WALDEMAR DAA
AND HIS DAUGHTERS
WHEN the wind sweeps across the grass， the field has a ripple like a pond，and when it sweeps across the corn the field waves to and fro like a sea． That is called the wind's dance；but hear it tell stories；it sings them out，and how different it sounds in the tree－tops in the forest，and throught the loopholes and clefts and cracks in walls！Do you see how the wind drives the clouds up yonder，like a flock of sheep？ Do you hear how the wind howls do here through the open gate， like a watchman blow－in his horn？ With wonderful tones he whistles and screams down the chimney and into the fireplace！ The fire crackles and flares up， and shines far into the room， and the little place is warm and snug， and it is pleasant to sit there listening to the sounds．Let the Wind speak，for he knows plenty of stories and fairy tales，many more than are known to any of us．Just hear what the Wind can tell．
“Huh－uh－ush！ Roar along！” That is the burden of the song．
“By the shores of the Great Belt lies an old mansion with thick red walls， says the Wind．“I know every stone in it； I saw it when it still belonged to the castle of Marsk Stig on the promontory． But it had to be pulled down， and the stone was used again for the walls of a new mansion in another place，the baronial mansion Borreby， which still stands by the coast．
“I knew them， the noble lords and ladies，the changing races that dwelt there， and now I'm going to tell about Waldemar Daa and his daughters． How proudly he carried himself—he was of royal blood！ He could do more than merely hunt the stag and empty the wine－can．
‘It shall be done，’he was accustomed to say．
“His wife walked proudly in gold-embroidered garments over the polished marble floors．The tapestries were gorgeous， the furniture was expensive and artistically carved． She had brought gold and silver plate with her into the house，and there was German beer in the cellar． Black fiery horses neighed in the stables．There was a wealthy look about the house of Borreby at that time， when wealth was still at home there．
“Children dwelt there also；three dainty maidens，Ida，Joanna，and Anna Dorothea：I have never forgotten their names．”
“They were rich people，noble people，born in affluence， nurtured in affluence．
“Huh－sh！ Roar along！”sang the Wind；and then he continued：
“I did not see here，as in other great noble houses，the high-born lady sitting among her women in the great hall turning the spinning－wheel： she played on the sound－in lute， and sang to the sound， but not always old Danish melodies， but songs of a strange land．Here was life and hospitality：distinguished guests came from far and near，the music sounded， the goblets *ed，and I was not able to drown the noise， said the Wind．“Ostentation， and haughtiness， and splendour， and display，and rule were there，but the fear of the Lord was not there．”
“And it was just on the evening of the first day of May，”the Wind continued．“I came from the west， and had seen how the ships were being crushed by the waves，on the west coast of Jutland． I had hurried across the heath， and the wood－girt coast， and over the Island of Fyen， and now I drove over the Great Belt， groaning and sighing．
“Then I lay down to rest on the shore of Zealand， in the neighbourhood of the great house of Borreby， where the torest， the splendid oak forest， still rose．
“The young men-servants of the neighbourhood were collecting branches and brushwood under the oak trees； the largest and driest they could find they carried into the village， and piled them up in a heap，and set them on fire；and men and maids danced，singing in a circle round the blazing pile．
“I lay quite quiet，”continued the Wind；“but I quietly touched a branch， which had been brought by the handsomest of the men－servants， and the wood blazed up brightly， blazed up higher than all the rest； and now he was the chosen one， and bore the name of Street－goat，and might choose his Street-lamb first from among the maids；and there was mirth and rejoicing，greater than there was in the rich mansion of Borreby．
