Citation
Hans Andersen's fairy tales

Material Information

Title:
Hans Andersen's fairy tales
Uniform Title:
Tales
Creator:
Andersen, H. C ( Hans Christian ), 1805-1875
Paull, H. B. ( Translator )
Frederick Warne and Co ( Publisher )
Camden Press ( Printer )
Dalziel Brothers
Place of Publication:
London ;
New York
Publisher:
Frederick Warne and Co.
Manufacturer:
Camden Press ; Dalziel Brothers
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
xvi, 512 p., [16] leaves of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 21 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Fairy tales -- 1889 ( rbgenr )
Children's stories -- 1889 ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1889
Genre:
Fairy tales ( rbgenr )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
United States -- New York -- New York
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Date of publication from inscription.
Funding:
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
Statement of Responsibility:
a new translation by Mrs. H.B. Paull ; with original illustrations and sixteen page plates printed in colours.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
002221600 ( ALEPH )
ALG1825 ( NOTIS )
70822315 ( OCLC )

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Full Text
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Ny et Ny s
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HANS ANDERSEN'S
FAIRY TALES. :











3: Ancth
lage 7 “$09.





The Fir-tree.



HANS ANDERSEN’S

FAIRY TALES

A NEW TRANSLATION
‘BY .
Mrs. H. B. PAULL,

Editor of “ Grimm’s Fairy Tales.”
y

With Original Mustrations,
_ AND SIXTEEN PAGE PLATES PRINTED IN COLOURS.



LONDON AND NEW YORK:
FREDERICK WARNE AND CO.





PUBLISHER’S PREFACE.

—_—~—

Tuts new edition of Hans’ Andersen contains
several additional Fairy Tales, for the first time
translated from the Danish by Mrs. Paull, to whose

able pen we are indebted for the previous editions.

The sixteen Coloured Plates and the Woodcut
Illustrations are from the hand of a Danish Artis,
who is considered to have an especial gift for
depicting the scenes described by his celebrated

countryman.



CONTENTS.

—~——
The Fir-Treé... sae
The Brave Tin Soldier ..
Little Tiny ... ee ons
The Goblin and the Huckster ade ae
A Great Sorrow : aes or
the Silver Shilling oe see nee
The Ugly Duckling io tee oc
The Roses and the spares “ va
Little Tuk... af dea
Grandmother aie a eee
The Old Gravestone Ho wes wae
The Beli-Deep 7 cue
The Beetle who went on his Ti vavels ee
Elder-Tree Mother ors oes sn tes
The Nightingale eee ene
Ole Luk-Oie, the Dream-God és ace
The Old Bachelor's Nightcap an a
The Elf of the Rose one oie
The Angel... wees eee on
The Pea Blossom te ae foens
Ib and Little Christina ... wee Ae
The Botile Neck oe oon sa
The Flax sis a3
The Last Dream of the Old Oak... ot
The Girl who Trod o1 on ee Loaf ws eee
The Daisy... vee wae
The Old House “ Sue
The Happhy Family ove
The Metal Pig eee
The Emperor's New Clothes as ase
The Last Pearl was aoe ese
The Tinder-Box see ate : ave
The Red Shoes iis oes Se
The Golden Treasure. ee ine
The Butterty... at aoe we
The Dumb Book ute ise wie
The Gardener ie ae
She was Good for Nothing ea ove
Little Ida's Flowers wis one Ges
The Conceited Apple-Branch ie sae
The Sunbeam and the Cee eae ma

_ The Storks ... s00 See

The Philosophers Stone ». ooo vee

168

. 170

RQ7



vill CONTENTS.

The Loveliest Rose in the World... a
The Snow Man eae - ooo
The Story of the Year... ae eee
The Story of a Mother .., soe eae
The Fewish Maiden os cae sek
The Darning-Needle Ho ae tee
The Little Match-seller . sed oo
The Travelling ee Bua eee
The Jumpers see .

The Swineherd 8 tbe ses
A Leaf from Heaven... see ee
Anne Lisbeth wee ia eee
A Cheerful Temper ies ee tee
The Top and Bali She es th = eee
The Wild Swans a eee
Everything in tts RUE: Place te dee
The Money-Box 223 oe
The Shadow vee nae eae
The Racers... a a eee
Lt ts quite True te LAs aa . “avs
The Buckwheat ats nee
Soup from a Sausage Skewer mes ve
The Bell, or Naturés Music eae
The Farm- -yard Cock and the Weather-Cock
The Snow Queen es nee
The Portuguese Duck... s nee
The Flying Trunk Mes an ooo
The Little Mermaid act tee eee
The Pen and the Inkstand er wes
What the Moon Saw... eee
What the Old Man does is always Right one
A Rose from Homer's Grave se
The Garden of Paradise .. sak a
The Mail-Coach Passengers ate eee

The Mischievous Boy... ae M,
Under the Willow-Tree ... “
The Old Man and the Angel

Little Claus and Big Claus ook ies
The Shepherdess and the Sweep “ nee
The Puppet-Show Man ...

The Shepherds Story of the Bond of Friendship.
The Old Street Lamp... alee
The Old Church Bell... ss al
The Mother's Love sai ak
The Shirt Collar se es ive
Children’s Pratile s aoe
Beaty of Form and Beauly of Mind oa -Xebe
The Story of the Wind . “i ase
A Story fae ane sie ie
Something ...

A Story from the Sand- Hills

The Elfin Hill a

flolger Danske eas

PAGE
207
209
214
220
225
229
232
234
247
249
254
257

268
270
281
287
289
298
300
393
305
315
319
321
344
348
353.
370
373
379





HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

REMINISCENCES OF HANS C. ANDERSEN.

“A PROPHET has no honour in his own country.” To no one can this
bitter proverb be more truly applied, in the early part of his career, than to
the author of “Fairy Tales,” now so well known and read in many
languages, not only in the Netherlands but in all civilized countries.

Hans Christian Andersen was not descended from the high and noble in
the land. The only child of poor parents ; he was born at Odense, on the
island of Funen, on the 2nd of April, 1805. This town of Odense has been
immortalized by Andersen in one of his tales, the “‘ The Bell-Deep,” which
is no doubt founded on a legend he had been acquainted with from his
childhood.

Hans Andersen’s father was a shoemaker, who, it is said, had not the
means of giving him much education, but he sent him to the grammar school



x REMINISCENCES OF HANS C. ANDERSEN.



in the town, and the boy’s natural abilities and love of reading made him
take advantage of the instruction he there received.

Not, however, for long; his father’s death in 1814, left his mother a sor-
rowing widow, in poor circumstances, with an orphan boy of nine years. It
therefore became necessary for him to leave schoo), and try to help his
mother in earning a home for them both. An opportunity for him to work
at a factory in the town was offered to his mother, and eagerly accepted by

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THE FACTORY.

her, and for some years the now famed and renowned poet and author,
worked as a factory boy.

There was a something, however, so different in the coarse and illiterate
workmen at the factory to the refined and tender-hearted child, that his
patient sufferings of their taunts and torments must have been terrible to
bear. At last he complained to his mother, and she removed him.

An opening for the youth, now in his fourteenth year, to become a tailor
presented itself; but the boy of intellectual tastes implored his mother, even
with tears, to allow him to choose his own career in life.



REMINISCENCES OF HANS C. ANDERSEN. xi

His mother at last consented, and with a small sum of money in his.
pocket, he left his home to travel to Copenhagen alone.

Who can tell how much of a mother’s love and pride in her son gave her
the courage to part with him, and to utter a farewell which cost her so much.
No doubt she already looked forward to a glorious future for her imagina-
tive child, who most probably inherited from her the refined and poetic
fancy which in after years made him so famous.

Her fancies, indeed, had a tinge of the superstition still holding sway in
the land of the Norsemen; and, strange to say, she looked forward to a
time when her son would revisit his native town, and Odense would be
illuminated in his honour.

This really happened many years afterwards, when the great poet and
author, covered with glory and fame, entered the town of his birth.

And now the boy of fourteen was launched om the ocean of life to seek for
that renown which only became his after years of disappointment and trial.

His spirit swelled with hope as he thought of the glory he could gain, and
he was at that moment the veritable little drummer-boy whom he so clearly
portrays in the story of “The Golden Treasure,” when the energy of his
character enabled him to reach Copenhagen, the chief city of his native land.

How little he was appreciated in this great city is well known. From
early childhood his keen susceptibility to the emotions of joy or sorrow
made them sometimes overpowering. At nine years of age he had laughed at
a comedy, or wept at a tragedy performed on a stage by Marionettes! and in
after years the real, living actors would move him with equal power.

On his arrival at Copenhagen he met with a friend in one of the profes-
sors at the University, and as the boy was fond of music he proposed that
Andersen should learn to sing on the stage. But this effort failed, for the
boy’s voice, though harmonious, was thin and weak, and could not be heard
even at a moderate distance.

After some years of struggling to earn a living, even while writing down
the curious thoughts with which his imagination teemed, he determined to
visit Germany 5 but his friend had obtained for him instruction in Latin
and German, which enabled him to remain and to bring out in 1829 his
first work, a play entitled “The Life of a Nicolaton,” which was very suc-
cessful; and in the next year he published his first story, and soon after
another, —“ Shadow Pictures.”

In 1832 he carried out his intention and visited Germany, and here his
books at once obtained notice, which gave him courage to continue the
work he so loved with renewed zeal.

During the years from 1832 to 1838 Andersen wrote his far-famed works
a “ Picture Book without Pictures ;” ‘The Improvisatore ;” “‘ He was only
an Actor ;” “The Story of the Year ;” and several others.

But the works that made him famous were his “ Fairy Tales,” the first of
which appeared in 1838, while others so quickly followed that they obtained
for Hans Andersen the name of “ The Children’s Friend.”

These stories, though highly imaginative, were full of interest, and evi-
dently the work of a man of deep conscientiousness and moral principle.



x REMINISCENCES OF HANS C. ANDERSEN.

But the poetic figures, the emotional language, and the brilliant pictures
presented so vividly to the reader, whether young or old, thrilled to the
heart ; and not only testified to the wonderful imagination of the writer, but
to the purity and youthful freshness which breathed through every page,
and lived in the heart of Andersen to the latest hours of his life.

In the early part of Andersen’s career he had been greatly pained, but
not daunted, by the severe and even mocking criticisms which his writings
received, in ‘Copenhagen especially.

The first to notice them were the editors of comic periodicals, and in
these they were criticised and made a mock of, often with a want of delicacy
most painful to the sensitive author.

By others his style was pronounced to be intricate, confused, and crude.
At the same time, it was acknowledged that the writer possessed great
power of language, and a remarkable richness of thought and imagination,
rendering the word-pictures his fancy drew too attractive to be passed over
unread.

One of Andersen’s oldest friends was Count Conrad of Rantzsan-Breiten-
burgh. This gentleman, who had been Prime Minister in the Duchy of
Schleswig-Holstein, had given Andersen his first step as an author, which
the narrow limits of his own poor dwelling rendered almost impossible.
The Count had, however, heard of him, sought him out, and recognised at
once that the humble-minded young writer was destined to become a
popular poet and author.

This was the turning point in Andersen’s career, the unkind criticisms
referred to had so disheartened him that he was tempted to despair of
success. The Count’s opinion gave him fresh courage and energy for
renewed efforts, which, as we now know, brought him glory and fame.

When the Count left Copenhagen he did not forget Andersen, but made
him promise that at the first opportunity he would come and visit him at
Castle Breitenburgh.

The opportunity presented itself after some years, and Andersen used to
say that the weeks and months of his stay at Castle Breitenburgh, belonged
to the most beautiful period of his life, and truly he might say this; for
Count Conrad, the owner of the castle was in the highest degree a man
calculated to arouse and console the tender-hearted, poetic, and often sad
spirit of his guest.

Andersen was one of those clever men who are totally devoid of vanity,
and he would often express in a straightforward and touching manner his
modest opinion of his own talents, and yet at the same time acknowledging
how greatly he longed for and needed encouragement. And all this time
within his soul, thoughts were pressing full on his creative fancy which he
longed to send forth to the world, yet dreaded with pain these adverse
criticisms,

_Not even in his old age, when he had been recognised by the whole
civilized world as a poet and author, could Andersen harden himself

to treat with indifference the unjust criticisms of the most insignificant
critic.



REMNISCENCES OF HANS C. ANDERSEN. xiii



Count Conrad died in the year 1844, while Andersen was in Germany,
and the loss of such a friend was to the poet very great. And although











































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Sree





Shas =———=



















BRIETENBURGH CASTLE,

he was now a popular author, and often invited by the Danish and German
nobility to visit them at their castles, the memory of his first kind friend,
the owner of Breitenburgh Castle, held the foremost place in his heart,



xiv REMINISCENCES OF HANS C. ANDERSEN,



He was popular in Denmark now, although his name as a story-writer
was first recognised by the common people, who quickly appreciated and
understood the vein of simplicity which runs through every page of Hans
Andersen’s tales.

The characters in these stories, whether of men or animals, whether
animate or inanimate, became living breathing creatures when he read his
stories aloud, for in spite of his humble birth, his pronunciation of his
native language was pure, correct, and noble.

While listening, it seemed not impossible that the objects described
might be beings possessing souls, and the power of becoming sad or
joyous, sublime or ridiculous as the author represented. :

In the year 1845, King Christian VIII. of Denmark, placed a very
pleasant shooting box, situated in the thickest covert of the magnificent
part of Fredericksburg, at the disposal of Hans Andersen, who had been
a widower for many years.

This unused building was now named “ Pheasant Court,” it had a large
garden and was to be used by the poet as his own, for life.

It was about this time that Andersen made a tour of the different
countries of Europe, and those who knew him personally speak with
delight of having met him at dinner parties, and of the glowing descriptions
he would give of the places he had visited, and the persons he had met
during his travels.

Scottish scenery charmed him, and he would speak of Sir Walter Scott
and Robert Burns, to whom he was introduced, in the most glowing terms.

Among his friends nearer home were the two renowned Swedish ladies,
‘Frederika Bremer, and Jenny Lind,” both of whom had a touching sisterly
affection for the poet.

His love of flowers was a poet’s love of the beautiful, and even from the
first appearance of that decay of nature which was to remove him at last
from earth, he would have fresh flowers in his room daily, often remarking
on their beauty and fragrance.

In 1872 Andersen had suffered from a severe illness, while visiting at
Rolighed, the country residence of a merchant named Melchior. Finding
himself as he thought better he returned home, but was still obliged to keep
in his room the whole winter. :

In the spring of 1873 he travelled to Switzerland, and there went
through a course of goats’ milk, among the mountains at Glion, on the
lake of Geneva.

He there became so much better and stronger that he was able to take
long drives, and returned to his home full of hope, that his health was quite
restored.

But this hope soon faded, and in the spring of 1875 it became evident
that his days were numbered. ‘But he was not forsaken by his friends.
Frau Melchior watched over him with tender care, and as the summer passed
and he became weaker, she had him removed to their country house,
Rolighed.

The king came to visit him many times, and the crown prince much



REMINISCENCES OF HANS C. ANDERSEN. XV



obiren and he was also visited frequently by men and women of high
- position. Not only were his last days brightened by these attentions, but
from his own hopeful and poetic character.

Days passed and as he grew weaker he was greatly comforted by the
tender care that surrounded him, and while talking with his visitors he

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ANDERSEN’S MONUMENT,

would often cut out and paste together a little figure in which the poetic
art would show itself, even as in his fairy tales the charm of the characters
introduced would represent his own poetic imagination.

Hans Christian Andersen died August 4th, 1875, at the age of yo. He
had on that day been sleeping peacefully for some hours, and at about
eleven o’clock at night Frau Melchior left the bedside for a moment. and



xvi REMINISCENCES OF HANS C. ANDERSEN,
when she returned, after scarcely two minutes absence, he was gone. He
had only breathed one gentle sigh and awoke, not again on earth, but

in heaven.
A statue bearing his name and called “The Asylum for Little children,”

has been erected among the very old trees of the Rosenburg Castle gardens,
not many steps from that of Christian IV., the most celebrated and
popular of the Oldenburg line of kings. In the Danish National Songs,
this king is extolled in a verse beginning— ;

“* King Christian stood by the top-mast high,”

Andersen’s sfatue was unveiled June 26th, 1880.





HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.

















































































































































































































Far down in the forest, where the
warm sun and the fresh air made a
sweet resting-place, grew a prettylittle
fir-tree; and yet it was not happy,
it wished so much to he tall like its
companions, the pines and firs which
grew around it, The sun shone, and
the soft air fluttered its leaves, and
the little peasant children passed
by, prattling merrily, but the fir-tree
heeded them not. Sometimes the
children would bring a large basket of
raspberries or strawberries, wreathed
on astraw, and seat themselves near

I
*





















2 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



the fir-tree, and say, “Is it not a pretty little tree?” which made it feel more
unhappy than before. And yet all this while the tree grewa notch or joint
taller every year; for by the number of joints in the stem of a fir-tree we
can discover its age. Still, as it grew, it complained, “Oh! how I wish I
were as tall as the other trees, then I would spread out my branches on
every side, and my top would overlook the wide world. I should have the
birds building their nests on my boughs, and when the wind blew, I should
bow with stately dignity like my tall companions.” The tree was so dis-
contented, that it took no pleasure in the warm sunshine, the birds, or the
rosy clouds that floated over it morning and evening. Sometimes, in
winter, when the snow lay white and glittering on the ground, a hare would
come springing along, and jump right over the little tree; and then how
mortified it would feel! Two winters passed, and when the third arrived,
the tree had grown so tall that the hare was obliged to run round it. Yet
it remained unsatisfied and would exclaim, “ Oh, if I could but keep on
growing tall and old! There is nothing else worth caring for in the
world!” In the autumn, as usual, the woodcutters came and cut down
several of the tallest trees, and the young fir-tree, which was now grown to
its full height, shuddered as the noble trees fell to the earth with a crash.
After the branches were lopped off, the trunks looked so slender and bare,
that they could scarcely be recognised. Then they were placed upon
waggons, and drawn by horses out of the forest. ‘Where were they
going? What would become of them?” The young fir-tree wished very
much to know; so in the spring, when the swallows and the storks came, it
asked, “ Do you know where those trees were taken? Did you meet them ?”

The swallows knew nothing; but the stork, after a little reflection,
nodded his head, and said, “Yes, I think I do. I met several new ships
when I flew from Egypt, and they had fine masts that smelt like fr. I
think these must have been the trees; I assure you they were stately, very
stately.”

“Oh, how I wish I were tall enough to go on the sea,” said the fir-tree.
“ What is this sea, and what does it look like?”

“Tt would take too much time to explain,” said the stork, fying quickly
away.

“ Rejoice in thy youth,” said the sunbeam ; “rejoice in thy fresh growth,
and the young life that is in thee.”

And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew watered it with tears; but the
fir-tree regarded them not.

Christmastime drew near, and many young trees were cut down, some
even smaller and younger than the fir-tree, who enjoyed neither rest nor
peace with longing to leave its forest home. These young trees, which were
chosen for their beauty, kept their branches, and were also laid on waggons
and drawn by horses out of the forest. ;

“Where are they going ?” asked the firtree. “ They are not taller than I
am: indeed, one is much less; and why are the branches not cut off?
Where are they going?”

“We know, we know,” sang the sparrows; “we have looked in at the



THE FIR TREE. 3



windows of the houses in the town, and we know what is done with them.
They are dressed up in the most splersdid manner. We have seen them
standing in the middle of a warm room, and adorned with all sorts of
beautiful things,—honey cakes, gilded apples, playthings, and many
hundreds of wax tapers.”

“ And then,” asked the fir-tree, trembling through all its branches, “and
then what happens?”

