Page:Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales (1888).djvu/137

 all at once they found themselves beautiful white paper. “Well, now, this is a surprise; a glorious surprise, too,” said the paper. “I am now finer than ever and I shall be written upon, and who can tell what find thing I may have written upon me. This is wonderful luck!” And sure enough the most beautiful stories and poetry were written upon it, and only once was there a blot, which was very fortunate. Then people heard the stories and poetry read, and it made them wiser and better; for all that was written had a good and sensible meaning, and a great blessing was held in the words on this paper.

“I never imagined anything like this,” said the paper, “when I was only a little blue flower, growing in the fields. How could I fancy that I should ever be the means of bringing knowledge and joy to men? I cannot understand it myself, and yet it is really so. Heaven knows that I have done nothing but what I was obliged to do, and yet I have been given one joy and honor after another. Each time I think that the song is ended; and then something higher and better begins for me. I suppose now I shall be sent on my travels about the world, so that people may read me. It must be, for I have more splendid thoughts written upon me than I had pretty flowers in olden times. I am happier than ever.”

But the paper did not go on its travels; it was sent to the printer, and all the words written upon it were set up in type, to make a book, or rather, many hundreds of books; for so many more persons could have pleasure and profit from a printed book than from the written paper; and if the paper had been sent about the world, it would have been worn out before it had got half through its journey. “This is certainly the wisest plan,” said the written paper; “I really did not think of that. I shall stay at home, and be held in honor, like some old grandfather, as I really am to all these new books. They will do some good. I could not have wandered about as they do. Yet he who wrote all this has looked at me, as every word flowed from his pen upon my surface. I am the most honored of all.” The paper was tied in a bundle with other papers, and thrown into a tub that stood in the wash-house.

“After work, it is well to rest,” said the paper, “and a very good chance to think. Now, for the first time, I can think of what is in me; and to know one’s self is true progress. What will be done with me now, i wonder? No doubt I shall still go forward. I am always going forward, as I know quite well.”

Now it happened one day that all the paper in the tub was taken out, and laid on the hearth to be burned. People said it could not be sold at the shop, to wrap up butter and sugar, because it had been written upon. The children in the house stood round the stove; for they wanted to see the paper burn, because it flamed up so prettily, and afterwards, among the ashes, so many red sparks could be seen running one after the other, here and there as quick as the wind. They called it seeing the children come