“And the noble lady drove towards the mansion，with her three daughters， in a gilded carriage drawn by six horses．The daughters were young and fair—three charming blossoms，rose，lily， and pale hyacinth．The mother was a proud tulip， and never acknowledged the salutation of one of the men or maids who paused in their sport to do her honour：the gracious lady seemed a flower that was rather stiff in the stalk．
“Rose，lily，and pale hyacinth；yes， I saw them all three！ Whose lambkins will they one day become？”thought I；their Street－goat will be a gallant knight，perhaps a Prince．Huh-sh！Hurry along！Hurry along！
“Yes，the carriage rolled on with them，and the peasant people resumed their dancing． They rode that summer through all the villages round about．But in the night， when I rose again，”said the Wind，“the very noble lady lay down， to rise again no more： that thing came upon her which comes upon all—there is nothing new in that．
“Waldemar Daaa stood for a space silent and thoughtful．‘The proudest tree can be bowed without being broken，'said a voice within him．His daughters wept， and all the people in the mansion wiped their eyes；but Lady Daa had driven away—and I drove away too， and rushed along， huh－sh！” said the Wind．
“I returned again；I often returned again over the Is-land of Fyen and the shores of the Belt， and I sat down by Borreby，by the splendid oak wood；there the heron made his nest， and wood－pigeons haunted the place， and blue ravens， and even the black stork．It was still spring；some of them were yet sitting on their eggs，others had already hatched their young．
“But how they flew up， how they cried！ The axe sounded，blow upon blow ：the wood was to be felled．Waldemar Daa wanted to build a noble ship，a man-of-war， a three-decker， which the King would be sure to buy；and therefore the wood must be felled， the landmark of the seamen， the refuge of the birds．The hawk started up and flew away， for its nest was destroyed； the heron and all the birds of the forest became homeless， and flew about in fear and in anger：I could well understand how they felt．Crows and jackdaws croaked aloud as if in scorn．“From the nest！From the nest，far，far！”
“Far in the interior of the wood， where the swarm of labourers were working，stood Waldemar Daa and his three daughters； and all laughed at the wild cries of the birds；only one，the youngest，Anna Dorothea，felt grieved in her heart；and when they made preparations to fell a tree that was almost dead， and on whose naked branches the black stork had built his nest， whence the little storks were stretching out their heads， she begged for mercy for the lit－tle things，and tears came，into her eyes． Therefore the tree with the black stork's nest was left standing．The tree was not worth speaking of．
“There was a great hewing and sawing， and a three-decker was built． The architect was of low origin， but of great pride； his eyes and forehead told how clever he was，and Waldemar Daa was fond of listening to him， and so was Waldemar's daughter Ida， the eldest，who was now fifteen years old； and while he built a ship for the father，he was building for himself a castle in the air， into which he and Ida were to go as a married couple—which might indeed have happened， if the castle had been of stone walls，and ramparts， and moats with forest and garden．But in spite of his wise head， the architect remained but a poor bird；and， indeed，what business has a sparrow to take part in a dance of cranes？ Huh－sh！ I careered away，and he careered away too， for he was not allowed to stay；and little Ida got over it，because she was obliged to get over it．
“The proud black horses were neighing in the stable；they were worth looking at， and they were looked at． The admiral，who had been sent by the King himself to inspect the new ship and take measures for its purchase， spoke loudly in admiration of the beautiful horses．
