Little Ida's Flowers

"My poor flowers are quite dead!" said little Ida. "They were so lovely yesterday evening, and now all their petals are drooping. Why is that?" she asked the student who was sitting on the sofa. She was very fond of him, because he knew how to tell the loveliest stories and cut out the funniest pictures: hearts with little ladies dancing in them, flowers, and big castles with doors that opened. He was a very jolly student.

"Why do the flowers look so poorly today?" she asked again, showing him a wilted bunch. "Do you know what's the matter with them?" said the student. "The flowers went to a ball last night, and that's why their heads are drooping." "But flowers can't dance," said little Ida. "Yes, they can," said the student. "When it gets dark and we are asleep, they leap about merrily. They have a ball almost every night." "Can children go to that ball too?" "Yes," said the student, "little daisies and lilies of the valley."

"Where do the loveliest flowers dance?" asked little Ida. "Haven't you ever been to the big castle outside the town, where the king lives in summer, with the lovely garden full of flowers? You've seen the swans there, swimming up to you when you gave them breadcrumbs. That's where the big balls are held, believe me." "I was there with my mother yesterday," said Ida, "but there wasn't a single leaf left on the trees and no flowers at all! Where have they gone? There were so many in summer."

"They're inside the castle," said the student. "As soon as the king and the court move into town, the flowers run straight from the garden into the castle and make merry. You should see it! The two loveliest roses sit on the throne; they are the king and queen. All the red cockscombs line up on either side, standing and bowing; they are the chamberlains. Then all the lovely flowers come, and a great ball begins. The blue violets are little naval cadets; they dance with the hyacinths and crocuses and call them young ladies. The tulips and the big yellow lilies are old ladies; they keep an eye on the dancing and see that everything is done properly."

"But," asked little Ida, "doesn't anyone punish the flowers for dancing in the king's castle?" "Nobody knows about it," said the student. "Sometimes at night the old steward comes to keep watch. He carries a big bunch of keys. As soon as the flowers hear the keys jingling, they go quiet, hide behind the long curtains and poke their heads out. 'I smell flowers here,' says the old steward, but he can't see anything."

"How funny!" said little Ida, clapping her hands. "But couldn't I see the flowers too?" "Yes," said the student, "next time you go there, remember to peep in at the window, and you'll see them. I looked in today, and there was a long yellow lily lying on the sofa. She was a lady of the court." "Can the flowers from the botanical garden go there too? Can they walk such a long way?" "Yes, indeed," said the student, "they can fly if they want to. Haven't you seen the lovely red, yellow and white butterflies that look almost like flowers? They were flowers once. They jumped off their stalks, rose into the air, flapped their petals like wings and began to fly."

Little Ida thought this was very strange. "But do you think my flowers went to the ball at the king's castle?" "Yes," said the student. "They woke up when it got dark. That's why they're so tired and their heads are drooping. And there's something else you should know: in here, in your own room, the flowers dance at night too. You have a bed for your doll, haven't you? Put the flowers in it tonight, and in the morning you'll see how rested they are."

Then little Ida took her flowers to the table where her toys were. There her doll Sophie lay asleep in her bed. "You must get up tonight, Sophie," she said, "and make do with sleeping in the drawer. The poor flowers are ill and must lie in your bed; perhaps they'll get well." Then she took the doll out. The doll looked sulky but said nothing; she was cross at having to give up her bed. Ida laid the flowers in the doll's bed, pulled the little blanket over them and told them to lie still and be good, and she would make them some tea so they could get well and get up the next day. Then she drew the curtains around the bed so the sun would not shine in their eyes.

All evening little Ida could not stop thinking about what the student had told her. On her way to bed she first peeped behind the curtains at the window, where her mother's lovely flowers stood, hyacinths and tulips. She whispered to them: "I know you're going to the ball tonight." The flowers pretended not to understand, but little Ida knew what she knew.

When she was in bed she lay a long time thinking how lovely it would be to see the beautiful flowers dancing in the king's castle. "I wonder if my flowers really went there?" Then she fell asleep. In the night she woke; she had been dreaming of the flowers and the student. The door to the next room stood open. "I wonder if my flowers are still lying in Sophie's bed," she thought. "I'd like to know!" She sat up a little and looked through the half-open door. She listened, and it seemed as if someone were playing the piano in the room, very softly and very beautifully, more beautifully than she had ever heard.

"Now all the flowers are dancing in there!" she said. "Oh, how I'd love to see them!" But she dared not get up, for she might wake her mother and father. "If only they would come in here!" she said, but the flowers did not come, and the music went on playing so beautifully. At last she could bear it no longer; she slipped quietly out of her little bed, crept to the door and looked into the room. Oh, what a lovely sight it was!