“We did not see any more,” said the sparrows; “but this was enough
for us.”

“ T wonder whether anything so brilliant will ever happen to me,” thought
the firtree. “It would be much better than crossing the sea. I long for
it almost with pain. Oh! when will Christmas be here? I am now as tall
and well grown as those which were taken away last year. Oh! that I were
now laid on the waggon, or standing in the warm room, with all that bright-

‘ ness and splendour around me! Something better and more beautiful is to
come after, or the trees would not be so decked out. ‘Yes, what follows
will be grander and more splendid. What can it be? I am weary with
longing. I scarcely know how I feel.”

“Rejoice with us,” said the air and the sunlight. “Enjoy thine own
bright life in fresh air.”

But the tree would not rejoice, though it grew taller every day; and
winter and summer, its dark-green foliage might be seen in the forest, while
passers by would say, “ What a beautiful tree |” :

A short time before Christmas, the discontented fir-tree was the first to
fall. As the axe cut through the stem, and divided the pith, the tree fell
with a groan to the earth, conscious of pain and faintness, and forgetting all
its anticipations of happiness, in sorrow at leaving its home in the forest.
It knew that it should never again see its dear old companions, the trees,
nor the little bushes and many-coloured flowers that had grown by its side ;
perhaps not even the birds. Neither was the journey at all pleasant. The
tree first recovered itself while being unpacked in the courtyard of a house,
with several other trees; and it heard a man say, ‘‘ We only want one, and
this is the prettiest.”

Then came two servants in grand livery, and carried the fir-tree into a
large and beautiful apartment. On the walls hung pictures, and near the
great stove stood great china vases, with lions on the lids. There were
rocking-chairs, silken sofas, large tables, covered with pictures, books, and
playthings, worth a great deal of money,—at least, the children said so.
Then the firtree was placed in a large tub, full of sand; but green baize
hang all round it, so that no one could see it was a tub, and it stood ona
very handsome carpet. How the fir-tree trembled! “What was going to
happen to him now?” Some young ladies came, and the servants helped .
them to adorn the tree. On one branch they hung little bags cut out of
coloured paper, and each bag was filled with sweetmeats; from other
branches hung gilded apples and.walnuts, as if they had grown there; and
above, and all round, were hundreds of red, blue, and white tapers, which

~ were fastened on the branches. Dolls, exactly like real babies, were placed

I a



A HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



under the green leaves,—the tree had never seen such things before,—and
at the very top was fastened a glittering star, made of tinsel. Oh, it was
very beautiful !

“This evening,” they all exclaimed, “how bright it will be!” “Oh, that
the evening were come,” thought the tree, “and the tapers lighted! then I
shall know what else is going to happen. Will the trees of the forest come
to see me? I wonder if the sparrows will peep in at the windows as they
fly? shall I grow faster here, and keep on all these ornaments during
summer and winter?” But guessing was of very little use; it made his-
bark ache, and this pain is as bad fora slender fir-tree, as headache is for
us. At last the tapers were lighted, and then what a glistening blaze of
light the tree presented! It trembled so with joy in all its branches, that
one of the candles fell among the green leaves and burnt some of them.
“Help! help!” exclaimed the young ladies, but there was no danger, for
they quickly extinguished the fire. After this, the tree tried not to tremble.
at all, though the fire frightened him ; he was so anxious not to hurt any of
the beautiful ornaments, even while their brilliancy dazzled him. And now
the folding doors were thrown open, and a troop of children rushed in as if
they intended to upset the tree; they were followed more slowly by their
elders. For a moment the little ones stood silent with astonishment, and
then they shouted for joy, till the room. rang, and they danced merrily
round the tree, while one present after another was taken from it.

“What are they doing? What will happen next?” thought the fir, At
last the candles burnt down to the branches and were put out. Then the
children received permission to plunder the tree.

Oh, how they rushed upon it, till the branches cracked, and had it not
been fastened with the glistening star to the ceiling, it must have been
thrown down. ‘The children then danced about with their pretty toys, and
no one noticed the tree, except the children’s maid, who came and peeped
among the branches to see if an apple or a fig had been forgotten.

“ A story, a story,” cried the children, pulling a little fat man towards the
tree.

“Now we shall be in the green shade,” said the man, as he seated himself
under it, “and the tree will haveethe pleasure of hearing also, but I shall
only relate one story; what shall it be? Ivede-Avede, or Humpty Dumpty,
who fell downstairs, but soon got up again, and at last married a princess.”

“Ivede-Avede,” cried some. “Humpty Dumpty,” cried others, and
- there was a fine shouting and crying out. But the fir-tree remained quite
_ still, and thought to himself, “Shall I have anything to do with all this ?”
but he had already amused them as much as they wished. Then the old
man told them the story of Humpty Dumpty, how he fell downstairs, and
was raised up again, and married a princess. And the children clapped
their hands and cried, “Tell another, tell another,” for they wanted to hear
the story of “Ivede-Avede;” but they only had “Humpty Dumpty.”
After this the fir-tree became quite silent and thoughtful; never had the
birds in the forest told such tales as “Humpty Dumpty,” who fell down-
stairs, and yet married a princess.



THE FIR TREE. 5



“ Ah! yes, so it happens in the world,” thought the fir-tree ; he believed
it all, because it was related by such a nice man. “Ah! well,” he thought,
“who knows? perhaps I may fall down too, and marry a princess ;” and
he looked forward joyfully to the next evening, expecting to be again
decked out with lights and playthings, gold and fruit. “To-morrow I will
not tremble,” thought he; “I will enjoy all my splendour, and I shall hear
the story of Humpty Dumpty again, and perhaps Ivede-Avede.” And the tree
remained quiet and thoughtful all night. In the morning the servants and the
housemaid came in. “ Now,’ thought the fir, “all my splendour is going
to begin again.” But they dragged him out of the room and upstairs to the
garret, and threw him on the floor, in a dark corner, where no daylight
shone, and there they left him. ‘What does this mean?” thought the tree,
“What am I to do here? I can hear nothing in a place like this,” and he
leant against the wall, and thought and thought. And he had time enough to
think, for days and nights passed and no one came near him, and when at
last somebody did come, it was only to put away large boxes in a corner.
So the tree was completely hidden from sight as if it had never existed. “It
‘is winter now,” thought the tree, “the ground is hard and covered with
snow, so that people cannot plant me. I shall be sheltered here I dare say,
‘until spring comes. How thoughtful and kind everybody is tome! Still I
wish this place were not so dark, as well as lonely, with not even a little
hare to look at. How pleasant it was out in the forest while the snow lay
on the ground, when the hare would run by, yes, and jump over me
too, although I did not like it then. Oh! it is terribly lonely here.”

“ Squeak, squeak,” said a little mouse, creeping cautiously towards the
tree; then came another, and they both sniffed at the firtree and crept be-
tween the branches.

“Oh, it is very cold,” said the little mouse, “or else we should be so com-
fortable here, shouldn’t we, you old fir-tree ?”

“T am not old,” said the firtree, “there are many who are older than I
am.”

“Where do you come from? and what do you know?” asked the mice,
who were full of curiosity. “Have you seen the most beautiful places
in the world, and can you tell us all about them? and have you been in the
storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelf, and hams hang from the ceiling ?
ae can run about on tallow candles there, and go in thin and come out
at.”

“*T know nothing of that place,” said the fir-tree, “‘ but I know the wood
where the sun shines and the birds sing.” And then the tree told the little mice
all about its youth. They had never heard such an account in their lives ;
and after they had listened to it attentively, they said, ‘‘ What a number of
things you have seen! you must have been very happy.”’

“ Flappy!” exclaimed the fir-tree, and then as he reflected upon what he
had been telling them he said, “ Ah, yes! after all, those were happy days.”

- But when he went on and related all about Christmas-eve, and how he had
been dressed up with cakes and lights, the mice said, “ How happy you
must have been, you old fir-tree.”



6 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



“T am not old at all,” replied the tree, “I only came from the forest this
winter, I am now checked in my growth.”

“What splendid stories you can relate,” said the little mice. And the
next night four other mice came with them to hear what the tree had to tell.
The more he talked the more he remembered, and then he thought to him-
self, “Those were happy days, but they may come again. Humpty
Dumpty fell downstairs, and yet he married the princess; perhaps I may
matry a princess too.” And the fir-tree thought of the pretty little birch-tree
that grew in the forest, which was to him a real beautiful princess.

“Who is Humpty Dumpty?” asked the little mice. And then the tree
related the whole story ; he could remember every single word, and the little
mice were so delighted with it, that they were ready to jump to the top of
the tree. The next night a great many more mice made their appearance,
and on Sunday two rats came with them; but they said it was not a pretty
story at all, and the little mice were very sorry, for it made them also think
less of it

“Do you know only one story?” asked the rats.

“Only one,” replied the fir-tree; “I heard it on the happiest evening in
my life ; but I did not know I was so happy at the time.”

“We think it is a very miserable story,” said the rats. “Don’t you know
any story about bacon, or tallow in the storeroom ?”

“No,” replied the tree.

“Many thanks to you then,” replied the rats, and they marched off.

The little mice also kept away after this, and the tree sighed, and said,
“Tt was very pleasant when the merry little mice sat round me and listened
while I talked. Now that is all passed too. However, I shall consider
myself happy when some one comes to take me out of this place.” But
would this ever happenP Yes; one morning people came to clear out the
garret, the boxes were packed away, and the tree was pulled cut of the
corner, and thrown roughly on the garret floor; then the servant dragged it out
upon the staircase where the daylight shone. “Now life is beginning again,”
said the tree, rejoicing in the sunshine and fresh air. Then it was carried
downstairs and taken into the courtyard so quickly, that it forgot to think
of itself, and could only look about, there was so much to be seen. The .
court was close to a garden, where everything looked blooming. Fresh and
fragrant roses hung over the little palings. The linden-trees were in blossom ;
while the swallows flew here and there, crying, “ Twit, twit, twit, my mate
is coming,’—but it was not the fir-tree they meant. ‘Now I shall live,”
cried the tree, joyfully spreading out its branches; but alas! they were all
withered and yellow, and it lay in a corner amongst weeds and nettles. The
star of gold paper still stuck in the top of the tree and glittered in the sun-
shine. In the same courtyard two of the merry children were playing who
had danced round the tree at Christmas, and had been so happy. The
youngest saw the gilded star, and ran and pulled it off the tree. “ Look
what is sticking to the ugly old fir-tree,” said the child, treading on the
branches till they crackled under his boots. And the tree saw all the fresh
bright flowers in the garden, and then looked at itself, and wished it had



THE BRAVE TIN SOLDIER. 7



remained in the dark corner of the garret. It thought of its fresh youth in
the forest, of the merry Christmas evening, and of the little mice who had
listened to the story of “ Humpty Dumpty.” ‘ Past! past!” said the old
tree ; “Oh, had I but enjoyed myself while I could have done so! but now
it is too late.” Then a lad came and chopped the tree into small pieces,
till a large bundle lay ina heap on the ground. The pieces were placed ina
fire under the copper, and they quickly blazed up brightly, while the tree
sighed so deeply that each sigh was like a little pistol-shot. Then the
children, who were at play, came and seated themselves in front of the fire,
and looked at it, and cried, “Pop, pop.” But at each “pop,” which was a
deep sigh, the tree was thinking of a summer day in the forest, or of some
winter night there, when the stars shone brightly ; and of Christmas evening,
and of “Humpty Dumpty,” the only story it had ever heard or knew how
to relate, till at last it was consumed. The boys still played in the garden,
and the youngest wore the golden star on his breast, with which the tree had
been adorned during the happiest evening of its existence. Now all was
past; the tree’s life was past, and the story also,—for all stories must come
to an end at last.

THE BRAVE TiN SOLDIER.

THERE were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers, who were all brothers, for
they had been made out of the same old tin spoon. They shouldered arms
and looked straight before them, and wore a splendid uniform, red and
blue. The first thing in the world they ever heard were the words, “Tin
soldiers!” uttered by a little boy, who clapped his hands with delight when
the lid of the box, in which they lay, was taken off. They were given him
for a birthday present, and he stood at the table to set them up. The
soldiers were all exactly alike, excepting one, who had only one leg; he had
been left to the last, and then there was not enough of the melted tin to
finish him, so they made him to stand firmly on one leg, and this caused
him to be very remarkable, ;
The table on which the tin soldiers stood, was covered with other play-
things, but.the most attractive to the eye was a pretty little paper castle.
_ Through the small windows the rooms could be seen. In front of the
castle a number of little trees surrounded a piece of looking-glass, which
was intended to represent a transparent lake. Swans, made of wax, swam
on the lake, and were reflected init. All this was very pretty, but the
prettiest of all was a tiny little lady, who stood at the open door of the
castle; she, also, was made of paper, and she wore a dress of clear muslin,
with a narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders just like a scarf. In front of
this was fixed a glittering tinsel rose, as large as her whole face. ‘The little



8 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.

lady was a dancer, and she stretched out both her arms, and raised one of
her legs so high, that the tin soldier could not see it at all, and he thought
that she, like himself, had only one leg. ‘That is the wife for me,” he
thought ; “but she is too grand, and lives in a castle, while I have only a
box to live in, five-and-twenty of us altogether, that is no place for her.
Still I must try and make her acquaintance.” Then he laid himself at full
length on the table behind a snuffbox that stood upon it, so that he could



































THE TIN SOLDIER SAILING DOWN THE GUTTER.

‘peep at the little delicate lady, who continued to stand on one leg without
losing her balance. When evening came, the other tin soldiers were all
placed in the box, and the people of the house went to bed. Then the
playthings began to have their own games together, to pay visits, to have
sham fights, and to give balls. The tin soldiers rattled in their box ; they
wanted to get out and join the amusements, but they could not open the
lid. The nut-crackergs played at leap-frog, and the pencil jumped about the
table. There was such a noise that the canary woke up and began to talk,
and in poetry too. Only the tin soldier and the dancer remained in their
places. She stood on tip-toe, with her arms stretched out, as firmly as he



THE BRAVE TIN SOLDIER. 9



. did on his one leg, He never took his eyes from her for even a moment.
The clock struck twelve, and, with a bounce, up sprang the lid of the snuff-
box; but, instead of snuff, there jumped up a little black goblin; for the
snuffbox was a toy puzzle.

“Tin soldier,” said the goblin, “don’t wish for what does not belong to you.”

But the tin soldier pretended not to hear.

“Very well ; wait till to-morrow, then,” said the goblin.

When the children came in the next morning, they placed the tin soldier
in the window. Now, whether it was the goblin who did it, or the draught,
is not known, but the window flew open, and out fell the tin soldier, heels

~ over head, from the third story, into the street beneath. It was a terrible

‘fall; for he came head downwards, his helmet and his bayonet stuck in
between the flagstones, and his one leg up in the air. The servant-maid and

_the little boy went downstairs directly to look for him; but he was nowhere,

.to be seen, although once they nearly trod upon him. If he had called out.

.“ Flere I am,” it would have been all right; but he was too proud to cry

out for help while he wore a uniform.

Presently it began to rain, and the drops fell faster and faster, till there
-was a heavy shower. When it was over, two boys happened to pass by,
and one of them said, “ Look, there is a tin soldier. He ought to have a
boat to sail in.”

So they made a boat out of a newspaper, and placed the tin soldier in it,

-and sent him sailing down the gutter, while the two boys ran by the side of ~
-it, and clapped their hands. Good gracious, what large waves arose in that
gutter ! and how fast the stream rolled on! for the rain had been very heavy.
‘The paper boat rocked up and down, and turned itself round sometimes so
quickly that the tin soldier trembled ; yet he remained firm ; his countenance
did not change; he looked straight before him, and shouldered his musket.
Suddenly the boat shot under a bridge which formed part of a drain, and
then it was as dark as the tin soldier’s box.

“Where am I going now?” thought he. “This is the black goblin’s
fault, Iam sure. Ah, well, if the little lady were only here with me in the
boat, I should not care for any darkness.”

Suddenly there appeared a great water-rat, who lived in the drain.

“Tave you a passport?” asked the rat, “give it to me at once.” But
the tin soldier remained silent and held his musket tighter than ever. The
boat sailed on and the rat followed it. How he did gnash his teeth and
cry out to the bits of wood and straw, “Stop him, stop him; he has not

- paid toll, and has not shown his pass.” But the stream rushed on stronger
and stronger. The tin soldier could already see daylight shining where the
arch ended. Then he heard a roaring sound quite terrible enough to frighten
the bravest man. At the end of the tunnel the drain fell into a large canal
over a steep place, which made it as dangerous for him as a waterfall would
be to us. He was too close to it to stop, so the boat rushed on, and the
poor tin soldier could only hold himself as stiffly as possible, without
moving an eyelid, to show that he was not afraid. The boat whirled round
three or four times, and then filled with water to the very edge; nothing



ite) HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



could save it from sinking. He now stood up to his neck in water, while
deeper and deeper sank the boat, and the paper became soft and loose with
the wet, till at last the water closed over the soldier's head. He thought of
the elegant little dancer whom he should never see again, and the words of
the song sounded in his ears—

‘“* Farewell, warrior, ever brave,
Drifting onward to thy grave.”

Then the paper boat fell to pieces, and the soldier sank into the water and
immediately afterwards was swallowed up by a great fish. Oh, how dark it
was inside the fish! a great deal darker than in the tunnel, and narrower
too, but the tin soldier continued firm, and lay at full length, shouldering
his musket. The fish swam to and fro, making the most wonderful move-
ments, but at last he became quite still. After a while, a flash of
lightning seemed to pass through him, and then the daylight ap-
peared, and a voice cried out, ‘ I declare here is the tin soldier.” The
fish had been caught, taken to the market and sold to the cook, who took
him into the kitchen and cut him open with a large knife. She picked up
the soldier and held him by the waist between her finger and thumb, and
carried him into the room. They were all anxious to see this wonderfulsoldier
who had travelled about inside a fish ; but he was not at all proud. They
placed him on the table, and—how many curious things do happen in the
world !—there he was in the very same room from the window of which he
had fallen, there were the same children, the same playthings standing on
the table, and the pretty castle with the elegant little dancer at the door;
she still balanced herself on one leg, and held up the other, so she was as
firm as himself. It touched the tin soldier so much to see her that he
almost wept tin tears, but he kept them back. He only looked at her, and
they both remained silent. Presently one of the little boys took up the tin
soldier, and threw him into the stove. He had no reason for doing so,
therefore it must have been the fault of the black goblin who lived in the
snuff-box. ‘The flames lighted up the tin soldier, as he stood ; the heat was
very terrible, but whether it proceeded from the real fire or from the fire of
love he could not tell. Then he could see that the bright colours were
faded from his uniform, but whether they had been washed off during his
journey, or from the effects of his sorrow, no one could say. He looked at
the little lady, and she looked at him. He felt himself melting away, but
he still remained firm with his gun on his shoulder. Suddenly the door of
the room flew open, and the draught of air caught up the little dancer, she
fluttered like a sylph right into the stove by the side of the tin soldier, and
was instantly in flames and was gone. The tin soldier melted down into a -
lump, and the next morning, when the maid-servant took the ashes out of the
stove, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the little
dancer nothing remained but the tinsel rose, which was burnt black as a
cinder.



EEE EEE EEE Ee seeseesaee













Boe NR.
is ONY
DY ey “DY IN











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i)

Sli ac nl ls DoS Sal

LITTLE TINY.

THERE was once a woman who wished very much to have a little child,
but she could not obtain her wish. At last she went to a fairy, and said,
“T should so very much like to have a little child; can you tell me where
I can find one?” :

“Qh, that can be easily managed,” said the fairy. “Here is a barley-
corn of a different kind to those which grow in the farmers’ fields, and which
the chickens eat; put it into a flower-pot, and see what will happen.”