“I heard all that，”said the Wind．“I accompanied the gentlemen through the open door， and strewed blades of straw like bars of gold before their feet． Waldemar Daa wanted to have gold， and the admiral wished for the black horses， and that is why he praised them so much； but the hint was not taken， and consequently the ship was not bought．It remained on the shore covered over with boards， a Noah’ s ark that never got to the water—Huh-sh！ Rush away！Away！—And that was a pity．
“In the winter， when the fields were covered with snow， and the water with large blocks of ice that I blew up on to the coast， continued the Wind，“crows and ravens came，all as black as might be，great flocks of them， and alighted on the dead， deserted，lonely ship by the shore， and croaked in hoarse accents of the wood that was no more，of the many pretty birds ‘nests destroyed，and the old and young ones left without a home；and all for the sake of that great bit of lumber，that proud ship that never sailed forth．
“I made the snow－flakes whirl， and the snow lay like great waves high around the ship， and drifted over it．I let it hear my voice，that it might know what a storm has to say． Certainly I did my part towards teaching it seamanship．Huh－sh！ Push along！
“And the winter passed away；winter and summer，both passed away， and they are still passing away， even as I pass away；as the snow whirls along， and the apple－blossom whirls along， and the leaves fall—Away！ Away！Away！—And men are passing away too！
“But the daughters were still young，and little Ida was a rose， as fair to look upon as on the day when the architect saw her．I often seized her long brown hair，when she stood in the garden by the apple－tree， musing，and not heeding how I strewed blossoms on her hair，and loosened it，while she was gazing at the red sun and the golden sky， through the dark underwood and the trees of the garden．
“Her sister was bright and slender as a lily． Joanna had height and stateliness， but was like her mother，rather stiff in the stalk．She was very fond of walking through the great hall， where hung the portraits of her ancestors．The women painted in dresses of silk and velvet，with a tiny little hat， embroidered with pearls，on their plaited hair．They were handsome women．Their husbands were in steel， or in costly cloaks lined with squirrel's skin；they wore little ruffs，and swords at their sides， but not buckled to their hips．Where would Joanna's picture find its place on that wall some day？ and how would he look， her noble lord and husband？ This is what she thought of，and of this she spoke softly to herself． I heard it as I swept into the long hall and turned round to come out again．
“Anna Dorothea，the pale hyacinth，a child of fourteen，was quiet and thoughtful； her great deep－blue eyes had a musing look， but the childlike smile still played around her lips：I was not able to blow it away， nor did I wish to do so．
“We met in the garden， in the hollow lane， in the field and meadow； she gathered herbs and flowers which she knew would be useful to her father in concocting the drinks and drops he distilled． Waldemar Daa was arrogant and proud， but he was also a learned man， and knew a great deal．That was no secret， and mp opinions were expressed concerning it．In his chimney there was fire even in summertime． He would lock the door of his room，and for days the fire would be poked and raked；but of this he did not talk much—the forces of nature must be conquered in silence；and soon he would discover the art of making the best thing of all—the red gold．
“That is why the chimney was always smoking， there-fore the flames crackled so frequently． Yes， I was there too， said the Wind．‘Let it go，’I sang down through the chimney：‘It will end in smoke， air， coals and ashes！ You will burn yourself！Hu-uh－ush！Drive away！Drive away！’But Waldemar Daa did not drive it away．
