the Story of the Wind 風所講的關(guān)於瓦爾德瑪·多伊和他的女兒們的事

the Story of the Wind

by Hans Christian Andersen（1859）

　　EAR the shores of the GREat Belt， which is one of the straits that connect the Cattegat with the Baltic， stands an old mansion with thick red walls. I know every stone of it，“ says the Wind. ”I saw it when it was part of the castle of Marck Stig on the promontory. But the castle was obliged to be pulled down， and the stone was used again for the walls of a new mansion on another spot—the baronial residence of Borreby， which still stands near the coast. I knew them well， those noble lords and ladies， the successive generations that dwelt there； and now I'm going to tell you of Waldemar Daa and his daughters. How proud was his bearing， for he was of royal blood， and could boast of more noble deeds than merely hunting the stag and emptying the wine-cup. His rule was despotic： 'It shall be，' he was accustomed to say. His wife， in garments embroidered with gold， stepped proudly over the polished marble floors. The tapestries were gorgeous， and the furniture of costly and artistic taste. She had brought gold and plate with her into the house. The cellars were full of wine. Black， fiery horses， neighed in the stables. There was a look of wealth about the house of Borreby at that time. They had three children， daughters， fair and delicate maidens—Ida， Joanna， and Anna Dorothea； I have never forgotten their names. They were a rich， noble family， born in affluence and nurtured in luxury.

　　“Whir-r-r， whir-r-r！” roared the Wind， and went on， “I did not see in this house， as in other GREat houses， the high-born lady sitting among her women， turning the spinning-wheel. She could sweep the sounding chords of the guitar， and sing to the music， not always Danish melodies， but the songs of a strange land. It was 'Live and let live，' here. Stranger guests came from far and near， music sounded， goblets clashed， and I，” said the Wind， “was not able to drown the noise. Ostentation， pride， splendor， and display ruled， but not the fear of the Lord.

　　“It was on the evening of the first day of May，” the Wind continued， “I came from the west， and had seen the ships overpowered with the waves， when all on board persisted or were cast shipwrecked on the coast of Jutland. I had hurried across the heath and over Jutland's wood-girt eastern coast， and over the island of Funen， and then I drove across the GREat belt， sighing and moaning. At length I lay down to rest on the shores of Zeeland， near to the great house of Borreby， where the splendid forest of oaks still flourished. The young men of the neighborhood were collecting branches and brushwood under the oak-trees. The largest and dryest they could find they carried into the village， and piled them up in a heap and set them on fire. Then the men and maidens danced， and sung in a circle round the blazing pile. I lay quite quiet，” said the Wind， “but I silently touched a branch which had been brought by one of the handsomest of the young men， and the wood blazed up brightly， blazed brighter than all the rest. Then he was chosen as the chief， and received the name of the Shepherd； and might choose his lamb from among the maidens. There was greater mirth and rejoicing than I had ever heard in the halls of the rich baronial house. Then the noble lady drove by towards the baron's mansion with her three daughters， in a gilded carriage drawn by six horses. The daughters were young and beautiful—three charming blossoms—a rose， a lily， and a white hyacinth. The mother was a proud tulip， and never acknowledged the salutations of any of the men or maidens who paused in their sport to do her honor. The gracious lady seemed like a flower that was rather stiff in the stalk. Rose， lily， and hyacinth—yes， I saw them all three. Whose little lambs will they one day become？ thought I； their shepherd will be a gallant knight， perhaps a prince. The carriage rolled on， and the peasants resumed their dancing. They drove about the summer through all the villages near. But one night， when I rose again， the high-born lady lay down to rise again no more； that thing came to her which comes to us all， in which there is nothing new. Waldemar Daa remained for a time silent and thoughtful. 'The loftiest tree may be bowed without being broken，' said a voice within him. His daughters wept； all the people in the mansion wiped their eyes， but Lady Daa had driven away， and I drove away too，” said the Wind. “Whir-r-r， whir-r-r-！

　　“I returned again； I often returned and passed over the island of Funen and the shores of the Belt. Then I rested by Borreby， near the glorious wood， where the heron made his nest， the haunt of the wood-pigeons， the blue-birds， and the black stork. It was yet spring， some were sitting on their eggs， others had already hatched their young broods； but how they fluttered about and cried out when the axe sounded through the forest， blow upon blow！ The trees of the forest were doomed. Waldemar Daa wanted to build a noble ship， a man-of-war， a three-decker， which the king would be sure to buy； and these， the trees of the wood， the landmark of the seamen， the refuge of the birds， must be felled. The hawk started up and flew away， for its nest was destroyed； the heron and all the birds of the forest became homeless， and flew about in fear and anger. I could well understand how they felt. Crows and ravens croaked， as if in scorn， while the trees were cracking and falling around them. Far in the interior of the wood， where a noisy swarm of laborers were working， stood Waldemar Daa and his three daughters， and all were laughing at the wild cries of the birds， excepting one， the youngest， Anna Dorothea， who felt grieved to the heart； and when they made preparations to fell a tree that was almost dead， and on whose naked branches the black stork had built her nest， she saw the poor little things stretching out their necks， and she begged for mercy for them， with the tears in her eyes. So the tree with the black stork's nest was left standing； the tree itself， however， was not worth much to speak of. Then there was a GREat deal of hewing and sawing， and at last the three-decker was built. The builder was a man of low origin， but possessing great pride； his eyes and forehead spoke of large intellect， and Waldemar Daa was fond of listening to him， and so was Waldemar's daughter Ida， the eldest， now about fifteen years old； and while he was building the ship for the father， he was building for himself a castle in the air， in which he and Ida were to live when they were married. This might have happened， indeed， if there had been a real castle， with stone walls， ramparts， and a moat. But in spite of his clever head， the builder was still but a poor， inferior bird； and how can a sparrow expect to be admitted into the society of peacocks？

　　“I passed on in my course，” said the Wind， “and he passed away also. He was not allowed to remain， and little Ida got over it， because she was obliged to do so. Proud， black horses， worth looking at， were neighing in the stable. And they were locked up； for the admiral， who had been sent by the king to inspect the new ship， and make arrangements for its purchase， was loud in admiration of these beautiful horses. I heard it all，” said the Wind， “for I accompanied the gentlemen through the open door of the stable， and strewed stalks of straw， like bars of gold， at their feet. Waldemar Daa wanted gold， and the admiral wished for the proud black horses； therefore he praised them so much. But the hint was not taken， and consequently the ship was not bought. It remained on the shore covered with boards，—a Noah's ark that never got to the water—Whir-r-r-r—and that was a pity.

　　“In the winter， when the fields were covered with snow， and the water filled with large blocks of ice which I had blown up to the coast，” continued the Wind， “GREat flocks of crows and ravens， dark and black as they usually are， came and alighted on the lonely， deserted ship. Then they croaked in harsh accents of the forest that now existed no more， of the many pretty birds' nests destroyed and the little ones left without a home； and all for the sake of that great bit of lumber， that proud ship， that never sailed forth. I made the snowflakes whirl till the snow lay like a great lake round the ship， and drifted over it. I let it hear my voice， that it might know what the storm has to say. Certainly I did my part towards teaching it seamanship.