The Dryad, part 3 · page 21 2101But they cannot hold out long.102They want to be like us, but they cannot come up to us.103Poor people!"104And the fishes stared.105They thought that the whole swarm of people whom they had seen in the bright daylight were still moving around them; they were certain they still saw the same forms that had first caught their attention.106A pretty Barbel, with spotted skin, and an enviably round back, declared that the "human fry" were still there.107"I can see a well set-up human figure quite well," said the Barbel. "108She was called 'contumacious lady,' or something of that kind.109She had a mouth and staring eyes, like ours, and a great balloon at the back of her head, and something like a shut-up umbrella in front; there were a lot of dangling bits of seaweed hanging about her.110She ought to take all the rubbish off, and go as we do; then she would look something like a respectable barbel, so far as it is possible for a person to look like one!"111"What's become of that one whom they drew away with the hook?112He sat on a wheel-chair, and had paper, and pen, and ink, and wrote down everything.113They called him a 'writer.'"114"They're going about with him still," said a hoary old maid of a Carp, who carried her misfortune about with her, so that she was quite hoarse.115In her youth she had once swallowed a hook, and still swam patiently about with it in her gullet. "116A writer?117That means, as we fishes describe it, a kind of cuttle or ink-fish among men."118Thus the fishes gossipped in their own way; but in the artificial water-grotto the laborers were busy; who were obliged to take advantage of the hours of night to get their work done by daybreak.119They accompanied with blows of their hammers and with songs the parting words of the vanishing Dryad.120"So, at any rate, I have seen you, you pretty gold-fishes," she said. "121Yes, I know you;" and she waved her hand to them. "122I have known about you a long time in my home; the swallow told me about you.123How beautiful you are! how delicate and shining!124I should like to kiss every one of you.125You others, also.126I know you all; but you do not know me."127The fishes stared out into the twilight.128They did not understand a word of it.129The Dryad was there no longer.130She had been a long time in the open air, where the different countries--the country of black bread, the codfish coast, the kingdom of Russia leather, and the banks of eau-de-Cologne, and the gardens of rose oil--exhaled their perfumes from the world-wonder flower.131When, after a night at a ball, we drive home half asleep and half awake, the melodies still sound plainly in our ears; we hear them, and could sing them all from memory.132When the eye of the murdered man closes, the picture of what it saw last clings to it for a time like a photographic picture.133So it was likewise here.134The bustling life of day had not yet disappeared in the quiet night.135The Dryad had seen it; she knew, thus it will be repeated tomorrow.136The Dryad stood among the fragrant roses, and thought she knew them, and had seen them in her own home.137She also saw red pomegranate flowers, like those that little Mary had worn in her dark hair.138Remembrances from the home of her childhood flashed through her thoughts; her eyes eagerly drank in the prospect around, and feverish restlessness chased her through the wonder-filled halls.139A weariness that increased continually, took possession of her.140She felt a longing to rest on the soft Oriental carpets within, or to lean against the weeping willow without by the clear water.141But for the ephemeral fly there was no rest.142In a few moments the day had completed its circle.143Her thoughts trembled, her limbs trembled, she sank down on the grass by the bubbling water.144"Thou wilt ever spring living from the earth," she said mournfully. "145Moisten my tongue--bring me a refreshing draught."146"I am no living water," was the answer. "147I only spring upward when the machine wills it."148"Give me something of thy freshness, thou green grass," implored the Dryad; "give me one of thy fragrant flowers."149"We must die if we are torn from our stalks," replied the Flowers and the Grass.150"Give me a kiss, thou fresh stream of air--only a single life-kiss."151"Soon the sun will kiss the clouds red," answered the Wind; "then thou wilt be among the dead--blown away, as all the splendor here will be blown away before the year shall have ended.152Then I can play again with the light loose sand on the place here, and whirl the dust over the land and through the air.153All is dust!"1 2← previousThe Dryad, part 2next →The Dryad, part 4↑ back to Fairy Tales of Hans Christian AndersenThis page in Markdown → https://md.mova.elamur.ai/free/en/corpora/tales/pg27200/26/page/2/