“The splendid black horses in the stable—what be－came of them？What became of the old gold and silver vessels in cupboards and chests， the cows in the fields， and the houses and home itself？ Yes， they may melt，may melt in the golden crucible，and yet yield no gold．
“Empty grew the barns and store-rooms，the cellars and magazines．The servants decreased，and the mice multiplied．Then a window broke，and then another，and I could get in elsewhere besides at the door，”said the Wind．‘Where the chimney smokes the meal is being cooked，’［the proverb says．］But here the chimney smoked that devoured all the meals，for the sake of the red gold．
“I blew through the courtyard gate like a watchman blowing his horn，”the Wind went on，“but no watchman was there．I twirled the weathercock round the summit of the tower，and it creaked like the snoring of the warder，but no warder was there；only mice and rats were there．Poverty laid the table-cloth；poverty sat in the wardrobe and in the larder；the door fell off its hinges，cracks and fissures made their appearance，and I went in and out at pleasure；and that is how I know all about it．
“Amid smoke and ashes，amid sorrow and sleepless nights，the hair became grey，in his beard and around his temples；his skin turned pale and yellow，as his eyes looked greedily for the gold，the desired gold．
“I blew the smoke and ashes into his face and beard：debt came instead of gold．I sang through the broken window-panes and the yawning clefts in the walls．I blew into the chests of drawers belonging to the daughters，wherein lay the clothes that had become faded and threadbare form being worn over and over again．That was not the song that had been sung at the children's cradle．The lordly life had changed to a life of penurp．I was the only one who sang aloud in that castle，”said the Wind．“I snowed them up，and they say snow keeps people warm．They had no wood，and the forest from which they might have brought it was cut down．It was a biting frost．I rushed in thrugh loopholes and passages，over gables and roofs，that I might be brisk．They were lying in bed because of the cold，the three high-born daughters，and their father was crouching under his leathern coverlet．Nothing to bite，nothing to burn—there was a life for high-borm people！Huh-sh！let it go！”
But that is what my Lord Daa could not do—he could not let it go．
“‘After winter comes spring，’he said．‘After want，good times will come，but they must be waited for！Now my house and lands are mortgaged，it is indeed high time；and the gold will soon come．At Easter！’
“I heard how he spoke thus，looking at a spider's web．‘The diligent little weaver，thou dost teach me per-severance．Let them tear they web，and thou wilt begin it again and complete it．Let them destroy it again，and thou wilt resolutely begin to work again—again！That is what we must do，and that will repay itself at last．’
“It was the morning of Easter-day．The bells and the sun seemed to rejoice in the sky．The master had watched through the night in feverish excitement，and had been melting and cooling，distilling and mixting．I heard him sighing like a soul in despair；I heard him praying，and I noticed how he held his breath．The lamp was burned out，but he did not notice it．I blew at the fire of coals，and it threw its red glow upon his ghastly white face，lighting it up with a glare，and his sunken eyes looked forth wildly out of their deep sockets—but they became larger and larger，as though they would burst．
“Look at the alchemic glass！It glows in the crucible，red-hot，and pure and heavy！He lifted it with a trembling hand，and cried with a trembling voice，‘Gold！gold！’