“Thank you,” said the woman, and she gave the fairy twelve shillings,
which was the price of the barleycorn. Then she went home and planted
it, and immediately there grew up a large handsome flower, something like
a tulip in appearance, but with its leaves tightly closed as if it were still a
bud. “tis a beautiful flower,” said the woman, and she kissed the red
and golden-coloured leaves, and while she did so the flower opened, and
she could see that it was a real tulip. Within the flower, upon the green
velvet stamens, sat a very delicate and graceful little maiden. She was
scarcely half as long as a thumb, and they gave her the name of “ Little
Thumb,” or Tiny, because she was so small. A walnut-shell, elegantly
polished, served her for a cradle ; her bed was formed of blue violet-leaves,
with a rose-leaf for a counterpane. Here she slept at night, but during the
day she amused herself on a table, where the woman had placed a plate full
of water. Round this plate were wreaths of flowers with their stems in the
water, and upon it floated a large tulip-leaf, which served Tiny for a boat.

- Here the little maiden sat and rowed herself from side to side, with two
oars made of white horse-hair. It really was a very pretty sight. Tiny
could also sing so softly and sweetly that nothing like her singing had ever
before been heard. One night, while she lay in her pretty bed, a large,
ugly, wet toad crept through a broken pane of glass in the window, and
leaped right upon the table where Tiny lay sleeping under her rose-leaf
quilt. “‘ What a pretty little wife this would make for my son,” said the
toad, and she took up the walnut-shell in which little Tiny lay asleep, and
jumped through the window with it into the garden.

In the swampy margin of a broad stream in the garden lived the toad, with
her son. He was uglier even than his mother, and when he saw the pretty
little maiden in her elegant bed, he could only cry, “Croak, croak, croak.”

“ Don’t speak so loud, or she will wake,” said the toad, “and then she



12 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



a
might run away, for she is as light as swan’s down. We will place her on
one of the water-lily leaves out in the stream ; it will be like an island to
her, she is so light and small, and then she cannot escape; and, while she
is away, we will make haste and prepare the stateroom under the marsh,
in which you are to live when you are married.”

Far out in the stream grew a number of water-lifies, with broad green
leaves, which seemed to float on the top of the water. The largest of these
leaves appeared farther off than the rest, and the old toad swam out to it
with the walnut-shell, in which little Tiny lay still asleep. The tiny little
creature woke very early in the morning, and began to cry bitterly when
she found where she was, for she could see nothing but water on every side
of the large green leaf, and no way of reaching the land. Meanwhile the
old toad was very busy under the marsh, decking her room with rushes and
wild yellow flowers, to make it look pretty for her new daughter-in-law.
Then she swam out with her ugly son to the leaf on which she had placed
poor little Tmy. She wanted to fetch the pretty bed, that she might put
jt in the bridal chamber to be ready for her. The old toad bowed low to
her in the water, and said, “‘ Here is my son; he will be your husband, and
you will live happily together in the marsh by the stream,”

“ Croak, croak, croak,” was all herson could say for himself; so the toad
took up the elegant little bed, and swam away with it, leaving Tiny all alone
on the green leaf, where she sat and wept. She could not bear to think of
living with the old toad, and having her ugly son for a husband. The little
fishes, who swam about in the water beneath, had seen the toad, and heard
what she said, so they lifted their heads above the water to look at the little
maiden. As soon as they caught sight of her, they saw she was very pretty,
and it made them very sorry to think that she must go and live with the
ugly toads. “No, it must never be!” so they assembled together in the
water, round the green stalk which held the leaf on which the little maiden
stood, and gnawed it away at the root with their teeth. Then the leaf
floated down the stream, carrying Tiny far away out of reach of land.

Tiny sailed past many towns, and the little birds in the bushes saw her,
and sang, “ What a lovely little creature!” So the leaf swam away with her
farther and farther, tillit brought her to other lands. A graceful little white
butterfly constantly fluttered round her, and at last alighted on the leaf. Tiny
pleased him, and she was glad of it, for now the toad could not possibly
reach her, and the country through which she sailed was beautiful, and the
sun shone upon the water, till it glittered like liquid gold. She took off
her girdle and tied one end of it round the butterfly, and the other end of
the ribbon she fastened to the leaf, which now glided on much faster than
ever, taking little Tiny with it as she stood. Presently a large cockchafer
flew by ; the moment he caught sight of her, he seized her round her deli-
cate waist with his claws, and flew with her into a tree. The green leaf
floated away on the brook, and the butterfly flew with it, for he was fastened
to it, and could not get away.

Oh, how frightened little Tiny felt when the cockchafer flew with her to
the tree! But especially was she sorry for the beautiful white butterfly



LITTLE TINY. . 13
which she had fastened to the leaf, for if he could not free himself he would
die of hunger. But the cockchafer did not trouble himself at all about the
matter. He seated himself by her side ona large green leaf, gave her some
honey from the flowers to eat, and told her she was very pretty, though not
in the least like a cockchafer. After a time, all the cockchafers who lived
in the tree came to visit her. They stared at Tiny, and then the young
lady-cockchafers turned up their feelers, and said, “She has only two legs !
how ugly that looks.” ‘She has no feelers,” said another. “Her waist
is quite slim. Pooh! she is like a human being.”

“Oh! she is ugly,” said all the lady-cockchafers, although Tiny was very
pretty. Then the cockchafer who had run away with her, believed all the
others when they said she was ugly, and would have nothing more to say to
her, and told her she might go where she liked. Then he flew down with
her from the tree, and placed her on a daisy, and she wept at the thought
that she was so ugly that even the cockchafers would have nothing to say
to her. And all the while she was really the loveliest creature that one
could imagine, and as tender and delicate as a beautiful rose-leaf. During
the whole summer poor little Tiny lived quite alone in the wide forest. She
wove herself a bed with blades of grass, and hung it up under a broad leaf,
to protect herself from the rain. She sucked the honey from the flowers
for food, and drank the dew from their leaves every morning. So passed
- away the summer and the autumn, and then came the winter,—the long,

cold winter. All the birds who had sung to her so sweetly were flown away,

and the trees and the flowers had withered. The large clover leaf, under the

shelter of which she had lived, was now rolled together and shrivelled up,
_. nothing remained but a yellow withered stalk. She felt dreadfully cold, for
~ her clothes were torn, and she was herself so frail and delicate, that poor little
Tiny was nearly frozen todeath. It began to snow too; and the snow-flakes,
as they fell upon her, were like a whole shovelful falling upon one of us,
for we are tall, but she was only an inch high. Then she wrapped herself
up in a dry leaf, but it cracked in the middle, and could not keep her warm
and she shivered with cold. Near the wood in which she had been living,
lay a large corn-field, but the corn had been cut a long time ; nothing re-
mained but the bare dry stubble standing up out of the frozen ground, It
was to her like struggling through a large wood. Oh! how she shivered
with the cold. She came at last to the door of a field-mouse, who had a
little den under the corn-stiibble. There dwelt the field-mouse in warmth
and comfort, with a whole roomful of corn, a kitchen, and a beautiful dining-
room. Poor little Tiny stood before the door just like a little beggar-girl,
and begged for a small piece of barley-corn, for she had been without a
norsel to eat for two days. ;

“¥ou poor little creature,” said the field-mouse, who was really a good
old field-mouse, “come into my warm room and dine with me,” She was
very pleased with Tiny, so she said, “You are quite welcome to stay with
me all the winter, if you like; but you must keep my rooms clean and neat,
and tell me stories, for I shall like to hear them very much.” And Tiny
did all the field-mouse asked her, and found herself very comfortable.





14 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES,



“We shall have a visitor soon,” said the field-mouse one day ; “ my neigh-
bour pays me a visit once a week. He is better off than I am; he has
large rooms, and wears a beautiful black velvet coat. If you could only
have him for a husband, you would be well provided for indeed. ‘But he is
blind, so you must tell him some of your prettiest stories.”

But Tiny did not feel at all interested about this neighbour, for he was
a mole. However, he came and paid his visit, dressed in his black velvet coat.

“He is very rich and learned, and his house is twenty times larger than
mine,” said the field-mouse. ;

He was rich and learned, no doubt, but he always spoke slightingly of
she sun and the pretty flowers, because he had never seen them. ‘Tiny was
obliged to sing to him, “ Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home,” and many
other pretty songs. And the mole fell in love with her because she had
such a sweet voice ; but he said nothing yet, for he was very cautious, A
short time before, the mole had dug a long passage under the earth, which
led from the dwelling of the field-mouse to his own, and here she had per-
mission to walk with Tiny, whenever she liked. But he warned them not
to be alarmed at the sight of a dead bird which lay in the passage. It was
a perfect bird, with a beak and feathers, and could not have been dead long,
and was lying just where the mole had made his passage. The mole took
a piece of phosphorescent wood in his mouth, and it glittered like fire in
the dark; then he went before them to light them through the long, dark
passage. When they came to the spot where lay the dead bird, the mole
pushed his broad nose through the ceiling, the earth gave way, so that there
was 4 large hole, and the daylight shone into the passage. In the middle
of the floor lay a dead swallow, his beautiful wings pulled close to his sides,
this feet and his head drawn up under his feathers; the poor bird had evi-
dently died of the cold. It made little Tiny very sad to see it, she did so
love the little birds ; all the summer they had sung and twittered for her so
beautifully. But the mole pushed it aside with his crooked legs, and said,
“ Efe will sing no more now. How miserable it must be to be born a little
bird! I am thankful that none of my.children will ever be birds, for they
can do nothing but cry, ‘ Tweet, tweet,’ and always die of hunger in the
winter.”

“Yes, you may well say that, as a clever man!” exclaimed the field-
mouse, “ What is the use of his twittering, for when winter comes he must
either starve or be frozen to death. Still birds are very high bred.”

Totty said nothing ; but when the two others had turned their backs on
the bird, she stooped down and stroked aside the soft feathers which covered
the head, and kissed the closed eyelids. “Perhaps this was the one who
sang to me so sweetly in the summer,” she said; “and how much pleasure
it gave me, you dear, pretty bird.” .

The mole now stopped up the hole through which the daylight shone,
and then accompanied the ladies home. But during the night Tiny could
not sleep; so she got out of bed and wove a large, beautiful carpet of hay;
then she carried it to the dead bird, and spread it over him, with some down
from the flowers which she had found in the field-mouse’s room. It was



LITTLE TINY. 5



as soft as wool, and she spread some of it on each side of the bird, so that
he might lie warmly in the cold earth. ‘ Farewell, you pretty little bird,”
said she, “farewell; thank you for your delightful singing during the sum-
mer, when all the trees were green, and the warm sun shone upon us.”
“Then she laid her head upon the bird’s breast, but she was alarmed imme-
diately, for it seemed as if something inside the bird went “thump, thump.”
It was the bird’s heart; he was not really dead, only benumbed with the
cold, and the warmth had restored him to life. In autumn, all the swallows
fly away into warm countries, but if one happens to linger, the cold seizes
it, it becomes frozen, and falls down as if dead; it remains where it fell,
_and the cold snow covers it. ‘Tiny trembled very much; she was quite
frightened, for the bird was large, a great deal larger than herself,—she was
only an inch high. But she took courage, laid the wool more thickly over the
poor swallow, and then took a leaf which she had used for her own counter-
pane, and laid it over the head of the poor bird. The next night she again
stole out to see him. He was alive but very weak ; he could only open
his eyes for a moment to look at Tiny, who stood by holding a piece of
decayed wood in her had, for she had no other lantern, “Thank you,
pretty little maiden,” said the sick swallow; I have been so nicely warmed,
that I shall soon regain my strength, and be able to fly about again in the
warm sunshine.”
“ Oh,” said she, “it ig cold out of doors now; it snows and freezes. Stay
in your warm bed ; I will take care of you.”
‘Then she brought the swallow some water in a flower-leaf, and after he
had drank, he told her that he had wounded one of his wings in a thorn-
bush, and could not fly as fast as the others, who were soon far away on
their journey to warm countries. ‘Then at last he had fallen to the earth,
and could remember no more, nor how he came to be where she had found
him. The whole winter the swallow remained underground, and Tiny
nursed him with care and love. Neither the mole nor the field-mouse knew
_ anything about it, for they did not like swallows. Very soon the spring

time came, and the sun warmed the earth, Then the swallow bade farewell
to Tiny, and she opened the hole in the ceiling which the mole had made.
The sun shone in upon them'so beautifully, that the swallow asked her if
she would go with him; she could sit on his back, he said, and he would
fly away with her into the green woods. But Tiny knew it would make
the field-mouse very grieved if she left her in that manner, so she said, “ No,
I cannot.”

“ Farewell, then, farewell, you good pretty little maiden,” said the swallow ;
and he flew out into the sunshine.

Tiny looked after him, and the tears rose inhereyes. She was very fond
of the poor swallow.

‘Tweet, tweet,” sang the bird, as he flew out into the green woods, and
Tiny felt very sad. She was not allowed to go out into the warm sunshine.
The corn which had been sown in the field over the house of the field-

mouse had grown up high into the air, and formed a thick wood to Tiny,
who was only an inch in‘height.



16 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



“You are going to be matried, Tiny,” said the field-mouse. “ My neigh-
pour has asked for you. What good fortune for a poor child like you!
Now we will prepare your wedding clothes. They must be both woollen
and linen. Nothing must be wanting when you are the mole’s wife.”

Tiny had to turn the spindle, and the field-mouse hired four spiders,
who were to weave day and night. Every evening the mole visited her,
and was continually speaking of the time when the summer would be over.
Then he would keep his wedding day with Tiny; but now the heat of the
sun was so great that it burned the earth, and made it quite hard, like a
stone. As soon as the summer was over, the wedding should take place.
But Tiny was not at all pleased; for she did not like the tiresome mole.
Every morning when the sun rose, and every evening when it went down,
she would creep out at the door, and as the wind blew aside the ears of
corn, so that she could see the blue sky, she thought how beautiful and
bright it seemed out there, and wished so much to see her dear swallow
again. But he never returned; for by this time he had flown far away
into the lovely green forest. ‘

When autumn arrived, Tiny had her outfit quite ready; and the field-
mouse said to her, “In four weeks the wedding must take place.”

Then Tiny wept, and said she would not marry the disagreeable mole.

“ Nonsense,” replied the field-mouse. “Now don’t be obstinate, or I
shall bite you with my white teeth, He is a very handsome mole; the
queen herself does not wear more beautiful velvets and furs. His kitchens
and cellars are quite full. You ought to be very thankful for such good
fortune.”

So the wedding-day was fixed, on which the mole was to fetch Tiny away
to live with him, deep under the earth, and never again to see the warm
sun, because #e did not like it. The poor child was very unhappy at the
thought of saying farewell to the beautiful sun, and as the field-mouse had
given her permission to ~tand at the door, she went to look at it once
more.

“Farewell, bright sun,” she cried, stretching out her arm towards it; and
then she walked a short distance from the house; for the corn had been cut,
and only the dry stubble remained in the fields. “ Farewell, farewell,” she
repeated, twining her arm ronnd a little red flower that grew just by her
side. “Greet the little swallow from me, if you should see him again.”

“Tweet, tweet,” sounded over her head suddenly. She looked up, and
there was the swallow himself flying close by, As soon as he spied Tiny,
he was delighted; and then she told him how unwilling she felt to marry
the ugly mole, and to live always beneath the earth, and never to see the
bright sun any more. And as she told him, she wept.

“Cold winter is coming,” said the swallow, “and I am going to fly away
into warmer countries. Will you go with me? You can sit on my back,
and fasten yourself on with your sash. Then we can fly away from the
ugly mole and his gloomy rooms,—far away, over the mountains, inte
warmer countries, where the sun shines more brightly than here ; where it
is always summer, and the flowers bloom in greater beauty. Fly now with



LITTLE TINY. 17



me, dear little Tiny; you saved my life when I lay frozen in that dark,
Greary passage.”

“Yes, I will go with you,” said Tiny ; and she seated herself on the bird’s
back, with her feet on his outstretched wings, and tied her girdle to one of
his strongest feathers.

_ Then the swallow rose in the air, and flew over forest and over sea, high
above the highest mountains, covered with eternal snow. Tiny would have
been frozen in the cold air, but she crept under the bird’s warm feathers,
keeping her little head uncovered, so that she might admire the beautiful
lands over which they passed. At length they reached the warm countries,
where the sun shines brightly, and the sky seems so much higher above the
earth. Here, on the hedges, and by the wayside, grew purple, green, and
white grapes ; lemons and oranges hung from trees in the woods; and the
air was fragrant with myrtles and orange blossoms. Beautiful children ran
along the country lanes, playing with large gay butterflies; and as the
swallow flew farther and farther, every place appeared still more lovely.

At last they came to a blue lake, and by the side of it, shaded by trees
of the deepest green, stood a palace of dazzling white marble, built in the
olden times. Vines clustered round its lofty pillars, and at the top were
many swallows’ nests, and one of these was the home of the swallow who
carried Tiny.

“ This is my house,” said the swallow; “ but it would not do for you to
live there—you would not be comfortable. You must choose for yourself
one of those lovely flowers, and I will put you down upon it, and then you
shall have everything that you can wish to make you happy.”

“That will be delightful,” she said, and clapped her little hands for
joy.

A large marble pillar Iay on the ground, which, in falling, had been
broken into three pieces. Between these pieces grew the most beautiful
large white flower ; so the swallow flew down with Tiny, and placed her on
one of the broad leaves. But how surprised she was to see, in the middle
of the flower, a tiny little man, as white and transparent as if he had been
made of crystal! He had a gold crown on his head, and delicate wings at
his shoulders, and was not much larger than Tiny herself. He was the
angel of the flower! for a tiny man and a tiny woman dwell in every
flower ; and this was the king of them all.

“Qh, how beautiful he is!” whispered Tiny to the swallow.

_ The little prince was at first quite frightened at the bird, who was like a
giant, compared to such a delicate little creature as himself; but when he
saw Tiny, he was delighted, and thought her the prettiest little maiden he
had ever seen. He took the gold crown from his head, and placed it on
hers, and asked her name, and if she would be his wife, and queen over all
the flowers.

This certainly was a very different sort of husband to the son of the toad,
or the mole, with his black velvet and fur; so she said, “Yes,” to the
handsome prince. Then all the flowers opened, and out of each came a
little lady or a tiny lord, all so pretty it was quite a pleasure to look at them.

2



18 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



Each of them brought Tiny a present; but the best gift was a pair of
beautiful wings, which had belonged to a large white fly, and they fastened
them to Tiny's shoulders, so that she might fly from flower to flower. Then
there was much rejoicing, and the little swallow, who sat above them, in his
nest, was asked to sing a wedding song, which he did as well as he could;
but in his heart he felt sad, for he was very fond of Tiny, and would have
liked never to part from her again.

“Vou must not be called Tiny any more,” said the spirit of the flowers
to her. “It is an ugly name, and you are so very pretty. We will call you
Maia.”

“ Farewell, farewell,” said the swallow, with a heavy heart, as he left the
warm countries, to fy back into Denmark. There he had a nest over the
window of a house in which dwelt the writer of fairy tales. The swallow
sang, “ Tweet, tweet,” and from his song came the whole story.



THE GOBLIN AND THE HUCKSTER.

THERE was once a regular student, who lived in a garret, and had no
possessions. And there was also a regular huckster, to whom the house
belonged, and who occupied the ground floor. A,goblin lived with the
huckster, because at Christmas he always had a large dish full of jam, with
a great piece of butter in the middle. The huckster could afford this; and
therefore the goblin remained with the huckster, which was very cunning
of him.

