1872

　　FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN1 ANDERSEN

　　DELAYING IS NOT FORGETTING

　　by Hans Christian Andersen

　　THERE was an old mansion2 surrounded by a marshy3 ditch with a

　　drawbridge which was but seldom let down:- not all guests are good

　　people. Under the roof were loopholes to shoot through, and to pour

　　down boiling water or even molten lead on the enemy, should he

　　approach. Inside the house the rooms were very high and had ceilings

　　of beams, and that was very useful considering the great deal of smoke which rose up from the chimney fire where the large, damp logs of wood smouldered. On the walls hung pictures of knights4 in armour5 and proud ladies in gorgeous dresses; the most stately of all walked about alive. She was called Meta Mogen; she was the mistress of the house, to her belonged the castle.

　　Towards the evening robbers came; they killed three of her

　　people and also the yard-dog, and attached Mrs. Meta to the kennel

　　by the chain, while they themselves made good cheer in the hall and

　　drank the wine and the good ale out of her cellar. Mrs. Meta was now

　　on the chain, she could not even bark.

　　But lo! the servant of one of the robbers secretly approached her;

　　they must not see it, otherwise they would have killed him.

　　"Mrs. Meta Mogen," said the fellow, "do you still remember how

　　my father, when your husband was still alive, had to ride on the

　　wooden horse? You prayed for him, but it was no good, he was to ride until his limbs were paralysed; but you stole down to him, as I

　　steal now to you, you yourself put little stones under each of his

　　feet that he might have support, nobody saw it, or they pretended

　　not to see it, for you were then the young gracious mistress. My

　　father has told me this, and I have not forgotten it! Now I will

　　free you, Mrs. Meta Mogen!"

　　Then they pulled the horses out of the stable and rode off in rain

　　and wind to obtain the assistance of friends.

　　"Thus the small service done to the old man was richly rewarded!" said Meta Mogen.

　　"Delaying is not forgetting," said the fellow.

　　The robbers were hanged.

　　There was an old mansion, it is still there; it did not belong

　　to Mrs. Meta Mogen, it belonged to another old noble family.

　　We are now in the present time. The sun is shining on the gilt

　　knob of the tower, little wooded islands lie like bouquets6 on the

　　water, and wild swans are swimming round them. In the garden grow

　　roses; the mistress of the house is herself the finest rose petal7, she

　　beams with joy, the joy of good deeds: however, not done in the wide

　　world, but in her heart, and what is preserved there is not forgotten.

　　Delaying is not forgetting!

　　Now she goes from the mansion to a little peasant hut in the

　　field. Therein lives a poor paralysed girl; the window of her little

　　room looks northward8, the sun does not enter here. The girl can only

　　see a small piece of field which is surrounded by a high fence. But

　　to-day the sun shines here- the warm, beautiful sun of God is within

　　the little room; it comes from the south through the new window, where formerly9 the wall was.

　　The paralysed girl sits in the warm sunshine and can see the

　　wood and the lake; the world had become so large, so beautiful, and

　　only through a single word from the kind mistress of the mansion.

　　"The word was so easy, the deed so small," she said, "the joy it

　　afforded me was infinitely10 great and sweet!"

　　And therefore she does many a good deed, thinks of all in the

　　humble cottages and in the rich mansions11, where there are also

　　afflicted ones. It is concealed12 and hidden, but God does not forget

　　it. Delayed is not forgotten!

　　An old house stood there; it was in the large town with its busy

　　traffic. There are rooms and halls in it, but we do not enter them, we

　　remain in the kitchen, where it is warm and light, clean and tidy; the

　　copper utensils13 are shining, the table as if polished with beeswax;

　　the sink looks like a freshly scoured14 meatboard. All this a single

　　servant has done, and yet she has time to spare as if she wished to go

　　to church; she wears a bow on her cap, a black bow, that signifies

　　mourning. But she has no one to mourn, neither father nor mother,

　　neither relations nor sweetheart. She is a poor girl. One day she

　　was engaged to a poor fellow; they loved each other dearly.

　　One day he came to her and said:

　　"We both have nothing! The rich widow over the way in the basement

　　has made advances to me; she will make me rich, but you are in my

　　heart; what do you advise me to do?"

　　"I advise you to do what you think will turn out to your

　　happiness," said the girl. "Be kind and good to her, but remember

　　this; from the hour we part we shall never see each other again."

　　Years passed; then one day she met the old friend and sweetheart

　　in the street; he looked ill and miserable15, and she could not help

　　asking him, "How are you?"

　　"Rich and prospering16 in every respect," he said; "the woman is

　　brave and good, but you are in my heart. I have fought the battle,

　　it will soon be ended; we shall not see each other again now until

　　we meet before God!"

　　A week has passed; this morning his death was in the newspaper,

　　that is the reason of the girl's mourning! Her old sweetheart is

　　dead and has left a wife and three step-children, as the paper says;

　　it sounds as if there is a crack, but the metal is pure.

　　The black bow signifies mourning, the girl's face points to the

　　same in a still higher degree; it is preserved in the heart and will

　　never be forgotten. Delaying is not forgetting!

　　These are three stories you see, three leaves on the same stalk.

　　Do you wish for some more trefoil leaves? In the little heartbook

　　are many more of them. Delaying is not forgetting!

　　THE END

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　　Written By Anderson