There was no lamp in the room, but it was quite light, because the moon shone through the window right into the middle of the floor; it was almost like daylight. All the hyacinths and tulips stood in two long rows on the floor; not a flower was left at the window, only the empty pots stood there. On the floor all the flowers danced so prettily with each other, turning in rows and holding each other by their long green leaves to make a big ring. At the piano sat a big yellow lily. Little Ida was sure she had seen her in summer, for she remembered the student saying, "How like Miss Lina she is!" Everyone had laughed at him then, but now little Ida thought the long yellow flower really did look like that lady. She played just like her, bending her long yellow face first to one side and then the other, and nodding in time to the lovely music.

None of them noticed little Ida. Then she saw a big blue crocus jump up onto the middle of the table where the toys were, go straight to the doll's bed and draw the curtains aside. There lay the sick flowers, but they got up at once and nodded to the others to say they wanted to dance too. The old chimney-sweep doll with the broken mouth stood up and bowed to the pretty flowers. The flowers didn't look ill at all; they jumped down and joined in the fun with the others.

Then it seemed as if something fell off the table. Ida looked; it was the carnival birch rod, and it jumped down as if it thought it was a flower too. It was very pretty; a little wax doll sat on top of it, with a broad hat like the student's. The carnival rod hopped among the flowers on its three red wooden legs and stamped loudly, for it was dancing a mazurka. The other flowers couldn't dance that, because they were too light and couldn't stamp like that.

Suddenly the wax doll on the carnival rod grew tall, turned towards the paper flowers and said, "Fancy putting such things into a child's head! What a silly notion!" And then the wax doll looked exactly like the student with the broad hat, just as yellow and cross. But the paper flowers hit him on his thin legs, and he shrank and became a little wax doll again. It was so funny to see! Little Ida couldn't help laughing. The carnival rod went on dancing, and the wax doll had to dance too.

Then there was a knock on the drawer where Ida's doll Sophie lay with many other toys. The chimney sweep ran to the edge of the table, lay down on his stomach and managed to pull the drawer open a little. Then Sophie sat up and looked around in amazement. "Is there a ball here?" she said. "Why didn't anybody tell me?" "Will you dance with me?" said the chimney sweep. "A fine dancer you'd be!" said Sophie, and turned her back on him. Then she sat on the edge of the drawer and thought one of the flowers would come and ask her to dance, but nobody came. Then she coughed: "Ahem, ahem, ahem!" But still nobody came. The chimney sweep danced all by himself, and not at all badly.

Since none of the flowers seemed to see Sophie, she jumped down from the drawer onto the floor and made such a noise that all the flowers came running, gathered round her and asked whether she had hurt herself. They were all very kind to her, especially the flowers that had slept in her bed. But she wasn't hurt at all. Ida's flowers thanked her for her lovely bed, made a great fuss of her, took her into the middle of the floor where the moon was shining and danced with her, and all the other flowers made a ring around them. Sophie was very happy and said they could keep her bed; she didn't mind sleeping in the drawer at all.

But the flowers said: "Thank you very much, but we can't live long. Tomorrow we shall be dead. But tell little Ida to bury us in the garden, where the canary is buried. Then we shall grow again in summer and be even lovelier." "No, you mustn't die," said Sophie, and she kissed the flowers. At that moment the door of the drawing room opened and a great many lovely flowers came dancing in. Ida could not imagine where they came from; they were all the flowers from the king's castle! In front walked two lovely roses with little golden crowns on their heads; they were the king and queen. Then came the loveliest stocks and carnations, bowing in every direction. They had music with them; big poppies and peonies were blowing on pea pods until their faces were quite red. The blue bluebells and the little white snowdrops tinkled as if they had bells. It was very funny music. Then many other flowers came, and they all danced together: the blue violets and the red daisies, the ox-eye daisies and the lilies of the valley. And all the flowers kissed each other. It was lovely to see!

At last the flowers said good night to each other, and little Ida crept back to bed and dreamed of everything she had seen.

When she got up the next day she ran straight to the little table to see whether the flowers were still there. She drew back the curtains of the little bed; they were all there, but quite withered, much more than yesterday. Sophie lay in the drawer where Ida had put her; she looked very sleepy. "Do you remember what you were to tell me?" said little Ida. But Sophie looked very stupid and said not a word.

"You're not nice at all," said Ida, "and yet they all danced with you." Then she took a little cardboard box with lovely birds painted on it, opened it and laid the dead flowers inside. "This shall be your pretty coffin," she said, "and when my Norwegian cousins come to visit, they'll help me bury you in the garden, so that you can grow again in summer and be even lovelier."

The Norwegian cousins were two lively boys called Jonas and Adolph. Their father had given them two new bows, and they had brought them to show Ida. She told them the story of the poor flowers that had died, and they were allowed to bury them. The two boys walked in front with their bows on their shoulders, and little Ida followed with the dead flowers in the pretty box. They dug a little grave in the garden. Ida first kissed the flowers and then laid them, box and all, in the earth. Adolph and Jonas shot arrows with their bows over the grave, for they had neither guns nor cannons.