One evening the student came into the shop through the back door to
buy candles and cheese for himself; he had no one to send, and therefore
he came himself; he obtained what he wished, and then the huckster and
his wife nodded good evening to him, and she was a woman who could do
more than merely nod, for she had usually plenty to say for herself. The
student nodded in return as he turned to leave, then suddenly stopped, and
began reading the piece of paper in which the cheese was wrapped. It was
a leaf torn out of an old book—a book that ought not to have been torn
up, for it was full of poetry.

“Yonder lies some more of the same sort,” said the huckster: “I gave
an old woman a few coffee berries for it; you shall have the rest for six-
pence, if you will.”

“Indeed I will,” said the student ; “give me the book instead of the
cheese; J can eat my bread and butter without cheese. It would be a sin
to tear up a book like this. You are a clever man, and a practical man;
but you understand no more about poetry than that cask yonder.”



THE GOBLIN AND THE HUCKSTER. 19



. This was a very rude speech, especially against the cask ; but the huckster
and the student both laughed, for it was only said in fun. But the goblin
felt very angry that any man should venture to say such things to a huckster
who was a kouseholder and sold the best butter. As soon as it was night,
and the shop closed, and every one in bed except the student, the goblin
stepped softly into the bedroom where the huckster’s wife slept, and took
away her tongue, which, of course, she did not then want. Whatever object
in the room he placed his tongue upon immediately received voice and
speech, and was able to express its thoughts and feelings as readily as the
lady herself could do. It could only be used by one object at a time, which
was a good thing, as a number speaking at once would have caused great
confusion. ‘The goblin laid the tongue upon the cask, in which lay a quan-
tity of old newspapers.

Ts it really true,” he asked, “that you do not know what poetry is?”

*¢ Of course, I know,” replied the cask : ‘ poetry is something that always
stands in the corner of a newspaper, and is sometimes cut out; and I may
venture to affirm that I have more of it in me than the student has, and I
am only a poor tub of the huckster’s.”

Then the goblin placed the tongue on the coffee mill; and how it did go,
to be sure! Then he put it on the butter tub and the cash box, and they
all expressed the same opinion as the waste-paper tub; and a majority must
always be respected. .

“Now I shall go and tell the student,” said the goblin; and with these
words ke went quietly up the back stairs to the garret where the student
lived. He had a candle burning still, and the goblin peeped through the
keyhole and saw that he was reading in the torn book which he had bought
out of the shop. But how light the room was! From the book shot forth
aray of light which grew broad and full, like the stem of a tree, from which
bright rays spread upward and over the student’s head. Each leaf was
fresh, and each flower was like a beautiful female head; some with dark and
sparkling eyes, and others with eyes that were wonderfully blue and clear.
The fruit gleamed like stars, and the room was filled with sounds of beau-
tiful music. ‘The little goblin had never imagined, much less seen or heard
of, any sight so glorious as this. He stood still on tiptoe, peeping in, till
the light went out in the garret. The student no doubt had blown out his
candle and gone to bed; but the little goblin remained standing there
nevertheless, and listening to the music which still sounded on, soft and.
beautiful, a sweet cradle-song for the student, who had lain down to rest.

“This is a wonderful place,” said the goblin; “I never expected such a
thing. I should like to stay here with the student ;” and then the little man
thought it over, for he was a sensible little sprite. At last he sighed, “But
the student has no jam!” So he went downstairs again into the huckster’s
shop, and it was a good thing he got back when he did, for the cask had
almost worn out the lady’s tongue; he had given a description of all that
he contained on one side, and was just about to turn himself over to the
other side to describe what was there, when the goblin entered and restored

the tongue to the lady. But from that time forward, the whole shop, from
2*



20 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES,



the cash-box down to the pinewood logs, formed their opinions from that of
the cask ; and they all had such confidence in him, and treated him with
so much respect, that when the huckster read the criticisms on theatricals
and art of an evening, they fancied it must all come from the cask,

But after what he had seen, the goblin could no longer sit and listen
quietly to the wisdom and understanding downstairs; so, as soon as the
evening light glimmered in the garret, he took courage, for it seemed to him
as if the rays of light were strong cables, drawing him up, and obliging him
to go and peep through the keyhole; and, while there, a feeling of vastness
came over him such as we experienced by the ever-moving sea, when the
storm breaks forth; and it brought tears into his eyes. He did not himself
know why he wept, yet a kind of pleasant feeling mingled with his tears.
“ How wonderfully glorious it would be to sit with the student under such
a tree ;” but that was out of the question, he must be content to look through
the keyhole, and be thankful for even that.

There he stood on the cold Janding, with the autumn wind blowing down
upon him through the trap-door. It was very cold; but the little creature
did not really feel it, till the light in the garret went out, and the tones of
music died away. . Then how he shivered, and crept downstairs again to
his warm corner, where it felt home-like and comfortable. And when
Christmas came again, and brought the dish of jam and the great lump of
butter, he liked the huckster best of all.

Soon after, in the middle of the night, the goblin was awoke by a terrible
noise ‘and knocking against the window shutters and the house doors, and
by the sound of the watchman’s horn; for a great fire had broken out, and
the whole street appeared full of flames. Was it in their house, or a neigh-
bour’s? No one could tell, for terror had seized upon all. The huckster’s
wife was so bewildered that she took her gold ear-rings out of her ears and
put them in her pocket, that she might save something at least. The
huckster ran to get his business papers, and the servant resolved to save
her black silk mantle, which she had managed to buy. Each wished to
keep the best things they had. The goblin had the same wish; for, with
one spring, he was upstairs and in the student’s room, whom he found
standing by the open window, and looking quite calmly at the fire, which
was raging at the house of a neighbour opposite. The goblin caught up the
wonderful book which lay on the table, and popped it into his red cap,
which he held tightly with both hands. The greatest treasure in the house
was saved; and he ran away with it to the roof, and seated himself on the
chimney. The flames of the burning house opposite illuminated him as he
sat, both hands pressed tightly over his cap, in which the treasure lay; and -
then he found out what feelings really reigned in his heart, and knew exactly
which way they tended. And yet, when the fire was extinguished, and the
goblin again began to reflect, he hesitated, and said at last, “I must divide
mane between the two; I cannot quite give up the huckster, because of
the jam.”

And this is a representation of human nature. We are like the goblin;
we all go to visit the huckster “because of the jam.”-



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Pos “serene as KS gr agree?) 7 pea geepepsjee 1 % EES K ee ayeeye

Be



A GREAT SORROW.

Tuis story has two parts. The first part might be left out ; but it explains
a few particulars, we will relate it.

I was staying once for a few days at a gentleman’s house in the country
while the master was absent. In the meantime, a lady called from the
next town to see him, as she wished, she said, to dispose of shares in her
tan-yard. She had her papers with her, and I advised her to put them in
an envelope, and address them to the “General Commissary of War,
Knight, etc.” She listened attentively, and then seized the pen ; hesitated,
and then begged me to repeat the address more slowly. I did so, and she
began to write, but when she got half through the words, she stopped and
sighed deeply, and said, “Iam only a woman.” She had a pug dog with
her, and while she wrote Puggie seated himself on the ground and growled.
She had brought him for his health and amusement, and it was not quite
polite to offer a visitor only the bare floor to sit upon. Puggie had a snub
nose, and he was very fat, ‘He doesn’t bite,” said the lady; “he has no
teeth ; he is like one of the family, very faithful, but sometimes glumpy.
That is the fault of my grandchildren, they teaze him so; when they play
at having a wedding, they want to make him the bride’s-maid, and he does
not like it, poor old fellow.” Then she finished her writing, gave up her
papers, and went away, taking Puggie on her arm. And this ends the first
part of the story.

Pucci prep, And that begins the second part.

I arrived at the town about a week afterwards, and put up at an inn.
The windows of the inn looked into a courtyard, which was divided into
two parts by a wooden partition ; in one half hung a quantity of skins and
hides, both raw and tanned. It was evidently a tan-yard, containing all the
materials required for tanning, and it belonged to the widow lady, Puggie’s
mistress. Puggie had died the morning I arrived there, and was to be buried
in the yard. The grandchildren of the widow, that is to say, the tanner’s
widow, for Puggie had never been married, filled up the grave. It was a
beautiful grave, and must have been quite pleasant to lie in. They bor-
dered the grave with pieces of flower-pots,-and strewed it over with sand.
In the centre they stuck half a beer bottle, with the neck uppermost, which
certainly was not allegorical. Then the children danced round the grave,





22 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



and the eldest of the boys among them, a practical youngster of seven
years, proposed that there should be an exhibition of Puggie’s burial place,
for all who lived in the lane. The price of admission was tc be a trouser
button, which every boy was sure to have, as well as one to spare for a little
girl, This proposal was agreed to with great exclamations of pleasure. All
the children from the street, and even from the narrow lane at the back,
came flocking to the place, and each gave a button, and many were seen
during the afternoon going about.with their trousers held up by only one
brace, but then they had seen Puggie’s grave, and that was a sight worth
much more. But in front of the tan-yard, close to the entrance, stood a
very pretty little girl clothed in rags, with curly hair, and eyes so blue and
clear it was a pleasure to look into them. The child spoke not a word, nor
did she cry; but each time the little door opened, she gave a long, lingering
look into the yard. She had not a button, she knew that too well, and
therefore she remained standing sorrowfally outside, till all the other children
had seen the grave, and were gone away; then she sat down, covered her
eyes with her little brown hands, and burst into tears. She was the only
one who had not seen Puggie’s grave. It was as great a grief to her as
any grown person could experience. J saw this from above; and how
many a grief of our own and others can make us smile, if looked at from
above?

This is the story : and whoever does not understand it may go and pur-
chase a share in the widow’s tan-yard.



THE SILVER SHILLING.

THERE was once’a shilling which came forth from the mint springing and
shouting, “ Hurrah ! now I am going out into the widé world.” And truly
it did go out into the wide world. The children held it with warm hands,
the miser with a cold and convulsive grasp, and the old people turned it
about, goodness knows how many times, while the young people soon allowed
it to roll away from them, The shilling was made of silver, it contained very
little copper, and considered itself quite out in the world when it had been
circulated for a year in the country in which it had been coined. One day,
it really did go out into the world, for it belonged to a gentleman who was
about to travel in foreign lands. This gentleman was not aware that the
shilling lay at the bottom of his purse when he started, till he one day found
it between his fingers. “Why,” cried he, “here is a shilling from home;
well, it must go on its travels with me now!” and the shilling jumped and
rattled for joy, when it was put back again into the purse.



THE SILVER SHILLING, 23





Here it lay amongst a number of foreign companions, who were always
coming and going, one taking the place of another; but the shilling from
home was always put back, and had to remain in the purse, which was cer-
tainly a mark of distinction. Many weeks passed, during which the shilling
had travelled a long distance in the purse, without in the least knowing
where he was. He had found out that the other coins were French and
Italian; and one coin said they were in this town, and another said they
were in that, but the shilling was unable to make out or imagine what they
meant. A man certainly cannot see much of the world if he is tied up in
a bag, and this was really the shilling’s fate. But one day, as he was lying
in the purse, he noticed that it was not quite closed, and so he slipped near
to the opening to have a little peep into society. He certainly had not the
least idea of what would follow, but he was curious, and curiosity often
brings its own punishment. In his eagerness, he came so near the edge of
the purse that he slipped out into the pocket of the trousers; and when, in
the evening, the purse was taken out, the shilling was left behind in the
corner to which it had fallen. As the clothes were being carried into the
hall, the shilling fell out on the floor, unheard and unnoticed by any one.
The next morning the clothes were taken back to the room; the gentleman
put them on, and started on his journey again; but the shilling remained
behind on the floor. After atime it was found, and being considered a good
coin, was placed with three other coins. “ Ah,” thought the shilllng, “ this
is pleasant; I shall now see the world, become acquainted with other people,
and learn other customs.”

“Do you call that a shilling ?” said some one the next moment. “That
is not a genuine coin of the country,—it is false ; it is good for nothing.”

Now begins the story as it was afterwards related by the shilling himself.
“ «False! good for nothing!’ said he. That remark went through and
through me like a dagger. JI knew that I had a true ring, and that mine
was a genuine stamp. ‘These people must at all events be wrong, or they
could not mean me. But yes, I was the one they called ‘false, and good
for nothing,’

“<«Then I must pay it away in the dark,’ said the man who had received
me. So Iwas to be got rid of in the darkness, and be again insulted in
broad daylight.

“False! good for nothing!” Oh, I must contrive to get lost, thought I.
And I trembled between the fingers of the people every time they tried to
pass me off slyly as a coin of the country. Ah! unhappy shilling that I
was! Of what use were my silver, my stamp, and my real value here,
where all these qualities were worthless. In the eyes of the world, a man
is valued just according to the opinion formed of him. It must be ashock-
ing thing to have a guilty conscience, and to be sneaking about on account
of wicked deeds. As for me, innocent as I was, I could not help shudder-
ing before their eyes whenever they brought me out, for I knew I should be
thrown back again upon the table as a false pretender. At length I was
paid away to a poor old woman, who received me as wages for a hard day’s
work, But she could not again get rid of me; no one would take me. I





24 IANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



was to the woman a most unlucky shilling. ‘Iam positively obliged to
pass this shilling to somebody,’ said she; ‘I cannot, with the best inten-
tions, lay by a bad shilling. ‘The rich baker shall have it,—he can bear the
loss better than I can. But, after all, it is not a right thing to do.’

“Ah 1? sighed I to myself, ‘am I also to be a burden on the conscience
of this poor woman? Am I then in my old days so completely changed?!
The woman offered me to the rich baker, but he knew the current money
too well, and as soon as he recetved me he threw me almost in the woman’s
face. She could get no bread for me, and I felt quite grieved to the heart
that I should be the cause of so much trouble to another, and be treated as
a cast-off coin. JI who, in my young days, felt so joyful in the certainty of
my own value, and knew so well that I bore a genuine stamp. I was as
sorrowful now as a poor shilling can be when nobody will have him. The
woman took me home again with her, and looking at me very earnestly,
she said, ‘No, I will not try to deceive any one with thee again. I will
bore a hole through thee, that every one may know that thou art a false and
worthless thing; and yet, why should I do that? Very likely thou art a
lucky shilling. A thought has just struck me that it is so, and I believe it.
Yes, I will make a hole in the shilling,’ said she, ‘and run a string through
it, and then give it to my neighbour’s little one to hang round her neck, as
a lucky shilling.’ So she drilled a hole through me.

“Tt is really not all pleasant to have a hole bored through one, but we
can submit to a great deal when it is done with agood intention. A string
was drawn through the hole, and I became a kind of medal. They hung
me round the neck of a little child, and the child laughed at me and kissed
me, and I rested for one whole night on the warm, innocent breast of a

child.

“Tn the morning the child’s mother took me between her fingers, and
had certain thoughts about me, which I very soon found out. First, she
looked for a pair of scissors, and cut the string.

“* Lucky shilling !’ said she, ‘certainly that is what I mean to try.’ Then
she laid me in vinegar till I became quite green, and after that she filled
up the hole with cement, rubbed me a little to brighten me up, and went
out in the twilight hour to the lottery collector, to buy herself a ticket, with
a shilling that should bring luck. How everything seemed to cause me
trouble. The lottery collector pressed me so hard that I thought that I
should crack. I had been called false, I had been thrown away,—that I
knew; and there were many shillings and coins with inscriptions and
stamps of all kinds lying about. I well knew how proud they were, so I
avoided them from very shame. With the collector were several men who
seemed to have a great deal to do, so I fell unnoticed into a chest among
several other coins,

“ Whether the lottery ticket gained a prize, I know not; but this T know,
that in a very few days after, I was recognised as a bad shilling, and laid
aside. Everything that happened seemed always to add to my sorrow.
Even if aman has a good character, it is no use for him to deny what is
said of him, for he is not considered an impartial judge of himself.





The ugly duckling.



THE UGLY DUCKLING. 25



“ A year passed, and in this way I had been changed from hand to hand;
always abused, always looked at it with displeasure, and trusted by no one ;
but I trusted in myself, and had no confidence in the world. Yes, that was
avery dark time,

“ At length one day I was passed to a traveller, a foreigner, the very
same who had brought me away from home ; and he was simple and true-
hearted enough to take me for current coin. But would he also attempt to
pass me? and should I again hear the outcry, ‘ False! good-for-nothing!’
The traveller examined me attentively, ‘I took thee for good coin,’ said he;
then suddenly a smile spread all over his face. I have never seen such a
smile on any other face as on his. ‘ Now this is singular,’ said he, ‘it is a
coin from my own county; a good, true shilling from home. Some one has
bored a hole through it, and people have no doubt called it false. How
curious that it should come into my hands. I will take it home with me to
my own house.’

“Joy thrilled through me when I heard this. I had been once more
called a good, honest shilling, and I was to go back to my own home,
where each and all would recognise me, and know that Iwas made of good
silver, and bore a true, genuine stamp. I should have been glad in my joy
to throw out sparks of fire, but it has never at any time been my nature to
sparkle. Steel can do so, but not silver. I was wrapped up in fine, white
paper, that I might not mix with the other coins and be lost ; and on special
. occasions, when people from my own country happened to be present, I
was brought forward and spoken of very kindly. They said I was very
interesting, and it was really quite worth while to notice that those who are’
interesting have often not a single word to say for themselves.

“At length I reached home. All my cares were at an end. Joy again
overwhelmed me ; for was I not good silver, and had I not a genuine stamp?
Thad no more insults or disappointments to endure ; although, indeed, there
was a whole through me, as if I were false ; but suspicions are nothing when
a man is really true, and every one should persevere in acting honestly, for
all will be made right in time. That is my firm belief,” said the shilling.

THE UGLY DUCKLING.

Tt was lovely summer weather in the country, and the golden corn, the
green oats, and the haystacks piled up in the meadows looked beautiful.
The stork walking about on his long red legs chattered in the Egyptian
language, which he had learnt from his mother. The cornfields and
meadows were surrounded by large forests, in the midst of which were deep
fools. It was, indeed, delightful to walk about in the country. In a sunny



26 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



spot stood a pleasant old farm-house close by a deep river, and from the
house down to the water side grew great burdock leaves, so high, that under
the tallest of them a little child could stand upright. The spot was as wild
as the centre of a thick wood. In this snug retreat sat a duck on her nest,
watching for her young brood to hatch ; she was beginning to get tired of
her task, for the little ones were a long time coming out of their shells, and
she seldom had any visitors. The other ducks liked much better to swim
about in the river than to climb the slippery banks, and sit under a burdock
leaf, to have a gossip with her. At length one shell cracked, and then
another, and from each egg came a living creature that lifted its head and
cried, “Peep, peep.” “ Quack, quack,” said the mother, and then they all
quacked as well as they could, and looked about them on every side at the
large green leaves. Their mother allowed them to look as much as they
liked, because green is good for the eyes. “ How large the world is,” said
the young ducks, when they found how much more room they now had than -
while they were inside the egg-shell. “Do you imagine this is the whole
world?” asked the mother ; ‘‘ Wait till you have seen the garden; it stretches
far beyond that to the parson’s field, but I have never ventured to such a
distance. Are you all out?” she continued, rising; “No, I declare, the
largest egg lies there still. I wonder how long this is to last, I am quite
tired of it ;” and she seated herself again on the nest.

“ Well, how are you getting on ?” asked an old duck, who paid her a visit.

“One egg is not hatched yet,” said the duck, “it will not break. But
just look at all the others, are they not the prettiest little ducklings you ever
saw? They are the image of their father, who is so unkind, he never comes
to see me.”

