
with white feathers and short legs, used to lay her eggs according to the
regulations, and was, as a hen, respectable in every way. As she was flying upon
the roost, she plucked herself with her beak, and a little feather came out.
"There it goes," she said; "the more I pluck, the more beautiful do I
get."
She said this merrily, for she was the best of the hens, and,
moreover, as had been said, very respectable. With that she went to sleep. It
was dark all around, and hen sat close to hen, but the one who sat nearest to
her merry neighbour did not sleep. She had heard and yet not heard, as we are
often obliged to do in this world, in order to live at peace; but she could not
keep it from her neighbour on the other side any longer. "Did you hear what was
said? I mention no names, but there is a hen here who intends to pluck herself
in order to look well.
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It burst into a flame,
and where its light fell upon the wall it became as transparent as a veil, and
she could see into the room. The table was covered with a snowy white
table-cloth, on which stood a splendid dinner service, and a steaming roast
goose, stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what was still more wonderful,
the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled across the floor, with a knife
and fork in its breast, to the little girl. Then the match went out, and there
remained nothing but the thick, damp, cold wall before her.
She lighted
another match, and then she found herself sitting under a beautiful
Christmas-tree. It was larger and more beautifully decorated than the one which
she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant's. Thousands of tapers
were burning upon the green branches, and colored pictures, like those she had
seen in the show-windows, looked down upon it all. The little one stretched out
her hand towards them, and the match went out. The Christmas lights rose higher
and higher, till they looked to her like the stars in the sky.
The
Christmas lights rose higher and higher, till they looked to her like the stars
in the sky. Then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire.
"Some one is dying," thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only
one who had ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star
falls, a soul was going up to God. She again rubbed a match on the wall, and the
light shone round her; in the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and
shining, yet mild and loving in her appearance.
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