Little Ellie and Other Tales/The Daisy
The Daisy.
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Now listen!
UT in the country, close to the roadside, there stands a country house. I am sure you have often seen it; in front there is a little flower-garden, enclosed by white palisades with the points painted green. Close by, on a bank outside the palings, amid the most beautiful grass, grew a little Daisy; the sun shone on it just as bright and warm as on the splendid flowers in the garden, and so each hour it grew in strength and beauty. One morning, there it stood full blown, with its delicate white glistening leaves, which encircled the little yellow sun in the middle like rays of light.
It never once occurred to the little flower that it was seen by nobody, hidden as it was down there in the grass, and that it was a poor despised flower! No, nothing of the kind!
It was so contented! It turned towards the warm sun, gazed upon it, and listened to the lark that was singing in the air.
The little Daisy was so happy! as happy as though it had been a great holiday; and yet it was only a Monday. The children were in school; and while they sat there on their forms and learned their lessons, the little flower sat on its green stem, and also learned, from the warm sun and from all around, how good God is; and it was just as if the lark uttered all this in its song, beautifully and distinctly, while the flower felt it in silence. And the flower looked up with a sort of reverence to the happy bird that could sing and fly, but it was not dejected at being itself unable to do the same.
“Do I not see and hear?” thought the Daisy; “the sun shines on me, and the breeze kisses me,—oh, what rich gifts do I enjoy!”
Within the palisading of the garden stood many stiff stately flowers: the less fragrance they had, the higher they held their heads. The peonies puffed themselves out, in order to make themselves larger than the roses; but it is not always the size that will avail any thing. The tulips were of the most beautiful colors; they knew that very well, and held themselves as straight as an arrow, so that they might be seen all the better. They did not deign to cast a look on the little Daisy-flower outside; but the flower looked at them so much the more, and thought, “How rich and beautiful those are! Yes, to be sure, the beautiful bird certainly flies down to them—them he surely visits! What happiness to have got a place so near, whence I can see all this splendor.” And just as it was thinking so,—“quirrevit!” down came the lark from on high; but it did not go to the peonies or tulips; no, but down into the grass to the poor little Daisy, which for pure joy was so astonished that it did not even know what it should think.
The little bird hopped about in the grass and sang: “Well! how soft the grass is! and only look, what a sweet little flower with a golden heart and with a robe of silver!” For the yellow spot in the Daisy looked really just like gold, and the little leaves around were shining, and as white as silver.
How happy the little Daisy was! no one could believe it. The bird kissed her with his beak, sang to her, and then flew up again in the blue air. It was certainly a whole quarter of an hour before the Daisy came to herself again. Half ashamed, and yet so glad at heart, she looked at the flowers over in the garden: they had beheld the honor and the happiness that had befallen her; they would surely comprehend, she thought, what a joy it was to her; but there stood the tulips as stiff again as before, looking quite prim, and they were, too, quite red in the face; for they were vexed. But the peonies looked so thick-headed! ah! it was a good thing they could not speak, otherwise the Daisy would have heard a fine speech. The poor little flower, however, could see very plainly that they were not in a good humor, and she was heartily sorry for it. At this moment a maiden came into the garden with a knife in her hand, sharp and polished; she went among the tulips, and cut off one after the other.
“Ah!” sighed the little Daisy, “this is really terrible; now it is all over with them.”
Then the girl with the tulips went away. The Daisy was glad that it was standing out there in the grass, and was but a poor little flower;—it was quite thankful: and when the sun set, it folded its leaves, went to sleep, and dreamed the whole night of the Sun and the beautiful bird.
On the following morning, when the flower, fresh and joyful, again stretched out its white leaves, like little arms, into the bright sunshine and clear blue air, it recognized the voice of the bird; but what he sung was so melancholy! Yes, the poor lark had good reason to be sad: he had been taken prisoner, and was now sitting in a cage, close to an open window in the pleasure-house. He sang of the joy of being able to fly about in freedom, sang of the young green corn in the field, and of the beautiful journeyings which he used to make on his wings, high up in the free air. The poor bird was heavy of heart: there he sat a captive in a narrow cage.
The little Daisy would so gladly have helped him; but how to begin, yes, that was the difficulty. In sympathizing with the lark, it forgot entirely how beautiful was every thing around it, how warm the sun shone, and how beautifully white its own leaves glistened:—oh! it could only think on the imprisoned bird, for whom it was incapable of doing any thing.
Then suddenly there came two little boys out of the garden, and one of them had a knife in his hand, large and sharp, like that with which the girl had cut the tulips. They came straight towards the little Daisy, who could not imagine what they wanted.
“Here we can cut a nice piece of turf for the lark,” said one of the boys, and began to cut out a square all around the Daisy, so that the flower stood in the very middle of it.
“Pull up the flower,” said one boy; and the Daisy trembled for very fear; for to be pulled up, why that was to die, and it wished to live, as it was to be put with the turf into the cage of the imprisoned lark.
“No, let it stay,” said the other boy; “it looks so pretty.” And so it remained, and was put into the cage with the lark.
But the poor bird bewailed loudly his lost freedom, and fluttered against the iron wires of the cage. The little flower could not speak, could not say one consoling word to him, much as she wished to do so. Thus passed the whole forenoon.
“There is no water here,” said the imprisoned lark; “they are all gone out, and have forgotten me. Not a drop of water to drink! my throat is dry and burning! within me is fire and ice, and the air is so heavy! Oh, I shall die; I must leave the warm sunshine, and the fresh green trees, and all the beautiful things that God has created!” And saying these words, he pressed his beak into the cool piece of turf to refresh himself a little; and his eye fell on the Daisy, and the bird nodded to it and kissed it, and said: “You also must wither here, you poor little flower; you and the green turf here have been given me instead of the whole world, which I had out there! Every little blade of grass must be to me as a green tree, every one of your white leaves a fragrant flower. Ah, you only remind me how much I have lost!”
“What can I do to comfort him?” thought the little flower; but she could not move a leaf; yet the fragrance which streamed from her delicate leaves was much stronger than is usual with this flower. The bird observed this; and although he was dying of thirst, and tore up every green blade of grass in his suffering, yet he did not even touch the little Daisy.
It was evening, and no one came as yet to bring the poor bird a drop of water: he stretched out his delicate wings, and fluttertered convulsively; his song was a complaining chirp. His little head bowed down towards the Daisy, and the heart of the bird broke for thirst and longing.
Then the flower was not able as on the evening before, to fold its leaves together and sleep; it bowed down ill and sorrowful to the earth.
It was not until the next morning that the boys came back; and when they saw that the bird was dead, they wept many tears, and dug for it a pretty grave, which they decked with flowers. The dead body of the bird was put in a beautiful red paper box;—he was to be buried royally, the poor bird ! bird! While he lived and sang, they forgot him, let him sit in a cage and suffer want; now they showed him great honor and lamented him.
But the bit of turf with the Daisy was thrown out into the dust of the highway; no one thought of her, who, however, had felt most for the little bird, and had wished so much to comfort him.
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