“ Let me see the egg that will not break,” said the old duck ; “I have no
doubt it is a turkey’s egg. I was persuaded to hatch some once, and after
all my care and trouble with the young ones, they were afraid of the water.
I quacked and clucked, but all to no purpose. I could not get them to
venture In. Let me look at the egg. Yes, that is a turkey’s egg; take my
advice, leave it where it is, and teach the other children to swim.”

“T think I will sit on ita little while longer,” said the duck; “as I have
sat so long already, a few days will be nothing.”

‘Please yourself,” said the old duck, and she went away.

At last the large egg broke, and a young one crept forth, crying, “ Peep,
peep.” It was very large and ugly. ‘The duck stared at it, and exclaimed,
“It is very large, and not at all like the others. I wonder if it really is a
turkey. We shall soon find it out, however, when we go to the water. It
must go in, if I have to push it in myself.”

On the next day the weather was delightful, and the sun shone brightly
on the green burdock leaves, so the mother duck took her young brood
down to the water and jumped in witha splash. “ Quack, quack,” cried
she, and one after another the little ducklings jumpedin. The water closed
over their heads, but they came up again in an instant, and swam about
quite prettily with their legs paddling under them as easily as possible, and
the ugly duckling was also in the water swimming with them.



THE UGLY DUCKLING. 27



“Oh,” said the mother, “that is not a turkey; how well he uses his legs,
and how upright he holds himself! He is my own child, and he is not so
very ugly after all if you look at him properly, Quack, quack ! ! come with
me now, I will take you into grand society, and introduce you to the farm-
yard, but you must keep close to me or you may be trodden upon; and,
above all, beware of the cat.”

When ‘they reached the farmyard, there was a ‘great disturbance, two
families were fighting for an eel’s head, which, after all, was carried off
by the cat. ‘See, children, that is the way of the world,” said the mother
duck, whetting her beak, for she would have liked the eel’s head herself,
a Come, now, use your legs, and let me see how well you can behave. You
must bow your heads prettily to that old duck yonder; she is the highest
born of them all, and has Spanish blood, therefore she is well of. Don’t
you see she has a red rag tied to her leg, which is something very grand,
and a great honour for a duck; it shows that every one is anxious not to
lose her, as she can be recognized both by man and beast. Come, now,
don’t turn in your toes, a well-bred duckling spreads his feet wide apart, just
like his father and mother, in this way; now bend your neck, and say ‘Quack.’”

The ducklings did as they were bid, but the other ducks star ed, and said,
“Took, here come another brood, as if there were not enough of us
already | and what a queer-looking object one of them is; we don’t want
him here,” and then one flew out and bit him in the neck.

“Let him alone,” said the mother; “he is not doing any harm.”

“Ves, but he is so big and ugly,” said the spiteful duck, “and therefore
he must be turned out.”

“The others are very pretty children,” said the old duck with the rag
on her leg, “all but that one; I wish his mother could improve him a little.”

“That is impossible, your grace,” replied the mother; “‘he is not pretty;
but he has a very good disposition, and swims as well or even better than
the others. I think he will grow up pretty, and perhaps be smaller; he has
remained too long in the egg, and therefore his figure is not properly
formed ;” and then she stroked his neck and smoothed the feathers, say-
ing, “ It is a drake, and therefore not of so much consequence. I think he
‘will grow up strong, and be able to take care of himself.”

“The other ducklings are graceftl enough,” said the old duck. “ Now
_ make yourself at home, and if you find an eel’s head, you can bring it to me.”

And so they made themselves comfortable; but the poor duckling, who
had crept out of his shell last of all, and looked so ugly, was bitten and pushed
and made fun of, not only by the “ducks, but by all the poultry. “ He is too
big,” they all said, and the turkey cock, who had been born into the world
with spurs, and fancied himself really an emperor, puffed himself out like
‘a vessel in full sail, and flew at the duckling, and became quite red in the
head with passion, so that: the poor little thing did not know where to go,
and was quite miserable because he was so ugly and laughed at by the
whole farmyard. So it went on from day to day till it got worse and worse.
The poor duckling was driven about by everyone; even his brothers and
sisters were unkind to him, and would say, “ Ah, you ugly creature, I wish



























THE UGLY DUCKLING. 29



the cat would get you,” and his mother said she wished he had never been
born. The ducks pecked him, the chickens beat him, and the girl who fed
the poultry kicked him with her feet. So at last he ran away, frightening
the little birds in the hedge as he flew over the palings.

“They are afraid of me, because I am so ugly,” he said. So he closed
his eyes, and flew still farther, until he came out on a large moor, inhabited
by wild ducks. Here he remained the whole night, feeling very tired and
sorrowful,

_ In the morning, when the wild ducks rose in the air, they stared at their
new comrade. “What sort of aduck are you?” they all said, coming round
him.

. He bowed to them, and was as polite as he could be, but he did not
yeply to their question. “You are exceedingly ugly,” said the wild ducks,
“but that will not matter if you do not want to marry one of our family.”

Poor thing! he had no thoughts of marriage; all he wanted was per-
mission to lie among the rushes, and drink some of the water on the moor.
After he had been on the moor two days, there came two wild geese, or
rather goslins, for they had not been out of the egg long, and were very
saucy. “Listen, friend,” said one of them to the duckling, “you are so
ugly, that we like you very well. Will you go with us, and become a bird
of passage? Not far from here is another moor, in which there are some
pretty wild geese, all unmarried. It is a chance for you to get a wife; you
may be lucky, ugly as you are.”

“Pop, pop,” sounded in the air, and the two wild geese fell dead among
the rushes, and the water was tinged with blood. “Pop, pop,” echoed far
and wide in the distance, and whole flocks of wild geese rose up from the
rushes. The sound continued from every direction, for the sportsmen
surrounded the moor, and some were even seated on branches of trees,
overlooking the rushes. The blue smoke from the guns rose like clouds
over the dark trees, and as it floated away across the water, a number of
sporting dogs bounded in among the rushes, which bent beneath them
wherever they went. How they terrified the poor duckling! He turned
away his head to hide it under his wing, and at the same moment a large
terrible dog passed quite near him. His jaws were open, his tongue hung
from his mouth, and his eyes glared fearfully. He thrust his nose close to
the duckling, showing his sharp teeth, and then “splash, splash,” he went
into the water without touching him. “Oh,” sighed the duckling, “how
thankful I am for being so ugly ; even a dog will not bite me.” And so he
lay quite still, while the shot rattled through the rushes, and gun after gun
was fired over him. It was late in the day before all became quiet, but
even then the poor young thing did not dareto move. He waited quietly for
several hours, and then, after looking carefully around him, hastened away
from the moor as fast as he could. He ran over field and meadow till a
storm arose, and he could hardly struggle against it. Towards evening he
reached a poor little cottage that seemed ready to fall, and only remained
standing because it could not decide on which side to fall first. The storm
continued so violent, that the duckling could go no farther; he sat down



30 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



by the cottage, and then he noticed that the door was not quite closed in
consequence of one of the hinges having given way. There was therefore
a narrow opening near the bottom large enough. for him to slip through,
which he did very quietly, and got a shelter for the night. A woman, a
tom cat, and a hen lived in this cottage. The tom cat, whom his mistress
called, é My little son,” was a great favourite; he could raise his back, and
purr, and could even throw out sparks from his fur if it were stroked the
wrong way. The hen had very short legs, so she was called, “Chickie
short legs.” She Jaid good eggs, and her mistress loved her as if she had
been her own child. In the morning, the strange visitor was discovered,
and the tom cat began to purr, and the hen to cluck.

“What is that noise about?” said the old woman, looking round the
room, but her sight was not very good; therefore, when she saw the
duckling she thought it must be a fat duck, that had strayed from home.
“ Oh, what a prize!” she exclaimed, “I hope it is not a drake, for then I
shall have some duck’s eges. I must wait and see.” So the duckling was
allowed to remain on trial for three weeks, but there were no eggs. Now
the tom cat was the master of the house, and the hen was mistress, and
they always said, “ We and the world,” for they believed themselves to be
half the world, and the better half too. The duckling thought that others
might hold a different opinion on the subject, but the hen would not listen
to such doubts. “Can you lay eggs?” she asked. “No.” “Then have
the goodness to hold your tongue.” “Can you raise your back, or purr, or
throw out sparks?” said the tom cat. “No.” “Then you have no right
to express an opinion when sensible people are speaking.” So the duckling
sat in a corner, feeling very low-spirited, till the sunshine and the fresh air
came into the room through the open door, and then he began to feel sucha
great longing for’a swim on the water, that he could not help telling the hen.

“What an absurd idea,” said the hen. ‘You have nothing else to do,
therefore you have foolish fancies. If you could purr or lay eggs, they
would pass away.”

“ But it is so delightful to swim about on the water,” said the duckling,
“and so refreshing to feel it close over your head, while you dive down to
the bottom.”

“ Delightful indeed!” said the hen, “why you must be crazy! Ask the
cat, he is the cleverest animal I know, ask him how he would like to swim
about on the water, or to dive under it, for I will not speak of my own
opinion ; ask our mistress, the old woman—there is no one in the world
more clever than she is. Do you think she would like to swim, or to let)
the water close over her head?”

“Vou don’t understand me,” said the duckling.

“We don’t understand you? Who can understand you, I wonder? Do
you consider yourself more clever than the cat, or the old woman? I will
say nothing of myself Don’t imagine such nonsense, child, and thank your
good fortune that you have been received here. Are you not in a warm
room, and in society from which you may learn something. But you are a
chatterer, and your company is not very agreeable. Believe me, I speak





THE UGLY DUCKLING. 31





only for your good. I may tell you unpleasant truths, but that is a proof
of my friendship. I advise you, therefore, to lay eggs, and learn to purr as
* quickly as possible.”

*T believe I must go out into the world again,” said the duckling.

“Ves, do,” said the hen. So the duckling left the cottage, and soon found
water on which it could swim and dive, but was avoided by all other animals,
because of its ugly appearance, Autumn came, and the leaves in the forest
tumed to orange and gold; then, as winter approached, the wind caught
them as they fell and whirled them in the cold air. The clouds, heavy with
hail and snow-flakes, hung low in the sky, and the raven stood on the ferns
crying, “Croak, croak.” It made one shiver with cold to look at him. All
this was very sad for the poor little ducklmg. One evening, just as the
sun set amid radiant clouds, there came a large flock of beautiful birds out
of the bushes, The duckling had never seen any like them before. They
were swans, and they curved their graceful necks, while their soft plumage
shone with dazzling whiteness, They uttered a singular cry, as they spread
their :glorious wings and flew away from those cold regions to warmer
countries across the sea, As they mounted higher and higher in the air,
the ugly little duckling felt quite a strange sensation as he watched them.
He whirled himself in the water like a wheel, stretched out his neck towards
them, and uttered a cry so strange that it frightened himself. Could he
ever forget those beautiful, happy birds; and when at last they were out of
his sight, he dived under the water, and rose again almost beside himself
with excitement. He knew-not the names of these birds, nor where they
had flown, but he felt towards them as he had never felt for any other bird in
the world. He was not envious of these beautiful creatures, but wished tobe,
as lovely as they. Poor ugly creature, how gladly he would have lived
even with the ducks had they only given him encouragement. The winter
grew colder and colder; he was obliged to swim about on the water to
keep it from freezing, but every night the space on which he swam became
smaller and smaller. At length it froze so hard that the ice in the water
crackled as he moved, and the duckling had to paddle with his legs as well
he could, to keep the space from closing up. He became exhausted at
last, and Jay still and helpless, frozen fast in the ice.

Early in the morning, a peasant, who was passing by, saw what had hap-
pened. He broke the ice in pieces with his wooden shoe, and carried the
duckling home to his wife. The warmth revived the poor little creature ;
but when the children wanted to play with him, the duckling thought they
would do him some harm; so he started up in terror, fluttered into the
milk-pan, and splashed the milk about in the room. Then the woman
clapped her hands, which frightened him still more. He flew first into the
butter-cask, then into the meal-tub, and out again. What a condition he
was in! The woman screamed, and struck at him with the tongs; the
children laughed and screamed, and tumbled over each other, in their efforts
to catch him; but luckily-he escaped. The door stood open; the poor
creature could just manage to slip out among the bushes, and lie down
quite exhausted in the newly fallen snow.



32 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.

It would be very sad, were I to relate all the misery and privations which
the poor little duckling endured during the hard winter; but when it had
passed, he found himself lying one morning in a moor, amongst the rushes.
He felt the warm stun shining, and heard the lark singing, and saw that all
around was beautiful spring. Then the younger bird felt that his wings
were strong, as he flapped them against his sides, and rose high into the
air. They bore him onwards, until he found himself in a large garden,
before he well knew how it had happened. The apple-trees were in full
blossom, and the fragrant elders bent their long green branches down to the
stream which wound round a smooth lawn. Everything looked beautiful,
in the freshness of early spring. From a thicket close by came three beau-
tiful white swans, rustling their feathers, and swimming lightly over the
smooth water. The duckling remembered the lovely birds, and felt more
strangely unhappy than ever.

‘7 will fly to these royal birds,” he exclaimed, “and they will kill me,
because I am so ugly, and dare to approach them ; but it does not matter ;
better be killed by them than pecked by the ducks, beaten by the hens,
pushed about by the maiden who feeds the poultry, or starved with hunger
in the winter.”

Then he flew to the water, and swam towards the beautiful swans. The
moment they espied the stranger, they rushed to meet him with outstretched
wings.

“Kill me,” said the poor bird; and he bent his head down to the surface
of the water, and awaited death. ~

But what did he see in the clear stream below? His own image; no
longer a dark, grey bird, ugly and disagreeable to look at, but a graceful and
beautiful swan. ‘To be born in a duck’s nest, in a farmyard, is of no con-
sequence to a bird, if it is hatched from a swan’s egg. He now felt glad at
having suffered sorrow and trouble, because it enabled him to enjoy so much
better all the pleasure and happiness around him; for the great swans swam
round the new comer, and stroked his neck with their beaks, as a welcome,

Into the garden presently came some little children, and threw bread and
cake into the water

“See,” cried the youngest, “there is a new one;” and the rest were de-
lighted, and ran to their father and mother, dancing and clapping their hands
and, shouting joyously, “There is another swan come; a new one has arrived.”

Then they threw more bread and cake into the water, and said, “The
new one is the most beautiful of all; he is so young and pretty.” And the
old swans bowed their heads before him.

Then he felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wing; for he did
not know what to do, he was so happy, and yet not at all proud. He had
been as persecuted and despised for his ugliness, and now he heard them
say he was the most beautiful of all the birds. Even the elder-tree bent
down its boughs into the water before him, and the sun shone warm and
bright. Then he rustled his feathers, curved his slender neck, and cried
joyfully, from the depths of his heart, “I never dreamed of such ha ppiness
as this, while I was an ugly duckling.”











THE ROSES AND THE SPARROWS.

Tr really appeared as if something very important was going on by the
duck pond ; but this was not the case. A few minutes before, all the ducks
had been resting on the water, or standing on their heads, for they can do
so, and then they all swam in a bustle to the shore ; the traces of their feet
could be seen on the wet earth, and far and wide could be heard their
‘quacking. ‘The water, so lately clear and bright as a mirror, became quite
in a commotion. A moment before, every tree and bush near the old farm-
house, and the house itself, with the holes in the roof, and the swallows’
nests, and above all, the beautiful rose-bush covered with roses, had been
clearly reflected in the water. The rose-bush on the wall hung over the
water, which resembled a picture, only every thing appeared upside down;

. but when the water was set in motion, it all vanished and the picture dis-

.appeared. Two feathers dropped by the fluttering ducks floated to and fro
on the water ; all at once they took a start, as if the wind were coming ; but
it did not come, so they were obliged to lie still, as the water became again
quiet and atrest. The roses could once more behold their own reflections;
they were very beautiful, but they knew it not, for no one had told them.
‘The sun shone between the delicate leaves, everywhere the sweet fragrance
spread itself, creating sensations of deep happiness.

“ Flow beautiful is our existence,” said one of the roses, “TI feel as if I
should like to kiss the sun, it isso bright and warm. I should like to kiss the
roses, too, our images in the water, and the pretty birds in theirnests. There

are some birds too in a nest above us, they stretch out their heads and cry,
“Tweet, tweet,’ very faintly, they have no feathers yet, as their father and
mother have ; they are good neighbours both above us and below us. How
beautiful is our life!” The young birds above, and the young ones below were
the same ; they were sparrows, and their nest was reflected in the water.
Their parents were sparrows also, and they had taken possession of an

3



34 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



empty swallow’s nest of the year before, and occupied it now as if it were
their own.

“ Are those ducks’ children that are swimming about?” asked the young
spatrows, as they spied the feathers on the water. ;

“Tf you must ask questions, pray ask sensible ones,” said the mother.
‘Can you not see that these are feathers, the living stuff for clothes, which
I wear and which you will wear soon; but ours is much finer. I should
like, however, to have them up here in the nest, they would make it so
warm. Iam rather curious to know why the ducks were so alarmed just
now, it could not be from fear of us, certainly, though I did say ‘tweet’
rather loudly. The thick-headed roses really ought to know, but they are

-very ignorant, they only look at one another and smell, I am heartily tired
of such neighbours.”

“ Listen to the sweet little birds above us,” said the roses; “they are
trying to sing; they cannot manage it yet, but it will be done in time ; what
a pleasure it will be, and how nice to have such lively neighbours,”

Suddenly two horses came prancing along to drink at the water; a pea-
sant boy rode on one of them; he had a broad-brimmed black hat on, but
had taken off most of his other clothes that he might ride into the deepest
part of the pond; he whistled like a bird, and while passing the rose-bush
he plucked a rose and placed it in his hat, and then rode on, thinking him-
self very fine. The other roses looked at their sister, and asked each other
where she could be going, but they did not know.

“T should like for once to go out into the world,” said one, “although
it is very lovely here in our home of green leaves. The sun shines warmly
by day, and in the night we can see that heaven is more beautiful still, as it
sparkles through the holes in the sky.”

She meant the stars, for she knew no better.

“We make the house very lively,” said the mother sparrow, “and people
say that a swallow’s nest brings luck, therefore they are pleased to see us;
but as to our neighbours, a rose-bush on the wall produces damp. It will
most likely be removed, and perhaps corn will grow here instead of it
Roses are good for nothing but to be looked at, and smelt, or, perhaps, one
may chance to be stuck in a hat. I have heard from my mother that they
fall off every year. The farmer’s wife preserves them by laying them in salt,
and then they receive a French name, which I neither can nor will pro-
nounce ; then they are sprinkled on the fire to produce a pleasant smell.
Such you see is their life. They are only formed to please the eye and the
nose. Now you know all about them.”

As evening approached, the gnats played about in the warm air be-
neath the rosy clouds, and the nightingale came and sang to the roses, that
the beautiful was like sunshine to the world, and that the deautiful lives for
ever. The roses thought that the nightingale was singing of herself, which
any one, indeed, could easily suppose ; they never imagined that her song
could refer to them. But it was a joy to them, and they wondered to them-
ae whether all the little sparrows in the nest would become nightin-
gales.







is



















































































THE PEASANT BOY PLUCKING A ROSE, ae



36 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



“We understand that bird’s song very well,” said the young sparrows;
“but one word was not clear. What is the beautiful 2?”

“Oh, nothing of any consequence,” replied the mother sparrow. “It is
something relating to appearances o’er yonder at the nobleman’s house.
The pigeons have a house of their own, and every day they have corn and
peas spread for them. I have dined there with them sometimes, and so
shall you by-and-by, for I believe the old maxim—‘ Tell me what company
you keep, and I will tell you what you are.’ Well, over at the noble house
there are two birds with green throats and crests on their heads. They can
spread out their tails like large wheels, and: they reflect so many beautiful
colours that it dazzles the eyes to look at them. These birds are called
peacocks, and they belong to the beautiful, but if only a few of their feathers
were plucked off they would not appear better than we do. I would my-
self have plucked some out had they not been so large.”

