第82章
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so strangely had fate played with her. Shedid not live to see many anniversaries of the festival of the ThreeKings; Holberg has recorded that she died in June, 1716; but he hasnot written down, for he did not know, that a number of great blackbirds circled over the ferry-house, when Mother Soren, as she wascalled, was lying there a corpse. They did not scream, as if they knewthat at a burial silence should be observed. So soon as she lay in theearth, the birds disappeared; but on the same evening in Jutland, atthe old manor house, an enormous number of crows and choughs wereseen; they all cried as loud as they could, as if they had someannouncement to make. Perhaps they talked of him who, as a little boy,had taken away their eggs and their young; of the peasant's son, whohad to wear an iron garter, and of the noble young lady, who endedby being a ferryman's wife.
"Brave! brave!" they cried.
And the whole family cried, "Brave! brave!" when the old house waspulled down.
"They are still crying, and yet there's nothing to cry about,"said the clerk, when he told the story. "The family is extinct, thehouse has been pulled down, and where it stood is now the statelypoultry-house, with gilded weathercocks, and the old Poultry Meg.She rejoices greatly in her beautiful dwelling. If she had not comehere," the old clerk added, "she would have had to go into thework-house."
The pigeons cooed over her, the turkey-cocks gobbled, and theducks quacked.
"Nobody knew her," they said; "she belongs to no family. It's purecharity that she is here at all. She has neither a drake father nora hen mother, and has no descendants."
She came of a great family, for all that; but she did not know it,and the old clerk did not know it, though he had so much written down;but one of the old crows knew about it, and told about it. She hadheard from her own mother and grandmother about Poultry Meg's motherand grandmother. And we know the grandmother too. We saw her ride,as child, over the bridge, looking proudly around her, as if the wholeworld belonged to her, and all the birds' nests in it; and we sawher on the heath, by the sand-dunes; and, last of all, in theferry-house. The granddaughter, the last of her race, had come back tothe old home, where the old castle had stood, where the black wildbirds were screaming; but she sat among the tame birds, and these knewher and were fond of her. Poultry Meg had nothing left to wish for;she looked forward with pleasure to her death, and she was oldenough to die.
"Grave, grave!" cried the crows.
And Poultry Meg has a good grave, which nobody knew except the oldcrow, if the old crow is not dead already.
And now we know the story of the old manor house, of its oldproprietors, and of all Poultry Meg's family.
<br />
THE END.
1872
FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
SHE WAS GOOD FOR NOTHING
by Hans Christian Andersen
THE mayor stood at the open window. He looked smart, for hisshirt-frill, in which he had stuck a breast-pin, and his ruffles, werevery fine. He had shaved his chin uncommonly smooth, although he hadcut himself slightly, and had stuck a piece of newspaper over theplace. "Hark 'ee, youngster!" cried he.
The boy to whom he spoke was no other than the son of a poorwasher-woman, who was just going past the house. He stopped, andrespectfully took off his cap. The peak of this cap was broken inthe middle, so that he could easily roll it up and put it in hispocket. He stood before the mayor in his poor but clean andwell-mended clothes, with heavy wooden shoes on his feet, looking ashumble as if it had been the king himself.
"You are a good and civil boy," said the mayor. "I suppose yourmother is busy washing the clothes down by the river, and you aregoing to carry that thing to her that you have in your pocket. It isvery bad for your mother. How much have you got in it?"