Little Tuk

: Hans Andersens Fairy Tales

LITTLE TUK! An odd name, to be sure! However, it was not the little

boy's real name. His real name was Carl; but when he was so young that

he could not speak plainly, he used to call himself Tuk. It would be

hard to say why, for it is not at all like "Carl"; but the name does as

well as any, if one only knows it.



Little Tuk was left at home to take care of his sister Gustava, who was

much younger than him
elf; and he had also to learn his lesson. Here

were two things to be done at the same time, and they did not at all

suit each other. The poor boy sat with his sister in his lap, singing to

her all the songs he knew, yet giving, now and then, a glance into his

geography, which lay open beside him. By to-morrow morning he must know

the names of all the towns in Seeland by heart, and be able to tell

about them all that could be told.



His mother came at last, and took little Gustava in her arms. Tuk ran

quickly to the window and read and read till he had almost read his eyes

out--for it was growing dark, and his mother could not afford to buy

candles.



"There goes the old washerwoman down the lane," said the mother, as she

looked out of the window. "She can hardly drag herself along, poor

thing; and now she has to carry that heavy pail from the pump. Be a good

boy, little Tuk, and run across to help the poor creature, will you

not?" And little Tuk ran quickly and helped to bear the weight of the

pail. But when he came back into the room, it was quite dark. Nothing

was said about a candle, and it was of no use to wish for one; he must

go to his little trundle-bed, which was made of an old settle.



There he lay, still thinking of the geography lesson, of Seeland, and of

all that the master had said. He could not read the book again, as he

should by rights have done, for want of a light. So he put the

geography-book under his pillow. Somebody had once told him that would

help him wonderfully to remember his lesson, but he had never yet found

that one could depend upon it.



There he lay and thought and thought, till all at once he felt as though

some one were gently sealing his mouth and eyes with a kiss. He slept

and yet did not sleep, for he seemed to see the old washerwoman's mild,

kind eyes fixed upon him, and to hear her say: "It would be a shame,

indeed, for you not to know your lesson to-morrow, little Tuk. You

helped me; now I will help you, and our Lord will help us both."



All at once the leaves of the book began to rustle under little Tuk's

head, and he heard something crawling about under his pillow.



"Cluck, cluck, cluck!" cried a hen, as she crept towards him. (She came

from the town of Kjoege.) "I'm a Kjoege hen," she said. And then she told

him how many inhabitants the little town contained, and about the battle

that had once been fought there, and how it was now hardly worth

mentioning, there were so many greater things.




gallop, gallop!]



Scratch, scratch! kribbley crabbley! and now a great wooden bird jumped

down upon the bed. It was the popinjay from the shooting ground at

Praestoe. He had reckoned the number of inhabitants in Praestoe, and found

that there were as many as he had nails in his body. He was a proud

bird. "Thorwaldsen lived in one corner of Praestoe, close by me. Am I not

a pretty bird, a merry popinjay?"



And now little Tuk no longer lay in bed. All in a moment he was on

horseback, and on he went, gallop, gallop! A splendid knight, with a

bright helmet and waving plume,--a knight of the olden time,--held him

on his own horse; and on they rode together, through the wood of the

ancient city of Vordingborg, and it was once again a great and busy

town. The high towers of the king's castle rose against the sky, and

bright lights were seen gleaming through the windows. Within were music

and merrymaking. King Waldemar was leading out the noble ladies of his

court to dance with him.



Suddenly the morning dawned, the lamps grew pale, the sun rose, the

outlines of the buildings faded away, and at last one high tower alone

remained to mark the spot where the royal castle had stood. The vast

city had shrunk into a poor, mean-looking little town. The schoolboys,

coming out of school with their geography-books under their arms, said,

"Two thousand inhabitants"; but that was a mere boast, for the town had

not nearly so many.



And little Tuk lay in his bed. He knew not whether he had been dreaming

or not, but again there was some one close by his side.



"Little Tuk! little Tuk!" cried a voice; it was the voice of a young

sailor boy. "I am come to bring you greeting from Korsoer. Korsoer is a

new town, a living town, with steamers and mail coaches. Once people

used to call it a low, ugly place, but they do so no longer.