“T will pluck them,” squeaked the youngest sparrow, who had as yet no
feathers of his own.

In the cottage dwelt two young married people, who loved each other
very much, and were industrious and active, so that everything looked neat
and pretty around them. On Sunday mornings early the young wife came
out, gathered a handful of the most beautiful roses, and put them in a glass
of water, which she placed on a side-table.

“T see now that it is Sunday,” said the husband as he kissed his little
wife. Then they sat down and read in their hymn-books, holding each
other’s hands, while the sun shone down upon the young couple, and upon
the fresh roses in the glass.

“This sight is really too wearisome,” said the mother sparrow, who from
her nest could look into the room, and she flew away.

The same thing occurred the next Sunday, and indeed every Sunday,
fresh roses were gathered and placed in a glass, but the rose-tree continued
to bloom in all its beauty. After a while the young sparrows were fledged,
and wanted to fly, but the mother would not allow it, and so they were
obliged to remain in the nest for the present, while she flew away alone.
It so happened that some boys had fastened a snare, made of horsehair, to
the branch of a tree, and before she was aware, her leg became entangled in
the horsehair so tightly as almost to cut it through. What pain and terror
she felt! The boys ran up quickly and seized her, not in a very gentle
manner.

“It is only a sparrow,” they said. However, they did not let her fly, but
_ took her home with them, and every time she squeaked they knocked her
on the beak. .

In the farmyard they met an old man, who knew how to make soap for
shaving and washing, in cakes or in balls. When he saw the sparrow which
the boys had brought home, and which they said they did not know what to
flo with, he said, “ Shall we make it beautiful ?”

A cold shudder passed over the sparrow when she heard this. The old
man then took a shell containing a quantity of glittering gold leaf, from a
box full of beautiful colours, and told the youngsters to fetch the white of



THE ROSES AND THE SPARROWS. 37





an egg, with which he besmeared the sparrow all over, and then laid the
gold leaf upon it; so that the mother sparrow was now gilded from head to
tail, But she thought not of her appearance but trembled in every limb.
Then the soap-maker tore a little-piece out of the red lining of his jacket,
cut notches in it, so that it looked like a cock’s comb, and stuck it on the
bird’s head. ‘‘ Now you shall see gold-jacket fly,” said the old man, and he
released the sparrow, which flew away in deadly terror, with the sun-light
shining upon her. How she did glitter, all the sparrows, and even a crow,
who is a knowing old boy, were scared at the sight ; yet still they followed it
to discover what foreign bird it could be. Driven by anguish and terror
she flew homewards, almost ready to sink to the earth for want of strength.
The flock of birds that were following increased, and some even tried to
eck her.

ee Look at him! Look at him!” they all cried. ‘Look at him! Look
at him!” cried the young ones as their mother approached the nest, but
they did not know her. “That must be a young peacock, for he glitters in
all colours, it quite hurts one’s eyes to look at him, as mother told us;
‘tweet,’ this is Ae beautiful.” And then they pecked the bird with their
little beak, so that she was quite unable to get into the nest, and was too
much exhausted even to say “tweet,” much less to say “T am your mother.”
So the other birds fell upon the sparrow and pulled out feather after feather,
till she sunk bleeding into the rose-bush.

“You poor creature,” said the roses, “be at rest, we will hide you, lean
your little head against us.”

The sparrow spread out her wings once more, then drew them in close
to her, and lay dead amongst the roses, her fresh and lovely neighbours.

“Tweet,” sounded from the nest, “where can our mother be staying? it
is quite unaccountable. Can this be a trick of hers to show us that we are
now to take care of ourselves? She has left us the house as an inheritance,
but as it cannot belong to us all when we have families, who is to have it?”

“Tt won't do for you all to stay with me when I increase my household
with a wife and children,” remarked the youngest.:

“T shall have more wives and children than you,” said the second.

“But I am the eldest,” cried a third.

Then they all became angry, beat each other with their wings, pecked
with their beaks, till one after another bounced out of the nest. There they
lay in a rage, holding their heads on one side and twinkling the eye that
looked upwards. This was their way of looking sulky. They could all fly
a little, and by practice they soon learnt to do so much better. At length
they agreed upon a sign by which they might be able to recognise each
other, in case they should meet in the world after they had separated. This
sign was to be the cry of “tweet, tweet,” and a scratching on the ground
three times with the left foot. The youngster, who was left behind in the
nest, spread himself out as broad as ever he could, he was the householder
now. But his glory did not last long ; for during that night red flames of
fire burst through the windows of the cottage, they seized the thatched roof
and blazed up frightfully; the whole house was burned down and the



38 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



sparrow perished with it, while the young couple fortunately escaped with
their lives. When the sun rose again, and all nature looked refreshed as
after a quiet sleep, nothing remained of the cottage but a few blackened
charred beams, leaning against the chimney that now was the only master
of the place. Thick smoke still rose from the ruins, but outside on the
wall the rose-bush still remained unhurt, blooming and fresh as ever, while
each flower and each spray was mirrored in the clear water beneath.

“How beautifully the roses are blooming on the walls of that ruined
cottage,” said a passer-by. “A more lovely picture could scarcely be ima-
gined. I must have it.”

And the speaker took out of his pocket a little book, full of white leaves
of paper, for he was an artist, and with a pencil he took a sketch of the
smoking ruins, the blackened rafters, and the chimney that overhung them,
and which seemed more and more to totter ; and quite in the foreground
stood the large, blooming rose-bush, which added beauty to the picture,
and indeed, for the sake of the roses the sketch had been made. Later in
the day two of the sparrows who had been born there, came by.

‘Where is the house?” they asked. ‘Where is the nest? ‘tweet, tweet,’
all is burnt down, and our strong brother with it. That is all that he has
got by keeping the nest. The roses have escaped famously; they look as
well as ever, with their rosy cheeks: they do nct trouble themselves about
their neighbour’s misfortunes. I won’t speak to them: and really, in my
opinion, the place looks very ugly ;” so he flew away.

On a fine, bright sunny day in autumn, so bright that any one might
have supposed it was still the middle of summer, a number of pigeons were
hopping about in the nicely kept courtyard of the nobleman’s house, in
front of the great steps. Some were black, others white, and some of
various colours, and their plumage glittered in the sunshine. An old mother
pigeon said to her young ones, “Place yourselves in groups! place yourselves
in groups! it has a rauch better appearance.”

“ What are those little grey creatures which are running about behind
us?” asked an old pigeon, with red and green round her eyes. “ Little
grey ones, little grey ones,” she cried.

“ They are sparrows ; good little creatures enough. We have always had
the character of being very good-natured, so we allow them to pick up some
corn with us; and they do not interrupt our conversation, and they draw
back their left foot so prettily.”

Sure enough so they did, three times each, and with the left foot too, and
said “‘ tweet,” by which we recognise them as the sparrows that were brought
up in the nest on.the house that was burnt down.

“The food here is very good,” said the sparrows; while the pigeons
strutted round each other, puffed out their throats, and formed their own
opinions on what they observed.

“Do you see the pouter pigeon?” said one of another. “Do you see
how he swallows the peas? He takes too much, and always chooses the
best of everything. Coo-00, coo-oo. How the ugly, spiteful creature erects
his crest.” And all their eyes sparkled with malice. “ Place yourselves in



THE ROSES AND THE SPARROWS, 39



groups, place yourselves in groups. Little grey coats; little grey coats,
Coo-c0, Co0-00.”

So they went on, and it will be the same a thousand years hence. The
sparrows feasted bravely, and listened attentively ; they even stood in ranks
like the pigeons, but it did not suit them. So having satisfied their hunger,
they left the pigeons passing their own opinions upon them to each other,
and then slipped through the garden railings. The door of a room in the
house leading into the garden stood open, and one of them feeling brave
after his good dinner, hopped upon the threshold, crying, “Tweet; I can
venture so far.”

“Tweet,” said another ; “I can venture that and a great deal more,” and
into the room he hopped.

The first followed, and seeing no one there, the third became courageous,
and flew right across the room, saying, “‘ Venture everything, or do not
venture at all. This is a wonderful place, a man’s nest I suppose, and,
look !—what can this be?”

Just in front of the sparrows stood the ruins of the burnt cottage; roses
were blooming over it, and their reflection appeared in the water beneath,
and the black, charred beams rested against the tottering chimney. How
could it be? How came the cottage and the roses in a room in the noble-
man’s house? And then the sparrows tried to fly over the roses and the
chimney, but they only struck themselves against a flat wall. It was a
picture,—-a large beautiful picture, which the artist had painted from the
little sketch he had taken.

“Tweet,” said the sparrows, “it is really nothing after all; it only looks
like reality. Tweet, I suppose that is eke deautsfud. Can you understand
it? I cannot.”

Then some persons entered the room, and the sparrows flew away.
Years and years passed; the pigeons had often “coo-oo-d,” we must not
say quarrelled, though perhaps they did, naughty things. The sparrows
had sufferred from cold in the winter, and lived gloriously in summer. They
were all betrothed, or married, or whatever you like to callit. They had
little ones, and of course each considered his own brood the wisest and the
prettiest. One flew in this direction, and another in that, and when they
met, they recognised each other by saying “tweet,” and three times drawing
back the left foot. The eldest remained single, she had no nest, nor young
ones; her great wish was to see a large town, so she flew to Copenhagen.
Near to the castle that stood by the channel could be seen a large house,
which was richly decorated with various colours. Down the channel sailed
many ships, laden with apples and earthenware. The windows were broader
below than at the top, and when the sparrows peeped through, they saw a
room that looked to them like a tulip, with beautiful colours of every shade.
Within the tulip were white figures of human beings, made of marble, some
few of plaster, but this is the same thing to a sparrow. Upon the roof
stood a metal chariot and horses ; and the goddess of victory, also of metal,
was seated in the chariot driving the horses. It was Thorwalsden’s
Museum. “How it shines and giitters,” said the maiden sparrow, “this



40 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



must be the beautiful—tweet—only this is larger than a peacock.” She re-
membered what her mother had told them in her childhood, that the pea-
cock was one of the greatest examples of the beautiful. She flew down into
the courtyard, where everything also was very grand. The walls were painted
to represent palm branches, and in the midst of the court stood a large,
blooming rose tree, spreading its young, sweet, rose-covered branches over
agrave. Thither the maiden sparrow flew, for she saw many others of ©
her own kind.

“Tweet,” said she, drawing back her foot three times. She had, during
the years that had passed, often made the usual greeting to the sparrows
she met, but without receiving any acknowledgment, for friends who are
once separated do not meet every day. This manner of greeting was
becoming a habit to her, and to-day two old sparrows and a young one re-
turned the greeting,

“ Tweet,” they replied, and drew back the left foot three times. They
were two old sparrows out of the nest, and a young one belonging to the
family. “Ah, good-day; howdo youdo? ‘To think of our meeting here!
This is a very grand place, but there is not much to eat; this is the deauti-
ful. Tweet.”

A great many people now came out of the side rooms, in which the
marble statues stood, and approached the grave where slept the remains of
the great master who had carved these marble statues. Each face had a
reflected glory as they stood round Thorwalsden’s grave, and some few
gathered up the fallen rose-leaves to preserve them. They had all come
from afar. One from mighty England, others from Germany and France.
One very handsome lady plucked a rose, and concealed it .in her bosom.
Then the sparrows thought that the roses ruled in this place, and that the
whole house had been built for them, which seemed really too much
honour; but as all the people showed their love for the roses, the sparrows
thought they would not remain behind-hand in paying their respects.
“Tweet,” they said, and swept the ground with their tails, and glanced with
one eye at the roses. They had not looked at them very long, however,
before they felt convinced that they were old acquaintances, and so they
actually were. The artist who had sketched the rose-bush and the ruins of
the cottage, had since then received permission to transplant it, and had
given it to the architect, for more beautiful roses had never been seen.
The architect had planted it on the grave of Thorwalsden, where it con-
tinued to bloom, the image of the beautiful, scattering its fragrant rosy
leaves to be gathered and carried away into distant lands in memory of the
spot on which they fell.

“ Have you obtained a situation in town?” then asked the sparrows of
the roses.

The roses nodded; they recognised their little brown neighbours, and
were rejoiced to see them again.

“Tt is very delightful,” said the roses, “to live here and to blossom, to
meet old friends, and to see cheerful faces every day. It is as if each day
were a holiday.”



LITTLE TUK. , 4t



“Tweet,” said the sparrows to each other. “Yes, these really are our
old neighbours. We remember their origin near the pond. Tweet; how
they have risen, to be sure. Some people seem to get on while they are
asleep. Ah! there’s a withered leaf, I can see it quite plain.”

And they pecked at the leaf till it fell, But the rose-bush continued
fresher and greener than ever. The roses bloomed in the sunshine on
Thorwalsden’s grave, and thus became linked with his immortal name.

LITTLE TUK.

Yes, they called him Little Tuk, but it was not his real name; he had
called himself so before he could speak plainly, and he meant it for
Charles. It was all very well for those who knew him, but not for
strangers.

Little Tuk was left at home to take care of his little sister, Gustava, who
was much younger than himself, and he had to learn his lessons at the
same time, and the two things could not very well be performed together.
The poor boy sat there with his sister on his lap, and sung to her all the
songs he knew, and now and then he looked into his geography lesson that
lay open before him. By the next morning he had to learn by heart all the
towns in Zealand, and all that could be described of them.

His mother came home at last, and took Gustava in her arms. Then
Tuk ran to the window, and read so eargerly that he nearly read his eyes
out; for it became darker and darker every minute, and his mother had ne
money to buy a light.

“There goes the old washerwoman up the lane,” said the mother, as she
looked out of the window; “the poor woman can hardly drag herself
along, and now she has to drag a pail of water from the well. Be a good
boy, Tuk, and run across and help the old woman, won’t you P” ;

So Tuk ran across quickly, and helped her, but when he came back into
the room it was quite dark, and there was not a word said about a light, so
he was obliged to go to bed on his little truckle bedstead, and there he lay
and thought of his geography lesson, and of Zealand, and of all the master
had told him. He ought really to have read it over again, but he could not
for want of a light. So he put the geography book under his pillow, for he
had heard that this was a great help towards learning a lesson, but not
always to be depended upon. He still lay thinking and thinking, when all
at once it seemed as if some one kissed him on his eyes and mouth. He slept



42 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.





and yet he did not sleep; and it appeared as if the old washerwoman
looked at him with kind eyes, and said, “It would be a great pity if
you did not know your lesson to-morrow morning; you helped me, and
new I will help you, and Providence will always help those who help them-
selves ;" and at the same time the book under Tuk’s pillow began to move
about. “Clock, cluck, cluck,” cried a hen as she crept towards him. “TI
arm a hen from Kjdge,”* and then she told him how many inhabitants the
town contained, and about a battle that had been fought there, which really
was not worth speaking of

“Crack, crack,” down fell something. It was a wooden bird, the parrot
which is used as a target at Prdéstde.t He said there were as many inhabi-
tants in that town as he had nails in his body. He was very proud, and
said, “ Thorwalsden lived close to me,{ and here I am now, quite comfort-
able.” eS

But now little Tuk was no longer in bed; all in a moment he found him-
self on horseback. Gallop, gallop, away he went, seated in front of a
richly-atiired kmight, with a waving plume, who held him on the saddle,
amd so they rede through the wood by the old town of Wordingburg,
which was very large and busy. The king's castle was surrounded by lofty
towers, and radiant light streamed from all the windows. Within there
were songs and dancing; King Waldemar and the young gaily-dressed
ladies of the court were dancing together. Morning dawned, and as the
sum rose, the whole city and the king’s castle sank suddenly down together.

Ome tower after another fell, till at last only one remained standing on
the hill where the castle had formerly been.§

The town now appeared srnall and poor, and the school-boys read in
their books, which they carried under their arms, that it contained two
thousand inhabitants ; but this was a mere boast, for it did not contain so

And again lithe Tuk lay in his bed, scarcely knowing whether he was
dreaming or not, for some one stood by him.

* Tuk! little Tuk!” said a voice. It was a very little person who spoke.
He was dressed as a sailor, and looked small enough to be a middy, but he
wasnotone. “I bring you many greetings from Corsdr|| It is a rising
town, full of life. It has steamships and mail-coaches. In times past they
used to call it ugly, but that is no longer true. I lie on the sea-shore,”



© Hjege, a little town on Kjége Bay. Lifting up children by placing the hands on each
side of their heads, is called ‘‘showing them Kjoge hens.”
+ Prastie, a still smaller town.

} About a hundred paces from Prastde lies the estate of Nyste, where Thorwalsden
csided while in Denmark, and where he executed many memorable works.
dingburg under King Waldemar was a place of great importance; now it is a very
ificant town: only a lonely tower and the remains of a well show where the castle

once stood,

|| Corsi, on the Great Belt, used to be called the most tiresome town in Denmark
before the establishment of steamers. Travellers had to wait for a favourable wind. The
title of “tiresome” was ingeniously added to the Danish escutcheon by a witticism of
Vaudeville Heibergs, The poet Baggesen was born here,






LITTLE TUK, 43



said Corsér; “I have high-roads and pleasure-gardens ; I have given birth
to a poet who was witty and entertaining, which they are not all. 1 once
wanted to fit out a ship to sail round the world, but I did not accomplish
it, though most likely I might have done so. But I am fragrant with per-
fume, for close to my gates most lovely roses bloom.”

Then before the eyes of little Tuk appeared a confusion of colours, red
and green; but it cleared off, and he could distinguish a cliff close to the
bay, the slopes of which were quite overgrown with verdure, and on its
summit stood a fine old church with pointed towers. Springs of water
flowed out of the cliff in thick waterspouts, so that there was a continual
splashing. Close by sat an old king with a golden crown on his white head.
This was King Hroar of the Springs,* and near the springs stood the town
of Roeskilde, as it is called. Then all the kings and queens of Denmark
went up the ascent to the old church hand in hand, with golden crowns on
their heads, while the organ played and the fountains sent forth jets of
water,

- Little Tuk saw and heard it all. “Don’t forget the names of these
towns,” said King Hroar.

- All at once everything vanished; but where! It seemed to him like
turing over the leaves of a book. And now there stood before him an
old peasant woman, who had come from Sorde,t where the grass grows in
the market-place. She had a green linen apron thrown over her head and
shoulders, and it was quite wet, as if it had been raining heavily. “ Yes,
that is has,” said she, and then, just as she was going to tell him a great many
pretty stories from Holberg’s comedies, and about Waldemar and Absalom,
she suddenly shrunk up together, and wagged her head as if she were a
frog about to spring. ‘Croak,” she cried; “it is always wet, and as quiet
as death in Sorée.” Then lttle Tuk saw she was changed into a frog.
“ Croak,” and again she was an old woman. “One must dress according
to the weather,” said she. “It is wet, and my town is just like a bottle.
By the cork we must go in, and by the cork we must come out again. In
olden times I had beautiful fish, and now I have fresh, rosy-cheeked
boys in the bottom of the bottle, and they learn wisdom, Hebrew and
Greek.”

* Croak.” How it sounded like the cry of the frogs on the moor, or
like the creaking of great boots when some one is marching,—always the
same tone, so monotonous and wearing, that little Tuk at length fell fast
asleep, and then the sound could not annoy him. But even in this sleep
came a dream, or something like it. His little sister Gustava, with her
blue eyes, and fair curly hair, had grown up a beautiful maiden all at once,



* Roeskilde (from Roesquelle, rose-spring, falsely called Rothschild), once the capital
of Denmark. The town took its name from King Hroar, and from the numerous springs
in the neighbourhood. In its beautiful cathedral most of the kings and queens of Den-
mark are buried. In Roeskilde the Danish States used to assemble.

