THE DAISY

                                  1872

                 FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

                               THE DAISY

                       by Hans Christian Andersen



Now listen! In the country, close by the high road, stood a

farmhouse; perhaps you have passed by and seen it yourself. There

was a little flower garden with painted wooden palings in front of it;

close by was a ditch, on its fresh green bank grew a little daisy; the

sun shone as warmly and brightly upon it as on the magnificent

garden flowers, and therefore it thrived well. One morning it had

quite opened, and its little snow-white petals stood round the

yellow centre, like the rays of the sun. It did not mind that nobody

saw it in the grass, and that it was a poor despised flower; on the

contrary, it was quite happy, and turned towards the sun, looking

upward and listening to the song of the lark high up in the air.

The little daisy was as happy as if the day had been a great

holiday, but it was only Monday. All the children were at school,

and while they were sitting on the forms and learning their lessons,

it sat on its thin green stalk and learnt from the sun and from its

surroundings how kind God is, and it rejoiced that the song of the

little lark expressed so sweetly and distinctly its own feelings. With

a sort of reverence the daisy looked up to the bird that could fly and

sing, but it did not feel envious. "I can see and hear," it thought;

"the sun shines upon me, and the forest kisses me. How rich I am!"

In the garden close by grew many large and magnificent flowers,

and, strange to say, the less fragrance they had the haughtier and

prouder they were. The peonies puffed themselves up in order to be

larger than the roses, but size is not everything! The tulips had

the finest colours, and they knew it well, too, for they were standing

bolt upright like candles, that one might see them the better. In

their pride they did not see the little daisy, which looked over to

them and thought, "How rich and beautiful they are! I am sure the

pretty bird will fly down and call upon them. Thank God, that I

stand so near and can at least see all the splendour." And while the

daisy was still thinking, the lark came flying down, crying "Tweet,"

but not to the peonies and tulips- no, into the grass to the poor

daisy. Its joy was so great that it did not know what to think. The

little bird hopped round it and sang, "How beautifully soft the

grass is, and what a lovely little flower with its golden heart and

silver dress is growing here." The yellow centre in the daisy did

indeed look like gold, while the little petals shone as brightly as

silver.

How happy the daisy was! No one has the least idea. The bird

kissed it with its beak, sang to it, and then rose again up to the

blue sky. It was certainly more than a quarter of an hour before the

daisy recovered its senses. Half ashamed, yet glad at heart, it looked

over to the other flowers in the garden; surely they had witnessed its

pleasure and the honour that had been done to it; they understood

its joy. But the tulips stood more stiffly than ever, their faces were

pointed and red, because they were vexed. The peonies were sulky; it

was well that they could not speak, otherwise they would have given

the daisy a good lecture. The little flower could very well see that

they were ill at ease, and pitied them sincerely.

Shortly after this a girl came into the garden, with a large sharp

knife. She went to the tulips and began cutting them off, one after

another. "Ugh!" sighed the daisy, "that is terrible; now they are done

for."

The girl carried the tulips away. The daisy was glad that it was

outside, and only a small flower- it felt very grateful. At sunset

it folded its petals, and fell asleep, and dreamt all night of the sun

and the little bird.

On the following morning, when the flower once more stretched

forth its tender petals, like little arms, towards the air and

light, the daisy recognised the bird's voice, but what it sang sounded

so sad. Indeed the poor bird had good reason to be sad, for it had

been caught and put into a cage close by the open window. It sang of

the happy days when it could merrily fly about, of fresh green corn in

the fields, and of the time when it could soar almost up to the

clouds. The poor lark was most unhappy as a prisoner in a cage. The

little daisy would have liked so much to help it, but what could be

done? Indeed, that was very difficult for such a small flower to

find out. It entirely forgot how beautiful everything around it was,

how warmly the sun was shining, and how splendidly white its own

petals were. It could only think of the poor captive bird, for which

it could do nothing. Then two little boys came out of the garden;

one of them had a large sharp knife, like that with which the girl had

cut the tulips. They came straight towards the little daisy, which

could not understand what they wanted.

"Here is a fine piece of turf for the lark," said one of the boys,

and began to cut out a square round the daisy, so that it remained

in the centre of the grass.

"Pluck the flower off" said the other boy, and the daisy

trembled for fear, for to be pulled off meant death to it; and it

wished so much to live, as it was to go with the square of turf into

the poor captive lark's cage.

"No let it stay," said the other boy, "it looks so pretty".

And so it stayed, and was brought into the lark's cage. The poor

bird was lamenting its lost liberty, and beating its wings against the

wires; and the little daisy could not speak or utter a consoling word,

much as it would have liked to do so. So the forenoon passed.

"I have no water," said the captive lark, "they have all gone out,

and forgotten to give me anything to drink. My throat is dry and

burning. I feel as if I had fire and ice within me, and the air is

so oppressive. Alas! I must die, and part with the warm sunshine,

the fresh green meadows, and all the beauty that God has created." And

it thrust its beak into the piece of grass, to refresh itself a

little. Then it noticed the little daisy, and nodded to it, and kissed

it with its beak and said: "You must also fade in here, poor little

flower. You and the piece of grass are all they have given me in

exchange for the whole world, which I enjoyed outside. Each little

blade of grass shall be a green tree for me, each of your white petals

a fragrant flower. Alas! you only remind me of what I have lost."

"I wish I could console the poor lark," thought the daisy. It

could not move one of its leaves, but the fragrance of its delicate

petals streamed forth, and was much stronger than such flowers usually

have: the bird noticed it, although it was dying with thirst, and in

its pain tore up the green blades of grass, but did not touch the

flower.

The evening came, and nobody appeared to bring the poor bird a

drop of water; it opened its beautiful wings, and fluttered about in

its anguish; a faint and mournful "Tweet, tweet," was all it could

utter, then it bent its little head towards the flower, and its

heart broke for want and longing. The flower could not, as on the

previous evening, fold up its petals and sleep; it dropped

sorrowfully. The boys only came the next morning; when they saw the

dead bird, they began to cry bitterly, dug a nice grave for it, and

adorned it with flowers. The bird's body was placed in a pretty red

box; they wished to bury it with royal honours. While it was alive and

sang they forgot it, and let it suffer want in the cage; now, they

cried over it and covered it with flowers. The piece of turf, with the

little daisy in it, was thrown out on the dusty highway. Nobody

thought of the flower which had felt so much for the bird and had so

greatly desired to comfort it.

                        THE END

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