“He was quite dizzy—I could have blown him down”，said the Wind；“ but I only fanned the glowing coals，and accompanied him through the door to where his daughters sat shivering．His coat was powdered with ashes，and there were ashes in his beard and in his tangled hair．He stood straight up，and held his costly treasure on high，in the brittle glass．‘Found，found！—Gold，gold！’he shouted，and again held aloft the glass to let it flash in the sunshine；but his hand trembled，and the alchemic glass fell clattering to the ground，and broke into a thousand pieces；and the last bubble of his happiness had burst！Hu-uh-ush！rushing away！and I rushed away from the gold-maker's house．
“Late in autumn，when the days are short，and the mist comes and strews clod drops upon the berries and leafless branches，I came back in fresh spirits，rushed through the air，swept the sky clear，and snapped the dry twigs—which is certainly no great labour，but yet it must be done．Then there was another kind of sweeping clean at Waldemar Daa's，in the mansion of Borreby．His enemy，Ove Ramel，of Basnas，was there with the mortgage of the house and everything it contained in his pocket．I drummed against the broken window-panes，beat against the old rotten doors，and whistled through cracks and rifts—huh-sh！Ove Ramel was not to be encouraged to stay there．Ida and Anna Dorothea wept bitterly；Joanna stood pale and proud，and bit her thumb till it bled—but what could that avail？Ove Ramel offered to allow Walde-mar Daa to remain in the mansion till the end of his life，but no thanks were given him for his offer．I listened to hear what occurred．I saw the ruined gentleman lift his head and throw it back prouder than ever，and I rushed against the house and the old lime trees with such force，that one of the thickest branches broke，one that was not decayed；and the branch remained lying at the entrance as a broom when any one wanted to sweep the place out：and a grand sweeping out there was—I thought it would be so．
“It was hard on that day to preserve one's composure；but their will was as hard as their fortune．
“There was nothing they could call their own except the clothes they wore：yes，there was one thing more the alchemist's glass，a new one that had lately been bought，and filled with what had been gathered up from the ground，the treasure which promised so much but never kept its promise．Waldemar Daa hid the glass in his bosom，and taking his stick in his hand，the once rich gentleman passed with his daughters out of the house of Borreby．I blew cold upon his heated cheeks，I stroked his grey beard and his long white hair，and I sang as well as I could，—‘Huh-sh！Gone away！Gone away！’And that was the end of the wealth and splendour．
“Ida walked on one side of the old man，and Anna Dorothea on the other．Joanna turned round at the entrance—why？Fortune would not turn because she did so．She looked at the old walls of what had once been the castle of Marsk Stig，and perhaps she thought of his daughters：
The eldest gave the youngest her hand，
And forth they went to the far-off land．
Was she thinking of this old song？Here were three of them，and their father was with them too．They walked along the road on which they had once driven in their splendid carriage—they walked forth as beggars，with their father，and wandered out into the open field，and into a mud hut，which they rented for ten marks a year into their new house with the empty rooms and empty vessels．Crows and jackdaws fluttered above them，and cried，as if in contempt，‘From the nest！From the nest！far！far！’as they had done in the wood at Borreby when the trees were felled．
“Daa and his daughters could not help hearing it．I blew about their ears for what use would it be that they should listen？
“And they went to live in the mud hut on the open field，and I wandered away over moor and field，through bare bushes and leafless forests，to the open waters，to other lands—huh-uh-ush！away，away！—year after year！”
And how did Waldemar Daa and his daughters pros-per？The Wind tells us：
“The one I saw last，yes，for the last time，was Anna Dorothea，the pale hyacinth：then she was old and bent，for it was fifty years afterwards．She lived longer than the rest；she knew all．
