Page:The fairy tales of Hans Christian Andersen (c1899).djvu/281

 The first flame led him into a dark and narrow prison, where sat captive a beautiful woman, Eleonor Ulfeld, daughter to Christian IV.; and the flame alighted on her bosom like a rose, and bloomed, and seemed to make one with the heart of the best and noblest of all Danish women.

"Ay, that is, indeed, a heart in Denmark's arms," said the old grandfather.

And his spirit followed the second flame, that carried him out to sea, where cannons were roaring, and ships lay wrapped in smoke; and the flame shaped itself into the ribbon of an order on Hvitfeldt's breast, as he blew up himself and his ship, in order to save the whole fleet.

And the third flame led him to Greenland's miserable huts, where the missionary, Hans Egede, held his sway by words and deeds of Christian love. The flame that was a star on his breast became one of the hearts in the Danish arms.

And the old grandfather's spirit followed the hovering flame, for his spirit knew whither it was about to lead him. In a peasant woman's poverty-stricken room stood Frederick VI., writing his name, in chalk, upon a beam; the flame was flickering on his breast and in his heart, and it was in the peasant's house that his heart became one of the hearts in the Danish coat-of-arms. And the old grandfather wiped his eyes, for he had known King Frederick, with his silvery locks and his honest blue eyes, and had lived under him; and he claspad his hands, and gazed stedfastly before him. The old grandfather's daughter-in-law then came to remind him that it was late, that he ought to take some rest, and that supper was ready.

"But what you have carved is very fine, grandfather," said she; "Holger Danske, and our complete old coat-of-arms! It seems to me as if I had seen that face before."

"No, you can't have seen it," said the old grandfather; "but I have, and I have endeavoured to carve it in wood, such as it remained impressed on my memory. A long time ago, when the English fleet lay in the roadstead, and when we showed, on the memorable second of April, that we were true ancient Danes, I was on the deck of the Denmark, for I served in Steen Billes' squadron, and there I stood beside a man, whom the very cannon-balls seemed to be afraid of He sang old ditties in a cheerful voice, and fired and fought as if he were something more than a human being. I still recollect his countenance, but whence he came, or whither he went, neither I nor anybody else ever knew. I have often thought it might be old Holger Danske himself, who had swam down to us from Kronenburg to help us in the hour of danger. That was my notion and there is his likeness."