"'I dwell by the seaside,' says Korsoer; 'I have broad highroads and

pleasure gardens; and I have given birth to a poet, a witty one, too,

which is more than all poets are. I once thought of sending a ship all

round the world; but I did not do it, though I might as well have done

so. I dwell so pleasantly, close by the port; and I am fragrant with

perfume, for the loveliest roses bloom round about me, close to my

gates.'"



And little Tuk could smell the roses and see them and their fresh green

leaves. But in a moment they had vanished; the green leaves spread and

thickened--a perfect grove had grown up above the bright waters of the

bay, and above the grove rose the two high-pointed towers of a glorious

old church. From the side of the grass-grown hill gushed a fountain in

rainbow-hued streams, with a merry, musical voice, and close beside it

sat a king, wearing a gold crown upon his long dark hair. This was King

Hroar of the springs; and hard by was the town of Roskilde (Hroar's

Fountain). And up the hill, on a broad highway, went all the kings and

queens of Denmark, wearing golden crowns; hand in hand they passed on

into the church, and the deep music of the organ mingled with the clear

rippling of the fountain. For nearly all the kings and queens of Denmark

lie buried in this beautiful church. And little Tuk saw and heard it

all.



"Don't forget the towns," said King Hroar.



Then all vanished; though where it went he knew not. It seemed like

turning the leaves of a book.



And now there stood before him an old peasant woman from Soroe, the quiet

little town where grass grows in the very market place. Her green linen

apron was thrown over her head and back, and the apron was very wet, as

if it had been raining heavily.



"And so it has," she said. And she told a great many pretty things from

Holberg's comedies, and recited ballads about Waldemar and Absalon; for

Holberg had founded an academy in her native town.



All at once she cowered down and rocked her head as if she were a frog

about to spring. "Koax!" cried she; "it is wet, it is always wet, and it

is as still as the grave in Soroe." She had changed into a frog. "Koax!"

and again she was an old woman. "One must dress according to the

weather," she said.



"It is wet! it is wet! My native town is like a bottle; one goes in at

the cork, and by the cork one must come out. In old times we had the

finest of fish; now we have fresh, rosy-cheeked boys at the bottom of

the bottle. There they learn wisdom--Greek, Greek, and Hebrew! Koax!"



It sounded exactly as if frogs were croaking, or as if some one were

walking over the great swamp with heavy boots. So tiresome was her tone,

all on the same note, that little Tuk fell fast asleep; and a very good

thing it was for him.



But even in sleep there came a dream, or whatever else it may be called.

His little sister Gustava, with her blue eyes and flaxen ringlets, was

grown into a tall, beautiful girl, who, though she had no wings, could

fly; and away they now flew over Seeland--over its green woods and blue

waters.



"Hark! Do you hear the cock crow, little Tuk? 'Cock-a-doodle-do!' The

fowls are flying hither from Kjoege, and you shall have a farmyard, a

great, great poultry yard of your own! You shall never suffer hunger or

want. The golden goose, the bird of good omen, shall be yours; you shall

become a rich and happy man. Your house shall rise up like King

Waldemar's towers and be richly decked with statues like those of

Thorwaldsen at Praestoe.



"Understand me well; your good name shall be borne round the world, like

the ship that was to sail from Korsoer, and at Roskilde you shall speak

and give counsel wisely and well, little Tuk, like King Hroar; and when

at last you shall lie in your peaceful grave you shall sleep as

quietly--"



"As if I lay sleeping in Soroe," said Tuk, and he woke. It was a bright

morning, and he could not remember his dream, but it was not necessary

that he should. One has no need to know what one will live to see.



And now he sprang quickly out of bed and sought his book, that had lain

under his pillow. He read his lesson and found that he knew the towns

perfectly well.



And the old washerwoman put her head in at the door and said, with a

friendly nod: "Thank you, my good child, for yesterday's help. May the

Lord fulfill your brightest and most beautiful dreams! I know he will."



Little Tuk had forgotten what he had dreamed, but it did not matter.

There was One above who knew it all.



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