“Yonder on the heath，by the town of Wiborg，stood the fine new house of the Dean，built of red bricks with projecting gables；the smoke came up thickly from the chimney．The Dean's gentle lady and her beautiful daughters sat in the bay window，and looked over the hawthorn hedge of the garden towards the brown heath．What were they looking at？They looked on the stork's nest out there，on the hut，which was almost falling in；the roof consisted of moss and houseleek，in so far as a roof existed there at all—the stork's nest covered the greater part of it，and that alone was in proper condition，for it was kept in order by the stork himself．
“That is a house to be looked at，but not to be touched：I must deal gently with it，”said the Wind．“For the sake of the stork's nest the hut has been allowed to stand，though it was a blot upon the landscape．They did not like to drive the stork away，therefore the old shed was left standing，and the poor woman who dwelt in it was allowed to stay：she had the Egyptian bird to thank for that；or was it perchance her reward，because she had once interceded for the nest of its black brother in the forest of Borreby？At that time she，the poor woman，was a young child，a pale hyacinth in the rich garden．She remembered all that right well，did Anna Dorothea．
“‘Oh！oh！’Yes，people can sigh like the wind moaning in the rushes and reeds．‘Oh！oh！’she sighed，‘no bells sounded at they burial，Waldemar Daa！The poor schoolboys did not even sing a psalm when the former lord of Borreby was laid in the earth to rest！Oh，everything has an end，even misery．Sister Ida became the wife of a peasant．That was the hardest trial that befell our father，that the husband of a daughter of his should be a miserable serf，whom the proprietor could mount on the wooden horse for punishment！I suppose he is under the ground now．And thou，Ida？Alas，alas！It is not ended yet，wretch that I am！Grant me that I may die，kind Heaven！
“That was Anna Dorothea's prayer in the wretched hut which was left standing for the sake of the stork．
“I took pity on the fairest of the sisters，”said the Wind．“Her courage was like that of a man，and in man's clothes she took service as a sailor on board a ship．She was sparing of words，and of a dark countenance，but willing at her work．But she did not know how to limb；so I blew her overboard before anybody found out that she was a woman，and that was well done of me！”said the Wind．
“On such an Easter morning as that on which Waldemar Daa had fancied that he had found the red gold，I heard the tones of a psalm under the stork's nest，among the crumbling walls—it was Anna Dorothea's last song．
“There was no window，only a hole in the wall．The sun rose up like a mass of gold，and looked through．What a splendour he diffused！Her eyes and her heart were breaking—but that they would have done，even if the sun had not shone that morning on her．
“The stork covered her hut till her death．I sang at her grave！”said the Wind．“I sang at her father's grave；I know where his grave is，and where hers is，and nobody else knows it．
“New times，changed times！The old high road now runs through cultivated fields；the new road winds among the trim ditches，and soon the railway will come with its train of carriages，and rush over the graves which are for-gotten like the names—hu-ush！Passed away！Passed away！
“That is the story of Waldemar Daa and his daughters．Tell it better，any of you，if you know how，”said the Wind，and turned away—and he was gone．
一个贵族和他的女儿们
当风儿在草上吹过去的时候，田野就像一湖水，起了一片涟漪。当它在麦子上扫过去的时候，田野就像一个海，起了一层浪花，这叫做风的跳舞。不过请听它讲的故事吧：它是把故事唱出来的。故事在森林的树顶上的声音，同它通过墙上通风孔和隙缝时所发出的声音是不同的。你看，风是怎样在天上把云块像一群羊似地驱走！你听，风是怎样在敞开的大门里呼啸，简直像守门人在吹着号角！它从烟囱和壁炉口吹进来的声音是多么奇妙啊！火发出爆裂声，燃烧起来，把房间较远的角落都照明了。这里是那么温暖和舒适，坐在这儿听这些声音是多么愉快啊。让风儿自己来讲吧！因为它知道许多故事和童话——比我们任何人知道的都多。现在请听吧，请听它怎样讲吧。
“呼——呼——嘘！去吧！”这就是它的歌声的叠句。
