1872 FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN GRANDMOTHER by Hans Christian AndersenGRANDMOTHER GRANDMOTHER is very old, her face is wrinkled, and her hair isquite white; but her eyes are like two stars, and they have a mild,gentle expression in them when they look at you, which does yougood. She wears a dress of heavy, rich silk, with large flowers workedon it; and it rustles when she moves. And then she can tell the mostwonderful stories. Grandmother knows a great deal, for she was alivebefore father and mother- that's quite certain. She has a hymn-bookwith large silver clasps, in which she often reads; and in the book,between the leaves, lies a rose, quite flat and dry; it is not sopretty as the roses which are standing in the glass, and yet shesmiles at it most pleasantly, and tears even come into her eyes. "Iwonder why grandmother looks at the withered flower in the old bookthat way? Do you know?" Why, when grandmother's tears fall upon therose, and she is looking at it, the rose revives, and fills the roomwith its fragrance; the walls vanish as in a mist, and all aroundher is the glorious green wood, where in summer the sunlight streamsthrough thick foliage; and grandmother, why she is young again, acharming maiden, fresh as a rose, with round, rosy cheeks, fair,bright ringlets, and a figure pretty and graceful; but the eyes, thosemild, saintly eyes, are the same,- they have been left to grandmother.At her side sits a young man, tall and strong; he gives her a rose andshe smiles. Grandmother cannot smile like that now. Yes, she issmiling at the memory of that day, and many thoughts and recollectionsof the past; but the handsome young man is gone, and the rose haswithered in the old book, and grandmother is sitting there, again anold woman, looking down upon the withered rose in the book. Grandmother is dead now. She had been sitting in her arm-chair,telling us a long, beautiful tale; and when it was finished, shesaid she was tired, and leaned her head back to sleep awhile. We couldhear her gentle breathing as she slept; gradually it became quieterand calmer, and on her countenance beamed happiness and peace. Itwas as if lighted up with a ray of sunshine. She smiled once more, andthen people said she was dead. She was laid in a black coffin, lookingmild and beautiful in the white folds of the shrouded linen, thoughher eyes were closed; but every wrinkle had vanished, her hairlooked white and silvery, and around her mouth lingered a sweet smile.We did not feel at all afraid to look at the corpse of her who hadbeen such a dear, good grandmother. The hymn-book, in which the rosestill lay, was placed under her head, for so she had wished it; andthen they buried grandmother. On the grave, close by the churchyard wall, they planted arose-tree; it was soon full of roses, and the nightingale sat amongthe flowers, and sang over the grave. From the organ in the churchsounded the music and the words of the beautiful psalms, which werewritten in the old book under the head of the dead one. The moon shone down upon the grave, but the dead was not there;every child could go safely, even at night, and pluck a rose fromthe tree by the churchyard wall. The dead know more than we do who areliving. They know what a terror would come upon us if such a strangething were to happen, as the appearance of a dead person among us.They are better off than we are; the dead return no more. The earthhas been heaped on the coffin, and it is earth only that lies withinit. The leaves of the hymn-book are dust; and the rose, with all itsrecollections, has crumbled to dust also. But over the grave freshroses bloom, the nightingale sings, and the organ sounds and therestill lives a remembrance of old grandmother, with the loving,gentle eyes that always looked young. Eyes can never die. Ours willonce again behold dear grandmother, young and beautiful as when, forthe first time, she kissed the fresh, red rose, that is now dust inthe grave. THE END.