+ Sorée, a very quiet little town ina beautiful situation, surrounded by forests and lakes.
Holberg, the Moliére of Denmark, founded a noble academy here. The poets Hanck and
Jugeman were professors here. Letztern lives there still. :



44 HIANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



and without having wings she could fly. And they flew together over
Zealand, over green forests and blue lakes.

“Fark, do you hear the cock crow, little Tuk. ‘ Cock-a-doodle-doo.’
The fowls are flying out of Kjége. You shall have a large farm-yard. You
shall never suffer hunger or want. The bird of good omen shall be yours,
and you shall become a rich and happy man; your house shall rise up like
King Waldemar’s towers, and shall be richly adorned with marble statues,
like those at Prastée. Understand me well; your name shall travel with
fame round the world like the ship that was to sail from Corsdr, and at
Roeskilde,—Don’t forget the names of the towns, as King Hroar said,—
you shall speak well and clearly little Tuk, and when at last you lie in your
grave you shall sleep peacefully, as”

“As if I lay in Soroe,” said little Tuk awaking. It was bright daylight,
‘and he could not remember his dream, but that was not necessary, for we
are not to know what will happen to us in the future. Then he sprang out.
of bed quickly, and read over his lesson in the book, and knew it all at
once quite correctly. The old washerwoman put her head in at the door,
and nodded to him quite kindly, and said, “Many thanks, you good child,
for your help yesterday. I hope all your beautiful dreams will come
true.”

Little Tuk did not at all know what he had dreamt, but One above
did.





GRANDMOTHER.

GRANDMOTHER is very old, her face is wrinkled, and her hair is quite
white; but her eyes are like’ two stars, and they have a mild, gentle ex-
pression in them when they look at you, which does you good, She wears
a dress of heavy, rich silk, with large flowers worked on it; and it rustles
when she moves. And then she can tell the most wonderful stories.
Grandmother knows a great deal, for she was alive before father and
mother—that’s quite certain. She has a hymn-book, with large silver clasps,
in whith she often reads ; and in the book, between the leaves, lies a rose,
quite flat and dry ; it is not so pretty as the roses which are standing i in the
glass, and yet she smiles at it most pleasantly, and tears even come into her
eyes. “ I wonder why grandmother looks at the withered flower in the old
book in that way? Do you know?” Why, when grandmother’s tears fall upon
the rose, and she is looking at it, the rose revives, and fills the room with its



GRANDMOTHER. 4s
fragrance; the walls vanish as in a mist, and all around her is the glorious
green wood, where in summer the sunlight streams through thick foliage ;
and grandmother, why she is young again, a charming maiden, fresh as a
rose, with round, rosy cheeks, fair, bright, ringlets, and a figure pretty and
graceful ; but the eyes, those mild, saintly eyes, are the same,—they have
been left to grandmother. At her side sits a young man, tall and strong ;
he gives her a rose and she smiles. Grandmother cannot smile like that













GRANDMOTHER IN HER CHAIR.

now. Yes, she is smiling at the memory of that day, and many thoughts
and recollections of the past; but the handsome young man is gone, and
the rose has withered in the old book; and grandmother is sitting there,
again an old woman, looking down upon the withered rose in the book.
Grandmother is dead now. She had been sitting in her arm-chair, telling
us a long, beautiful tale ; and when it was finished, she said she was tired,
and leaned her head back to sleep awhile. We could hear her gentle
breathing as she slept ; gradually it became quieter and calmer, and on her
countenance beamed happiness and peace. It was as if lighted up with a
ray of sunshine. Shesmiled once more, and then people said she was dead.
She was laid in a black coffin, looking mild and beautiful in the white folds



46 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



of the shrouded linen, though her eyes were closed ; but every wrinkle had
vanished, her hair looked white and silvery, and around her mouth lingered
a sweet smile. We did not feel at all afraid to look at the corpse of her
who had been such a dear, good grandmother. The hymn-book, in which
the rose still lay, was placed under her head, for so she had wished it; and
then they buried grandmother.

On the grave, close by the churchyard wall, they planted a rose-tree ; it
was soon full of roses, and the nightingale sat among the flowers, and sang
over the grave. From the organ in the church sounded the music and the
words of the beautiful psalms, which were written in the old book under the
head of the dead one.

The moon shone down upon the grave, but the dead was not there; every
child could go safely, even at night, and pluck a rose from the tree by the
churchyard wall. The dead know more than we do who are living. They
know what a terror would come upon us if such a strange thing were to
happen, as the appearance of a dead person among us. They are better off
than we are; the dead return no more. The earth has been heaped on the
coffin, and it is earth only that lies within it, The leaves of the hymn-book
are dust; and the rose, with all its recollections, has crumbled to dust also.
But over the grave fresh roses bloom, the nightingale sings, and the organ
sounds; and there still lives a remembrance of the old grandmother, with
the loving, gentle eyes that always looked young. Eyes cam never die. Ours
will once again behold dear grandmother, young and beautiful as when, for
the first time, she kissed the fresh, red rose, that is now dust in the grave.



THE OLD GRAVE-STONE.

In a house, with a large courtyard, in a provincial town, at that time of
the year in which people say the evenings are growing longer, a family circle
were gathered together at their old home. A lamp burned on the table,
although the weather was mild and warm, and the long curtains hung down
before the open windows, and without the moon shone brightly in the dark-
blue sky.

But they were not talking of the moon, but of a large, old stone that lay
below in the courtyard not very far from the kitchen door. The maids often
laid the clean copper saucepans and kitchen vessels on this stone, that they
might dry in the sun, and the children were fond of playing on it. It was,
in fact, an old grave-stone.



TRE OLD GRAVE-STONE. 47



“Ves,” said the master of the house, “I believe the stone came from the
graveyard of the old church of the convent which was pulled down, and
the pulpit, the monuments, and the grave-stones sold. My father bought
the latter; most of them were cut in two and used for paving-stones, but
that one stone was preserved whole, and laid in the courtyard.”

“ Any one can see that it isa grave-stone,” said the eldest of the children;
“the representation of an hour-glass and part of the figure of an angel can
still be traced, but the inscription beneath is quite worn out, excepting the
name ‘Preben, and a large ‘S’ close by it, and a little farther down the
‘name of ‘Martha’ can be easily read. But nothing more, and even that
cannot be seen unless it has been raining, or when we have washed the
stone.”

“Dear me! how singular. Why that must be the grave-stone of Preben
Schwane and his wife.”

The old man who said this looked old enough to be the grandfather of
all present in the room.

“Yes,” he continued, “these people were among the last who were buried
in the churchyard of the old convent. They were a very worthy old couple,
I can remember them well in the days of my boyhood. Every one knew
them, and they were esteemed by all. They were the oldest residents in
the town, and people said they possessed a ton of gold, yet they were
always very plainly dressed, in the coarsest stuff, but with linen of the purest
whiteness. Preben and Martha were a fine old couple, and when they both
sat on the bench, at the top of the steep stone steps, in front of their house,
with the branches of the linden-tree waving above them, and nodded in a
gentle, friendly way to passers by, it really made one feel quite happy.
They were very good to the poor; they fed them and clothed them, and in
their benevolence there was judgment as well as true Christianity. The old
woman died first; that day is still quite vividly before my eyes. Iwasa
lttle boy, and had accompanied my father to the old man’s house. Martha
had fallen into the sleep of death just as we arrived there. The corpse lay
in a bedroom, near to the one in which we sat, and the old man was in
great distress, and weeping like a child. He spoke to my father, andtsa
few neighbours who were there, of how lonely he should feel now she was
gone, and how good and true she, his dead wife, had been during the num-
ber of years that they had passed through life together, and how they had
become acquainted, and learnt to love each other. I was, as I have said,
a boy, and only stood by and listened to what the others said; but it filled
me with a strange emotion to listen to the old man, and to watch how the
colour rose in his cheeks as he spoke of the days of their courtship, of how
beautiful she was, and how many little tricks he had been guilty of, that he
might meet her. And then he talked of his wedding-day; and his eyes
brightened, and he seemed to be carried back, by his words, to that joyful
time. And yet there she was, lying in the next room, dead—an old woman,
and he was an old man, speaking of the days of hope, long passed away.
Ah, well, so it is; then I was but a child, and now I am old, as old as Preben
Schwane then was. Time passes away, and all things change. I can re-





48 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



member quite well the day on which she was buried, and how Old Preben
walked close behind the coffin.

“ A few years before this time the old couple had had their grave-stone
prepared, with an inscription and their names, but not the date. In the
















/ WON see fede @ a LS
TAMMIE (LE SCE

OLD PREBEN AND HIS WIFE.

evening the stone was taken to the churchyard, and laid on the grave. A
year later it was taken up, that Old Preben might be laid by the side of his
wife. They did not leave behind them wealth, they left behind them far
‘less than people had believed they possessed; what there was went to
families distantly related to them, of whom, till then, no one had ever heard.
The old house, with its balcony of wickerwork, and the bench at the top of



THE OLD GRAVE-STONE. 4D



the high steps, under the lime-tree, was considered, by the road-inspectors,
too old and rotten to be left standing. Afterwards, when the same fate
befel the convent church, and the graveyard was destroyed, the grave-stone
of Preben and Martha, like everything else, was sold to whoever would buy
it. And so it happened that this stone was not cut in two as many others
had been, but now lies in the courtyard below, a scouring block for the
maids, and a playground for the children, The paved street now passes
over the resting-place of Old Preben and his wife; no one thinks of them
any more now.”

And the old man who had spoken of all this shook his head mournfully,
and said, “Forgotten! Ah, yes, everything will be forgotten!” And then
the conversation turned on other matters.

But the youngest child in the room, a boy, with large, earnest eyes,
mounted upon a chair behind the window curtains, and looked out into the
yard, where the moon was pouring a flood of light on the old grave-stone,—
the stone that had always appeared to him so dull and flat, but which lay
there now like a green leaf out of a book of history.. All that the boy had
heard of Old Preben and his wife seemed clearly defined on the stone, and
as he gazed on it, and glanced at the clear, bright moon shining in the
pure air, it was as if the light of God’s countenance beamed over His
beautiful world.

“Forgotten! Everything will be forgotten!” still echoed through the
room, and in the same moment an invisible spirit whispered to the heart of
the boy, “ Preserve carefully the seed that has been entrusted to thee, that
it may grow and thrive. Guard it well, Through thee, my child, shall the
obliterated inscription on the oid, weather-beaten grave-stone go forth to
future generations in clear golden characters. The old pair shall again
wander through the streets arm-in-arm, or sit with their fresh, healthy cheeks
on the bench under the lime-tree, and smile and nod at rich and poor. The
seed of this hour shall ripen in the course of years into a beautiful poem,
The beautiful and the good are never forgotten, they live always in story or
in song.”







THE BELL-DEEP.

“Ding dong, ding dong,” how the sound rises up from the Bell-deep, in
the little river by the Odense on the island of Funen. “ Do you call the
Au ariver?” “Yes; every child in the town knows the Au, which streams
round the gardens, and flows under the wooden bridges, and turns the
watermill wheel.”

In this river grow yellow water-lilies and brown feathery reeds, the velvet
leaves of the flag droop over the stream, tall and thickly, near the monastery
meadow, and where the linen is washed and bleached by rubbing and
dipping.

But on the slopes of the town are gardens upon gardens, some of them
filled with all sorts of pretty flowers and shrubs, forming tiny bowers and
pleasure-grounds, while others have only cabbage and vegetables.

Sometimes these gardens cannot be seen at all from a distance, for the
large elder trees that grow near them spread out their branches and hang
over the flowing waters, which here are so deep that even an oar cannot
touch the bottonn.

Opposite the old nunnery is the deepest spot, and there dwells what is
called the “ Bell-deep,” and people say it is a “Water Spirit,” who sleeps
the whole day while the sun shines on the water; but when night comes,
and the moon shines, or the stars twinkle, his deep voice is heard.

He is very old; grandmamma says she has heard her own grandmother
speak of him. He dwells there mostly alone, although in years gone by he
had a friend in the old church bell, which then hung in the tower; but the
old church and the bell, even the tower itself, are gone now, and no traces
of where the building once stood can be found. It was named the Church
of the Holy St. Albans.

“ Ding dong, ding dong,” said the bell one evening, while the church and
the tower were still standing ; and while the sun was setting, and the bell
swinging, it suddenly broke loose and came flying down through the air,
the brilkant metal glistening in the rays of the setting sun. “Ding dong,



THE BELL-DEEP. ; SI



ding dong,” said the bell, “now I can have a long sleep,” as he went
plump into the river at its deepest part, which on that account is called the
“ Bell-deep.”

But there was neither sleep nor rest for the bell. It is still heard by the
watermen, ringing and sounding at all hours, and the tones sometimes come
up through the water. When they do, men say it is a sign that someone
is going to die; but that is a mistake. It is only the bell talking to the
water-sprite, so that now he is not alone.

“And what is the bell talking about?” Why he is as old as Methuselah.
Long, long before grandmamma was born he was there, and yet the bell
is a young thing compared to the water sprite, who is quite an old man.
Yet he has a strange appearance with his stockings made of the skins
of eels, his seal-skin coat with yellow lilies for buttons, a wreath of reeds in
his hair, and seaweed twisted in his beard. How funny he looks we need
not say. :

“What else does the bell say?” Why it would take years and years to
repeat all the stories the bell can tell. Sometimes they are short and
at other times long, just as it suits him; but they are all about old days
and dark days, and hard times.

One of his stories was about St. Alban’s church, when the patron saint
was a monk, and once mounted up into the tower where the bell hung. He
was young and handsome then, and uncommonly thoughtful. The bed of
the river was at that time very broad, and the monastery meadow still
alake. He could see it all through a loop-hole of the tower, but presently
he went and looked at the prospect from the green wall, which people called
the Nuns’-hill. It was near the convent, in which there was not a single
light burning excepting from the cell of a nun with whom he had been
a long time acquainted, and at the thought of her his heart beat rapidly—
“Ding dong, ding dong.”

“Vou must wait,” said the bell. Then the half-witted man-servant of the
bishop came up into the tower, and new the bell must tell his own tale: —

“Tam made of metal,” said the bell, “and as I swung to and fro I might
have beaten out his brains. ‘The man seated himself right under me, and
began playing with two sticks, as if they were musical instruments, and sung
to the Imaginary music.

“Now I may ring out sounds which at another time I could not even
whisper,” said the bell. “I can tell of things that are locked up behind
bolts and bars. The rats are eating fer up alive! No one knows of it.
No one hears of it. Not even while the bell is booming and ringing ‘Ding
dong, ding dong,’

“Tn those days there lived a king whom they called Canute. He bowed
low before a bishop and a monk, but when he imposed heavy taxes on the
peasants and gave them hard words, they seized their weapons and hunted
him like a wild deer. He sought refuge in the church, and closed the doors
behind him, but the enraged peasants surrounded the church, and there he
had to stay. ‘I was there,’ said the bell, ‘and I heard it all”

“ The crows, the ravens, and the rnagpies flew about in terror when they

4%



52 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



heard the yelling and shouting outside. They flew into the tower, and out
again when they saw the crowd below, and glared into the church windows,
making the most hideous cries and caws.

“ King Canute was kneeling and praying before the altar, His brothers,
Eric and Benedict stood by him with drawn swords, but the King’s servant,
the false-hearted Blake, betrayed his master. He showed the wild crowd
outside, the window through which a stone could reach his master. The
stone was aimed at the King, and in a few moments he fell dead!

“ The cries and yells of the incensed peasants and of the frightened birds
were heard by me, and I joined in the din by singing ‘Ding dong, ding
dong.’

“The church bell hangs high, and can see far and near. The language
of the birds is understood by the bell, and the wind, which knows every-
thing, roars round the tower and through the windows and loop-holes, and
gets all its knowledge from the air, and the bell understands, and rings it out
to the whole world, ‘ Ding dong, ding dong.’

“But at last,” said the bell, “the work became too heavy for me. I
could no longer ring out for the whole world to hear. ~I became so heavy
that the beam broke, and I flew out through the air to the place where the
river is deepest, and where the water sprite dwells, solitary and alone, and
year by vear I tell him all I have heard and what I know. Ding dong, ding
dong.”

All this is what my grandmother told me, but the bell’s deep tones have
a melancholy sound when they are heard from the river by Odense.

But our mother says there is zo bell in the water that can ring of itself,
and that the water sprite does not live in the water, because there is
no such thing as a water sprite, and when cther church bells sound so
sweetly, it is the air that makes them sound and not the bells alone, even
when they ring loudly.

Grancmother says the bell itself told her it was the air that made it
sound. So they are both agreed. Therefore take care and think before
you say or do anything, and be sure it is right, for the air knows everything
—lt is over Us,—it is In us,—and around us.

Jt tells of our thoughts and actions, and speaks more distinctly of them
than the bell in the depths of any river could do, for it rings out in
the vault of heaven, and will do so far and near, for ever and ever, even
after the bells of heaven are sounding “ Ding dong, ding dong.”

LDQ
SoS Be eS
6)






SOCUSEroUT:
SEU RTL





OTL





LUO O OLE





eoeaenest ye





THE BEETLE WHO WENT ON HIS TRAVELS.

THERE was once an Emperor who had a horse shod with gold. He had
a golden shoe on each foot, and why was this? He was a beautiful crea-
ture, with slender legs, bright, intelligent eyes, and a mane that hung down
over his neck likeaveil. He had carried his master through fire and smoke
in the battle field, with the bullets whistling round him; he had kicked
and bitten, and taken part in the fight when the enemy advanced; and,
with his master on his back, he had dashed over the fallen foe, and saved
the golden crown and the Emperor’s life, which was of more value than the
brightest gold. This is the reason of the Fmperor’s horse wearing golden
shoes.

A beetle came creeping forth from the stable, where the farrier had been
shoeing the horse. ‘Great ones first, of course,” said he, “and then the
little ones ; but size is not always a proof of greatness,” He stretched out
his thin leg as he spoke.

“And pray what do you want?” asked the farrier.

“Golden shoes,” replied the beetle.

“Why, you must be out of your senses,” cried the farrier. “Golden
shoes for you, indeed |”

“Yes, certainly ; golden shoes,” replied the beetle. ‘Am I not just as
good as that great creature yonder, who is waited upon and brushed, and
has food and drink placed before him? And don’t I belong to the royal
stables ?”

“But why does the horse have golden shoes?” asked the farrier ; “ of
course, you understand the reason?”

“Understand! Well, I understand that it is a personal slight to me,”
cried the beetle. ‘It is done to annoy me, so I intend to go out into the
world and seek my fortune.”

“Go along with you,” said the farrier.

“Youre a tude fellow,” cried the beetle, as he walked out of the stable;
and then he flew for a short distance, till he found himself in a beautiful



34 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.
flower-garden, all fragrant with roses and lavender. The lady-birds, with
red and black shells on their backs, and delicate wings, were flying about,
and one of them said, “Is it not sweet and lovely here? Oh, how beau-
tiful everything is!”

“J am accustomed to better things,” said the beetle. “Do you call this
beautiful? Why, there is not even a dung-heap.” Then he went on, and
under the shadow of a large haystack he found a caterpillar crawling along.
“How beautiful this world is!” said the caterpillar. “The sun is so warm,
I quite enjoy it. And soon I shall go to sleep, and die as they call it; but
I shall wake up with beautiful wings to fly with, like a butterfly.”