“在那条‘巨带’的岸边，立着一幢古老的房子；它有很厚的红墙，”风儿说；“我认识它的每一块石头；当它还是属于涅塞特的马尔斯克·斯蒂格堡寨的时候，我就看见过它。它不得不被拆掉了！石头用在另一个地方，砌成新的墙，造成一幢新房子——这就是波列埠大厦：它现在还立在那儿。
“我认识和见过那里高贵的老爷和太太们，以及住在那里的后裔。现在我要讲一讲关于瓦尔得马尔·杜和他的女儿们的故事。
“他骄傲得不可一世，因为他有皇族的血统！他除了能猎取雄鹿和把满瓶的酒一饮而尽以外，还能做许多别的事情。他常常对自己说：‘事情自然会有办法。’
“他的太太穿着金线绣的衣服，高视阔步地在光亮的地板上走来走去。壁毯是华丽的；家具是贵重的，而且还有精致的雕花。她带来许多金银器皿作为陪嫁。地窖里［已经藏满了东西，］还藏着德国啤酒。黑色的马在马厩里嘶鸣。那时这家人家很富有，波列埠的公馆有一种豪华的气象。
“那里住着孩子，有三个娇美的姑娘：意德、约翰妮和安娜·杜洛苔。我现在还记得她们的名字。
“她们是有钱的人，有身份的人，在豪华中出生，在豪华中长大。呼——嘘！去吧！”风儿唱着。接着它继续讲下去：“我在这儿看不见别的古老家族中常有的情景：高贵的太太跟她的女仆们坐在大厅里一起摇着纺车。她吹着宏亮的笛子，同时唱着歌——不老是那些古老的丹麦歌，而是一些异国的歌。这儿的生活是活跃的，招待是殷勤的；显贵的客人从远近各处地方到来，音乐在演奏着，酒杯在碰着，我也没有办法把这些声音淹没！”风儿说。“这儿只有夸张的傲慢神气、奢华、炫耀和老爷派头；但是没有上帝！”
“那正是五月一日的晚上，”风儿说。“我从西边来，我见到船只撞着尤兰西部的海岸而被毁。我匆忙地走过这生满了石楠植物和长满了绿树林的海岸，走过富恩岛。现在我在‘巨带’上扫过，呻吟着，叹息着。
“于是我在瑟蓝岛的岸上，在波列埠的那座公馆的附近躺下来休息。那儿有一个青葱的栎树林，现在仍然还存在。
“附近的年轻人到棕树林下面来收捡树枝和柴草，收捡他们所能找到的最粗和最干的木柴。他们把木柴拿到村里来，聚成堆，点起火。于是男男女女就在周围跳着舞，唱着歌。
“我躺着一声不响，”风儿说。“不过我静静地把一根枝子——一个最漂亮的年轻人捡回来的枝子——拨了一下，于是他的那堆柴就烧起来，烧得比所有的柴堆都旺。这样他就算是入选了，获得了‘街头山羊’的光荣称号，同时还可以在这些姑娘之中选择他的‘街头绵羊’。这儿的快乐和高兴，胜过波列埠那个豪富的公馆。
“那位贵族妇人，带着她的三个女儿，乘着一辆由六匹马拉着的、镀了金的车子，向这座公馆驰来。她的女儿是年轻和美丽的——是三朵迷人的花：玫瑰、百合和淡白的风信子。母亲本人则是一朵骄傲的郁金香。大家都停止了游戏，向她鞠躬和敬礼；但是她谁也不理，人们可以看出，这位妇人是一朵开在相当硬的梗子上的花。
“玫瑰、百合和淡白的风信子；是的，她们三个人我全都看见了！我想，有一天她们将会是谁的小绵羊呢？她们的‘街头山羊’将会是一位漂亮的骑士，可能是一位王子！呼——嘘！去吧！去吧！
“是的，车子载着她们走了，农人们继续跳舞。［在波列埠这地方，在卡列埠，］在周围所有的村子里，人们都在庆祝夏天的到来。
“可是在夜里，当我再起身的时候，”风儿说。“那位贵族妇人躺下了，再也起不来了。她碰上这样的事情，正如许多人碰上这类的事情一样——并没有什么新奇。瓦尔得马尔·杜静静地、沉思地站了一会儿。‘最骄傲的树可以弯，但不一定就会折断，’他在心里说。女儿们哭起来；公馆里所有的人全都在揩眼泪。杜夫人去了——可是我也去了，呼——嘘！”风儿说。
“我又回来了。我常常回到富恩岛和‘巨带’的沿岸来。我坐在波列埠的岸旁，坐在那美丽的栎树林附近：苍鹭在这儿做窝；斑鸠，甚至蓝乌鸦和黑鹳鸟也都到这儿来。这还是开春不久：它们有的已经生了蛋，有的已经孵出了小雏。
“嗨，它们是在怎样飞，怎样叫啊！人们可以听到斧头的响声：一下，两下，三下。树林被砍掉了。瓦尔得马尔·杜想要建造一条华丽的船——一条有三层楼的战舰。国王一定会买它。因此他要砍掉这个作为水手的目标和飞鸟的隐身处的树林。苍鹭惊恐地飞走了，因为它的窝被毁掉了。苍鹭和其他的林中鸟都变得无家可归，慌乱地飞来飞去，愤怒地、惊恐地号叫，我了解它们的心情。乌鸦和穴乌用讥笑的口吻大声地号叫：‘离开窝儿吧！离开窝儿吧！离开吧！离开吧！’
“在树林里，在一群工人旁边，站着瓦尔得马尔·杜和他的女儿们。他们听到这些鸟儿的狂叫，不禁大笑起来。只有一个人——那个最年轻的安娜·杜洛苔——心中感到难过。他们正要推倒一株将死的树，在这株树的枝桠上有一只黑鹳鸟的窝，窝里的小鹳鸟正在伸出头来——她替它们向大家求情，她含着眼泪向大家求情。这株有窝的树算是为鹳鸟留下了。这不过只是一件很小的事情。
“有的树被砍掉了，有的树被锯掉了。接着一个有三层楼的船便建造起来了。建筑师是一个出身微贱的人，但是他有高贵的仪表。他的眼睛和前额说明他是多么聪明。瓦尔得马尔·杜喜欢听他谈话；他最大的女儿意德——她现在有15岁了——也是这样。当他正在为父亲建造船的时候，他也在为自己建造一个空中楼阁：他和意德将作为一对夫妇住在里面。如果这楼阁是由石墙所砌成、有壁垒和城壕、有树林和花园的话，这个幻想也许可能成为事实。不过，这位建筑师虽然有一个聪明的头脑，但却是一个穷鬼。的确，一只麻雀怎么能在鹤群中跳舞呢？呼——嘘！我飞走了，他也飞走了，因为他不能住在这儿。小小的意德也只好克制她的难过的心情，因为她非克制不可。”
“那些黑马在马厩里嘶鸣；它们值得一看，而且也有人在看它们。国王亲自派海军大将来检验这条新船，来布置购买它。海军大将也大为称赞这些雄赳赳的马儿。
“我听到这一切，”风儿说。“我陪着这些人走进敞开的门；我在他们脚前撒下一些草叶，像一条一条的黄金。瓦尔得马尔·杜想要有金子，海军大将想要有那些黑马——因此他才那样称赞它们，不过他的意思没有被听懂，结果船也没有买成。它躺在岸边，亮得放光，周围全是木板；它是一个挪亚式的方舟，但永远不曾下过水。呼——嘘！去吧！去吧！这真可惜。
“在冬天，田野上盖满了雪，［‘巨带’里结满了冰，］我把冰块吹到岸上来，”风儿说。“乌鸦和大渡乌都来了，它们是一大群，一个比一个黑。它们落到岸边没有生命的、被遗弃了的、孤独的船上。它们用一种暗哑的调子，为那已经不再有的树林，为那被毁坏了的漂亮的雀窝，为那些没有家的老老少少的雀子而哀鸣。这完全是因为那一大堆木头——那一条从来没有出过海的船的缘故。
“我把雪花搅得乱飞，雪花像巨浪似地围在船的四周，压在船的上面！我让它听到我的声音，使它知道，风暴有些什么话要说。我知道，我在尽我的力量教它关于航行的技术。呼——嘘！去吧！
“冬天逝去了；冬天和夏天都逝去了。它们在逝去，像我一样，像雪花的飞舞，像苹果花的飞舞，像树叶的下落——逝去了！逝去了！人也逝去了！
“不过那几个女儿仍然很年轻，小小的意德是一朵玫瑰花，美丽得像那位建筑师最初见到她的时候一样。她常常若有所思地站在花园的苹果树旁，没有注意到我在她松散的头发上撒下花朵；这时我就抚着她的棕色长头发。她凝视那鲜红的太阳和那在花园的树林和阴森的灌木丛之间露出来的金色的天空。
“她的妹妹约翰妮像一朵百合花，亭亭玉立，高视阔步，和她的母亲一样，只是梗子脆了一点。她喜欢走过挂有祖先的画像的大厅。在画中，那些仕女们都穿着丝绸和天鹅绒的衣服；她们的发髻上都戴着缀有珍珠的小帽。她们都是一群美丽的仕女，她们的丈夫不是穿着铠甲，就是穿着用松鼠皮做里子和有皱领的大氅。他们腰间挂着长剑，但是并没有扣在股上。约翰妮的画像哪一天会在墙上挂起来呢？她高贵的丈夫将会是个什么样的人物呢？是的，这就是她心中所想着的，她低声对自己所讲着的事情。当我吹过长廊、走进大厅，然后又折转身来的时候，我听到了她的话。
“那朵淡白的风信子安娜·杜洛苔刚刚满14岁，是一个安静和深思的女子。她那双大而深蓝的眼睛有一种深思的表情，但她的嘴唇上仍然飘着一种稚气的微笑：我没有办法把它吹掉，也没有心思要这样做。
“我在花园里，在空巷里，在田野里遇见她。她在采摘花草；她知道，这些东西对她的父亲有用：她可以把它们蒸馏成为饮料。瓦尔得马尔·杜是一个骄傲自负的人，不过他也是一个有学问的人，知道很多东西。这不是一个秘密，人们都在谈论这事情。他的烟囱即使在夏天还有火冒出来。他的房门是锁着的，一连几天几夜都是这样。但是他不大喜欢谈这件事情——大自然的威力应该是在沉静中征服的。不久他就找出一件最大的秘密——制造赤金。
“这正是为什么烟囱一天到晚在冒烟、一天到晚在喷出火焰的缘故。是的，我也在场！”风儿说。“‘让它去吧，’我对着烟囱口唱：‘它的结果将会只是一阵烟、空气、一堆炭和炭灰！你将会把你自己烧得精光！呼——呼——呼——去吧！去吧！’但是瓦尔得马尔·杜并不放弃他的企图。
“马厩里那些漂亮的马儿——它们变成了什么呢？碗柜和箱子里的那些旧金银器皿、田野里的母牛、财产和房屋都变成了什么呢？——是的，它们可以熔化掉，可以在那金坩埚里熔化掉，但是那里面却变不出金子！”
“谷仓和储藏室，酒窖和库房，现在空了。人数减少了，但是耗子却增多了。这一块玻璃裂了，那一块玻璃碎了；我可以不需通过门就能进去了，”风儿说。‘烟囱一冒烟，就说明有人在煮饭。’这儿的烟囱也在冒烟；不过为了炼赤金，却把所有的饭都耗费掉了。
“我吹进院子的门，像一个看门人吹着号角一样，不过这儿却没有什么看门人，”风儿说。“我把尖顶上的那个风信鸡吹得团团转。它嘎嘎地响着，像一个守望塔上的卫士在发出鼾声，可是这儿却没有什么卫士，这儿只有成群的耗子。‘贫穷’就躺在桌上，‘贫穷’就坐在衣橱里和橱柜里；门脱了榫头，裂缝出现了，我可以随便跑出跑进。”风儿说，“因此我什么全知道。
“在烟雾和灰尘中，在悲愁和失眠之夜，他的胡须和两鬓都变白了。他的皮肤变得枯黄；他追求金子，他的眼睛就发出那种贪图金子的光。
“我把烟雾和火灰向他的脸上和胡须上吹去；他没有得到金子，却得到了一堆债务。我从碎了的窗玻璃和墙上大开的裂口吹进去。我吹进他女儿们的衣柜里去，那里面的衣服都退了色，破旧了，因为她们老是穿着这几套衣服。这支歌不是在她们儿时的摇篮旁边唱的！豪富的日子现在变成了贫穷的生活！我是这座公馆里唯一高声唱歌的人！”风儿说。“我用雪把他们封在屋子里；人们说雪可以保持住温暖。他们没有木柴；那个供给他们木柴的树林已经被砍光了。天正下着严霜。我在裂缝和走廊里吹，我在三角墙上和屋顶上吹，为的是要运动一下。这三位出身高贵的小姐，冷得爬不起床来。父亲在皮被子下缩成一团。吃的东西也没有了，烧的东西也没有了——这就是贵族的生活！呼——嘘！去吧！”
但是这正是杜老爷所办不到的事情——他不能就此罢休。
“‘冬天过后春天就来了，’他说。‘贫穷过后快乐的时光就来了，但是快乐的时光必须等待！现在房屋和田地只剩下一张典契，这正是倒霉的时候。但是金子马上就会到来的——在复活节的时候就会到来！’
“我听到他望着蜘蛛网这样讲：‘你这聪明的小织工，你教我坚持下去！人们弄破你的网，你会重新再织，把它完成！人们再毁掉它，你会坚决地又开始工作——又开始工作！人也应该是这样！气力决不会白费。’
“这是复活节的早晨。钟在响，太阳在天空中嬉戏。瓦尔得马尔·杜在*的兴奋中守了一夜；他在溶化，冷凝，提炼和混合。我听到他像一个失望的灵魂在叹气，我听到他在祈祷，我注意到他在屏住呼吸。灯里的油燃尽了，可是他不注意。我吹着炭火；火光映着他惨白的面孔，使他泛出红光。他深陷的眼睛在眼窝里望，眼睛越睁越大，好像要跳出来似的。
“请看这个炼金术士的玻璃杯！那里面发出红光，它是赤热的，纯净的，沉重的！他用颤抖的手把它举起来，用颤抖的声音喊：‘金子！金子！’他的头脑有些昏沉——我很容易就把他吹倒，”风儿说。“不过我只是扇着那灼热的炭；我陪着他走到一个房间里去，他的女儿们正在那儿冻得发抖。他的上衣上全是炭灰；他的胡须里，蓬松的头发上，也是炭灰。他笔直地站着，高高地举起放在易碎的玻璃杯里的贵重的宝物。‘炼出来了，胜利了！——金子，金子！’他叫着，把杯子举到空中，让它在太阳光中发出闪光。但是他的手在发抖；这位炼金术士的杯子落到地上，跌成1000块碎片。他的幸福的最后泡沫现在炸碎了！呼——嘘——嘘！去吧！我从这位炼金术士的家里奔出去了。
“岁暮的时候，白天很短；雾降下来了，在红浆果和光赤的枝子上凝成水滴。我精神饱满地回来了，我横渡高空，扫过青天，折断干枝——这倒不是一件很艰难的工作，但是非做不可。在波列埠的公馆里，在瓦尔得马尔·杜的家里，现在有了另一种大扫除。他的敌人，巴斯纳斯的奥微·拉美尔拿着房子的典押契据［和家具的出卖契据］到来了。我在碎玻璃窗上敲，在腐朽的门上打，在裂缝里面呼啸：呼——嘘！我要使奥微·拉美尔不喜欢在这儿待下来。意德和安那·杜洛苔哭得非常伤心；亭亭玉立的约翰妮脸上发白，她咬着拇指，一直到血流出来——但这又有什么用呢？奥微·拉美尔准许瓦尔得马尔·杜在这儿一直住到死，可是并没有人因此感谢他。我在静静地听。我看到这位无家可归的绅士仰起头来，显出一副比平时还要骄傲的神气。我向这公馆和那些老菩提树袭来，折断了一根最粗的枝子——一根还没有腐朽的枝子。这枝子躺在门口，像是一把扫帚，人们可以用它把这房子扫得精光，事实上人们也在扫了——我想这很好。
“这是艰难的日子，这是不容易保持镇定的时刻：但是他们的意志是坚强的［，他们的骨头是硬的］。
“除了穿的衣服以外，他们什么也没有：是的，他们还有一件东西——一个新近买的炼金的杯子。它盛满了从地上捡起来的那些碎片——这东西期待有一天会变成财宝，但是从来没有兑现。瓦尔得马尔·杜把这财宝藏在他的怀里。这位曾经一度豪富的绅士，现在手中拿着一根棍子，带着他的三个女儿走出了波列埠的公馆。我在他灼热的脸上吹了一阵寒气，我抚摸着他灰色的胡须和雪白的长头发，我尽力唱出歌来——‘呼——嘘！去吧！去吧！’这就是豪华富贵的一个结局。
“意德在老人的一边走，安娜·杜洛苔在另一边走。约翰妮在门口掉转头来——为什么呢？幸运并不会掉转身来呀。她把马尔斯克·斯蒂格公馆的红墙壁望了一眼；她想起了斯蒂格的女儿们：
年长的姐姐牵着小妹妹的手，
她们一起在茫茫的世界飘流。
“难道她在想这支古老的歌吗？现在她们姐妹三个人在一起——父亲也跟在一道！他们走着这条路——他们华丽的车子曾经走过的这条路。她们作为一群乞丐搀着父亲向前走；他们走向斯来斯特鲁的田庄，走向那年租10个马克的泥草棚里去，走向空洞的房间和没有家具的新家里去。乌鸦和穴乌在他们的头上盘旋，号叫，仿佛是在讥刺他们：‘没有了窝！没有了窝！没有了！没有了！’这正像波列埠的树林被砍下时鸟儿所作的哀鸣一样。
“杜老爷和他的女儿们一听就明白了。我在他们的耳边吹，因为听到这些话并没有什么好处。
“他们住进斯来斯特鲁田庄上的泥草棚里去。我走过沼泽地和田野、光赤的灌木丛和落叶的树林，走到汪洋的水上，走到别的国家里去：呼——嘘！去吧！去吧！永远地去吧！”
瓦尔得马尔·杜怎么样了呢？他的女儿怎么样了呢？风儿说：
“是的，我最后一次看到的是安娜·杜洛苔——那朵淡白色的风信子：现在她老了，腰也弯了，因为那已经是50年以后的事情。她活得最久；她经历了一切。
“在那长满了石楠植物的荒地上，在微堡城附近，有一幢华丽的、副主教住的新房子。它是用红砖砌成的：它有锯齿形的三角墙。浓烟从烟囱里冒出来。那位娴淑的太太和她的美丽的女儿们坐在大窗口，朝花园里悬挂在那儿的鼠李和长满了石楠植物的棕色荒地凝望。她们在望什么东西呢，她们在望那儿一个快要倒的泥草棚上的鹳鸟窝。如果说有什么屋顶，那么这屋顶只是一堆青苔和石莲花——［最干净的地方是］鹳鸟做窝的地方，而也只有这一部分是完整的，因为鹳鸟把它保持完整。
“那个屋子只能看，不能碰；我要对它谨慎一点才成，”风儿说。“这泥草棚是因为鹳鸟在这儿做窝才被保存下来的，虽然它是这荒地上一件吓人的东西。副主教不愿意把鹳鸟赶走，因此这个破棚子就被保存下来了，那里面的穷女人也就能够住下去。她应该感谢这只埃及的鸟儿。她曾经在波列埠树林里为它的黑兄弟的窝求过情，可能这是它的一种报酬吧？可怜的她，在那时候，她还是一个年幼的孩子——豪富的花园里的一朵淡白的风信子，安娜·杜洛苔把这一切都记得清清楚楚。
“啊！啊！是的，人们可以叹息，像风在芦苇和灯芯草里叹息一样，啊！啊！瓦尔得马尔·杜，在你入葬的时候，没有人为你敲响丧钟！当这位波列埠的主人被埋进土里的时候，也没有穷孩子来唱一首圣诗！啊！任何东西都有一个结束，穷苦也是一样！姐姐意德成了一个农人的妻子。这对我们的父亲说来是一个严厉的考验！女儿的丈夫——竟是一个穷苦的农奴！他的主人随时可以叫他骑上木马。他现在已经躺在地下了吧？至于你，意德，也是一样吗？唉！倒霉的我，还没有一个终结！仁慈的上帝，请让我死吧！’
“这是安娜·杜洛苔在那个寒碜的泥草棚——为鹳鸟留下的泥草棚——里所作的祈祷。
“三姊妹中最能干的一位我亲自带走了，”风儿说。“她具有男人的勇气。她化装成为一个穷苦的年轻人，到一条海船上去当水手。她不多讲话，面孔很沉着，她愿意做自己的工作。但是爬桅杆她可不会；因此在别人还没有发现她是一个女人以前，我就把她吹下船去。我想这不是一桩坏事！”风儿说。
“像瓦尔得马尔·杜幻想他发现了赤金的那样一个复活节的早晨，我在那几堵要倒塌的墙之间，在鹳鸟的窝底下，听到唱圣诗的声音——这是安娜·杜洛苔的最后的歌。
“墙上没有窗子，只有一个洞口。太阳像一堆金子似地升起来，照着这屋子。阳光才可爱哩！她的眼睛在碎裂，她的心在碎裂！——
即使太阳这天早晨没有照着她，这事情也会发生。
“鹳鸟作为屋顶盖着她，一直到她死！我在她的坟旁唱起歌来！”风儿说。“我在她父亲的坟旁唱歌。我知道他的坟和她的坟在什么地方；别的人谁也不知道。
“新的时代，不同的时代！耕地上修建了公路；坟墓变成了大路。不久蒸汽就会带着长列的火车就会到来，在那些像人名一样被遗忘了的坟上驶过去——呼——嘘！去吧！去吧！
“这是瓦尔得马尔·杜和他的女儿们的故事。假如你们能够的话，请把它讲得更好一点吧！”风儿说完就掉转身不见了。
这篇作品，首次发表于1859年3月24日在哥本哈根出版的《新的童话和故事集》第3卷。安徒生在手记中写道：“关于斯克尔斯戈附近的波列埠庄园的一些民间传说和野史记载中，有一个《瓦尔得马尔和他的女儿们》的故事。我写这个故事的时候，在风格方面花了很大的气力。我想使我的行文产生一种像风一样明快、光亮的效果，因此我就让这个故事由风讲出来。”这是安徒生在童话创作风格上的一种新的尝试，即不断创新。
故事的内容很明显，就是一个贵族及其家族的没落。这是对他们的一首具有象征意义的挽歌——因而安徒生就让风把它唱出来。“新的时代，不同的时代！耕地上修建了公路，坟墓变成了大路。不久蒸汽就会带着长列的火车到来，在那像人名一样被遗忘了的坟上驰过去——呼——嘘！去吧！去吧！”就是这不停的“去吧！去吧！”又把蒸汽扔在后面让喷汽把人类送到更高的天空。旧的“去”；新的“来”，但安徒生关于人类历史和文明不断进展的思想却是不变的，“放之四海而皆准。”