“ How conceited you are!” exclaimed the beetle. “ Fly about as a but-
terfly, indeed! what of that. I have come out of the Emperor’s stable, and
no one there, not even the Emperor’s horse, who in fact wears my cast-off
golden shoes, has any idea of flying, excepting myself. ‘To have wings and
fiy! why, I can do that already ;” and so saying, he spread his wings and
flew away. “I don’t want to be disgusted,” he said to himself, “and yet I
can’t help it.” Soon after, he fell down upon an extensive lawn, and fora
time pretended to sleep, but at last fell asleep in earnest. Suddenly a heavy
shower of rain came falling from the clouds. The beetle woke up with the
noise, and would have been glad to creep into the earth for shelter, but he
could not. He was tumbled over and over with the rain, sometimes swim-
ming on his stomach and sometimes on his back ; and as for flying, that was
out of the question. He began to doubt whether he should escape with his
life, so he remained, quietly lying where he was. After a while the weather
cleared up a little, and the beetle was able to rub the water from his eyes,
and look about him. He saw something gleaming, and he managed to
make his way up to it, It was linen which had been laid to bleach on the
grass. He crept into a fold of the damp linen, which certainly was not so
comfortable a place to lie in as the warm stable, but there was nothing
better, so he remained lying there for a whole day and night, and the rain
kept on all the time. Towards morning he crept out of his hiding place,
feeling in a very bad temper with the climate. Two frogs were sitting on
the linen, and their bright eyes actually glistened with pleasure.

“Wonderful weather this,” cried one of them, “and so refreshing. This
linen holds the water together so beautifully, that my hind legs quiver as if
I were going to swim.”

“*T should like to know,” said another, “if the swallow who flies so far in
her many journeys to foreign lands, ever met with a better climate than
this. What delicious moisture! It is as pleasant as lying in a wet
ditch. I am sure any one who does not enjoy this has no love for his
fatherland.

“ Have you ever been in the emperor’s stable?” asked the beetle. “There
the moisture is warm and refreshing ; that’s the climate for me, but I could
not take it with me on my travels. Is there not even a dunghill here in
this garden, where a person of rank, like myself, could take up his abode
and feel at home?” But the frogs either did not or would not under-
stand him,



THE BEETLE. BS





“T never ask a question twice,” said the beetle, after he had asked this
one three times, and received no answer. Then he went on a little farther
and stumbled against a piece of broken crockery-ware, which certainly ought
not to have been lying there. But, as it was there, it formed a good shelter
against wind and weather to several families of earwigs who dwelt in it.
Their requirements were not many; they were very sociable, and full of
affection for their children, so much so that each mother considered her
own child the most beautiful and clever of them all.

“Our son has engaged himself,” said one mother; “dear innocent boy;
his greatest ambition is that he may one day creep into a clergyman’s ear.
That is a very artless and lovable wish; and being engaged will keep him
steady. What happiness for a mother!”

“Our son,” said another, “had scarcely crept out of the egg, when he
was off on his travels. He is all life and spirits ; I expect he will wear out
his horns with running. How charming this is for a mother, is it not, Mr
Beetle?” for she knew the stranger by his horny coat.

“ You are both quite right,” said he; so they begged him to walk in, that
is to come as far as he could under the broken piece of earthenware.

“Now you shall also see my little earwigs,” said a third and a fourth
mother; “they are lovely little things, and highly amusing. They are never
ill behaved, excepting when they are uncomfortable in their insides, which
unfortunately often happens at their age.”

Thus each mother spoke of her baby, and their babies talked after their
own fashion, and made use of the little nippers they have in their tails to
nip the beard of the beetle.

“They are always busy about something, the little rogues,” said the mother,
beaming with maternal pride; but the beetle felt it a bore, and he therefore
inquired the way to the nearest dung-heap.

“ That is quite out in the great world, on the other side of the ditch,”
answered an ¢arwig. “I hope none of my children will ever go so far, it
would be the death of me.”

“But I shall try to get so far,” said the beetle, and he walked off without
taking any formal leave, which is considered a polite thing to do.

When he arrived at the ditch, he met several friends, all of them beetles,
“We live here,” they said, “and we are very comfortable. May we ask
you to step down into this rich mud; you must be fatigued after your
journey.”

“Certainly,” said the beetle, “I shall be most happy. I have been ex-
posed to the rain, and have had to lie upon linen, and cleanliness is a thing
that greatly exhausts me; I have also pains in one of my wings from stand-
ing in the draught under a piece of broken crockery. It is really quite
refreshing to be with one’s own kindred again.”

“Perhaps you came from a dung-heap,” observed the oldest of them.

“No, indeed, I came from a much grander place,” replied the beetle;
“T came from the emperor’s stable, where I was born, with golden shoes on
my feet, I am travelling on a secret embassy, but you must not ask me
any questions, for 1 cannot betray my secret.”



56 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



Then the beetle stepped down into the rich mud, where sat three young:
lady beetles, who tittered, because they did not know what to say.

“None of them are engaged yet,” said their mother, and the beetle
maidens tittered again, this time quite in confusion.

“T have never seen greater beauties, even in the royal stables,” exclaimed
the beetle, who was now resting himself.

“ Don’t spoil my girls,” said the mother; “and don’t talk to them, pray,
unless you have serious intentions.”

But of course the beetle’s intentions were serious, and after a while our
friend was engaged. The mother gave them her blessing, and all the other
beetles cried “ Hurrah !”

Immediately after the betrothal came the marriage, for there was no reason
to delay. The following day passed very pleasantly, and the next was tole-
rably comfortable; but on the third it became necessary for him to think of
getting food for his wife, and perhaps for children.

“T have allowed myself to be taken in,” said our beetle to himself, “ and
now there ’s nothing to be done but to take them in, in return.”

No sooner said than done. Away he went, and stayed away all day and
all night, and his wife remained a forsaken widow.

“Oh,” said the other beetles, “this fellow that we have received into our
family is nothing but a complete vagabond. He has gone away and left his
wife a burden upon our hands.”

“Well, she can be unmarried again, and remain here with my other
daughters,” said the mother. “Fie on the villain that forsook her!”

In the meantime the beetle, who had sailed across the ditch on a cabbage
leaf, had been journeying on the other side. In the morming two persons
came up to the ditch. When they saw him they took him up and turned
him over and over, looking very learned all: the time, especially one, who
wasaboy. “Allah sees the black beetle in the black stone, and the black
rock. Is not that written in the Koran?” he asked.

Then he translated the beetle’s name into Latin, and said a great deal
upon the creature’s nature and history. The second person, who was older
and a scholar, proposed to carry the beetle home, as they wanted just such
good specimens as this. Our beetle considered this speech a great insult,
so he flew suddenly out of the speaker’s hand. His wings were dry now,
so they carried him to a great distance, till at last he reached a hothouse,
where a sash of the glass roof was partly open, so he quietly slipped in and
buried himself in the warm earth. “It is very comfortable here,” he said
to himself, and soon after fell asleep. Then he dreamed that the emperor’s
horse was dying, and had left him his golden shoes, and also promised that
he should have two more. All this was very delightful, and when the beetle
woke up he crept forth and looked around him. What a splendid place
the hothouse was! At the back, large palm-trees were growing, and the
sunlight made the leaves look quite glossy; and beneath them what a pro-
fusion of luxuriant green, and of flowers red like flame, yellow as amber,
or white as new-fallen snow! “What a wonderful quantity of plants,” cried
the beetle; “how good they will taste when they are decayed! This isa



THE BEETLE, 57







capital store-room. ‘There must certainly be some relations of mine living
here; I will just see if I can find any one with whom I can associate. I’m
proud, certainly ; but I’m also proud of being so.” Then he prowled aboutin
the earth, and thought what a pleasant dream that was about the dying horse,
and the golden shoes he had inherited. Suddenly a hand seized the beetle,
and squeezed him, and turned him round and round. The gardener’s little
son and his playfellow had come into the hothouse, and, seeing the beetle,
wanted to have some fun with him. First, he was wrapped in a vine-leaf,
and put into a warm trousers’ pocket. He twisted and turned about with
all bis might, but he got a good squeeze from the boy’s hand, as a hint for
him to keep quiet. Then the boy went quickly towards a lake that lay at
the end of the garden. Here the beetle was put into an old broken wooden
shoe, in which a little stick had been fastened upright for a mast, and to
this mast the beetle was bound with a piece of worsted. Now he was a
sailor, and had to sail away. The lake was not very large, but to the beetle
it seemed an ocean, and he was so astonished at its size that he fell over on
his back, and kicked out his legs. Then the little ship sailed away; some-
times the current of the water seized it, but whenever it went too far from
the shore one of the boys turned up his trousers, and went in after it, and
brought it back to land. But at jast, just as it went merrily out again, the
two boys were called, and so angrily, that they hastened to obey, and ran
away as fast as they could from the pond, so that the little ship was left to
its fate. It was carried away farther and farther from the shore, till it reached
the open sea. This was a terrible prospect for the beetle, for he could not
escape in consequence of being bound to the mast. Then a fly came and
paid hima visit. ‘“ What beautiful weather,” said the fly; ‘‘I shall rest here
and sun myself. You must have a pleasant time of it.”

“You speak without knowing the facts,” replied the beetle ; “don’t you
see that I am a prisoner?”

“ Ah, but I’m not a prisoner,” remarked the fly, and away he flew.

“Well, now I know the world,” said the beetle to himself; “it’s an
abominable world; I’m the only respectable person in it. First, they refuse
me my golden shoes; then I have to lie on damp linen, and to stand ina
draught; and to crown all, they fasten a wife upon me. Then, when I have
made a step forward in the world, and found out a comfortable position,
just as I could wish it to be, one of these human boys comes and ties me up,
and leaves me to the mercy of the wild waves, while the emperor’s favourite
horse goes prancing about proudly on his golden shoes. This vexes me
more than anything. But it is useless to look for sympathy in this world.
My career has been very interesting, but what’s the use of that if nobody
knows anything about it? The world does not deserve to be made ac-
quainted with my adventures, for it ought to have given me golden shoes
when the emperor’s horse was shod, and I stretched out my feet to be shod,
too. If I had received golden shoes I should have been an ornament to
the stable; now I am lost to the stable and to the world. It is all over
with me.” :

But all was not yet over. A boat, in which were a few young girls, came



58 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



rowing up. “Look, yonder is an old wooden shoe sailing along,” said one
of the young girls,

“ And there’s a poor little creature bound fast in it,” said another.

The boat now came close to our beetle’s ship, and the young girls fished
it out of the water. One of them drew a small pair of scissors from her
pocket, and cut the worsted without hurting the beetle, and when she stepped
on shore she placed him on the grass. “There,” she said, “creep away, or
fly, if thou canst. It is a splendid thing to have thy liberty.” Away flew
the beetle, straight through the open window of a large building; there he
sank down, tired and exhausted, exactly on the mane of the emperoyr’s
favourite horse, who was standing in his stable; and the heetle found him-
self at home again. For some time he clung to the mane, that he might
recover himself. “Well,” he said, “here I am, seated on the emperor's
favourite horse,—-sitting upon him as if I were the emperor himself. But
what was it the farrier asked me? Ah, I remember now—that’s a good
thought—he asked me why the golden shoes were given to the horse. The
answer is quite clear to me, now. They were given to the horse on my
account.” And this reflection put the beetle into a good temper. The
sun’s rays also came streaming into the stable, and shone upon him, and
made the place lively and bright. ‘Travelling expands the mind very
rouch,” said the beetle. “The world is not so bad after all, if you know
how to take things as they come.”

ELDER-TREE MOTHER.

THERE was once a little boy who had taken cold by going out and getting
his feet wet. No one could think how he had managed to do so, for the
weather was quite dry. His mother undressed him and put him to bed,
and then she brought in the teapot to make him a good cup of elder-tea,
which is so warming. At the same time, the friendly old man, who lived all
alone at the top of the house, came in at the door. He had neither wife
nor child, but he was very fond of children, and knew so many fairy tales
and stories that it was a pleasure to hear him talk. “Now, if you drink
your tea,” said the mother, “very likely you will have a story in the mean-
time.”

“Yes, if 1 could think of a new one to tell,” said the old man, ‘“ But
how did the little fellow get his feet wet ?” asked he.



ELDER-TREE MOTHER. 59



* Ah,” said the mother, “that is what we cannot find out.”

“Will you tell mea story?” asked the boy.

“Yes, if you can tell me exactly how deep the gutter is in the little street
through which you go to school.”

“Just half way up to my knee,” said the boy, “that is, if I stand in the
deepest part.”

“Tt is easy to see how we got our feet wet,” said the old man. “ Well,
now I suppose I ought to tell a story, but I don’t know any more.”

“You can make up one, I know,” said the boy. “ Mother says that you
can turn everything you look at into a story, and everything, even, that you
touch.”

“ Ah, but those sort of tales and stories are worth nothing. The real
ones come of themselves; they knock at my forehead, and say, ‘ Here we
are.”

“Won't there be a knock soon?” said the boy. And his mother laughed,
while she put elder-flowers in the teapot, and poured boiling water over
them.. “Oh, do tell me a story.”

“Ves, if a story comes of itself; but tales and stories are very grand,
they only come when it pleases them. Stop,” he cried all at once, “here
we have it; look! there is a story in the teapot now.”

The little boy looked at the teapot, and saw the lid raise itself gradually,
and long branches sprouted out, even from the spout, in all directions, till
they became larger and larger, and there appeared a large elder-tree, covered
with flowers white and fresh. It spread itself even to the bed, and pushed
the curtains aside, and oh, how fragrant the blossoms smelt.. In the midst
of the tree, sat a pleasant-looking old woman, in a very strange dress. The
dress was green, like the leaves of the elder-tree, and was decorated with
large white elder-blossoms. It was not easy to tell whether the border was
made of some kind of stuff, or of real flowers.

“What is that woman’s name?” asked the boy.

“The Romans and Greeks called her a dryad,” said the old man, “but
we do not understand that name; we have a better one for her in the
quarter of the town where the sailors live. They call her Elder-flower
mother, and you must pay attention to her now, and listen while you look
at the beautiful tree.”

“Just such a large blooming tree as this stands outside in the corner of
a poor little yard ; and under this tree, one bright sunny afternoon sat two
old people, a sailor and his wife. They had great-grandchildren, and would
soon celebrate the golden wedding, which is the fiftieth anniversary of the
wedding-day in many continental countries, and the Elder-mother sat in the
tree and looked as pleased as she does now. ‘I know when the golden
wedding is to be,’ said she, but they did not hear her, they were talking of
olden times. ‘Do you remember,’ said the old sailor, ‘when we were quite
little, and used to run about and play in the very same yard where we are
now sitting, and how we planted little twigs in one corner, and made a
garden?’ ‘Yes,’ said the old women, ‘I remember it quite well, and how
we watered the twigs, and one of them was a sprig of elder that took root,



60 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRV TALES.



and put forth green shoots, until it became in time the great tree under
which we old people are now seated.’ ‘To be sure, he replied; ‘ and in
that corner yonder, stands the water-butt in which I ‘used to swim my boat
that I had cut out all myself, and it sailed well, too; but since then I have
learnt a very different kind of sailing” ‘Yes, ‘but before that, we went to
school,’ said she, and then we were prepared for confirmation,—how we
both cried on that day! but in the afternoon we went, hand in hand, up to
the round tower, and saw the view over Copenhagen, and across the water ;

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THE OLD MAN TELLING HIS STORY,

then we went to Fredericksburg, where the king and queen were sailing in
their beautiful boat on the river.’ ‘But I had to sail on a very different
voyage elsewhere, and be away from home for years on long voyages,’ said
the old sailor, ‘Ah yes, and I used to cry about you,’ said she ‘for I thought
you must be dead, and lying drowned at the bottom of the sea, with the
waves Sweeping over you. And many a time have I got up in the night to
see if the weathercock had turned ; it turned often enough, but you came
not. How well I remember one day, the ram pouring down from the skies,



ELDER-TREE MOTHER. 61



and the man came to the house where I was in service, to fetch away the
dust. I went down to him with the dust box, and stood for a moment at
the door,—what shocking weather it was!—-and while I stood there, the
postman came up and brought me a letter from you. How that letter had
travelled about! I tore it open and read it. I laughed and wept at the
same time, I was so happy. It said that you were in warm countries, where
the coffee berries grew, and what a beautiful country it was, and described
many other wonderful things; and so I stood reading by the dust-bin, with
the rain pouring down, when, all at once, somebody came, and clasped me
round the waist.’ ‘Yes; and you gave him such a box on the ears, that
they tingled, said the old man. ‘I did not know that it was you,’ she
replied, ‘but you had arrived as quickly as your letter, and you looked so
handsome, and, indeed, so you are still. You had a large yellow silk hand-
kerchief in your pocket, and a shiny hat on your head. You looked quite
fine. And, all the time, what weather it was! and how dismal the street
looked!’ ‘And then do you remember,’ said he, ‘when we were married,
and our first boy came, and then Marie, and Niels, and Peter, and Hans
Christian?’ ‘Indeed I do,’ she replied; ‘and they are all grown up respect-
able men and women, whom every one likes,” ‘And now their children
have little ones,’ said the old sailor. ‘There are great-grandchildren for us,
strong and healthy too.’ ‘Was it not about this time of the year that we
were married?’ ‘Yes; and to-day is the golden wedding-day,’ said the
Elder-tree mother, popping her head out just between the two old people;
and they thought it was a neighbour nodding to them. Then they looked
at each other, and clasped their hands together. Presently came their
children and grandchildren, who knew very well that it was the golden
wedding-day. They had already wished them joy on that very morning ;
but the old people had forgotten it, although they remembered so well all
that had happened many years before. And the elder-tree smelt sweetly,
and the setting sun shone upon the faces of the old people till they looked
quite ruddy ; and the youngest of their grandchildren danced round them
joyfully, and said they were going to have a feast in the evening, and there
were to be hot potatoes. Then the Elder-mother nodded in the tree, and
cried ‘ Hurrah,’ with all the rest.”

“ But that is not a story,” said the little boy, who had been listening.

“Not till you understand it,” said the old man; “but let us ask the
Elder-mother to explain it.”

“Tt was not exactly a story,” said the Elder-mother; “but the story is
coming now, and it is a true one, For out of truth grow the most wonder-
ful stories, just as my beautiful elder-bush has sprung out of the tea-pot.”
And then she took the little boy out of bed, and laid him on her bosom ;
and the blooming branches of elder closed over them, so that they sat as it
were in a leafy bower; and the bower flew with them through the air in the
most delightful manner. Then the Elder-mother all at once changed to a
beautiful young maiden; but her dress was still of the same green stuff,
ornamented with a border of white elder-blossoms, such as the Elder-mother
had worn, In her bosom she wore a real elder-flower, and a wreath of the



62 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



same was entwined in her golden ringlets. Her large blue eyes were very
beautiful to look at. She was the same age as the boy; and they kissed
each other, and felt very happy. They left the arbour together, hand in
hand, and found themselves in a beautiful flower-garden, which belonged
to their home. On the green lawn their father’s stick was tied up. There
was life in this stick for the little ones; for no sooner did they place them-
selves upon it than the white knob changed into a pretty neighing head,
with a black flowing mane, and four long slim legs sprung forth. The crea-
ture was strong and spirited, and galloped with them round the grass-plot.
“Hurrah! now we will ride many miles away,” said the boy; “we'll ride
to the nobleman’s estate, where we went last year.” Then they rode round
the grass-plot again; and the little maiden, who, we know, was Elder-tree
mother, kept crying out, “ Now we are in the country. Do you see the
farmhouse, with a great baking-oven, which sticks out from the wall by the
roadside like a gigantic egg? There is an elder spreading its branches over
it, and a cock is marching about, and scratching for the chickens. See
how he struts! Now we are near the church. There it stands on the hill,
shaded by the great oak-trees, one of which is half dead. See, here we
are at the blacksmith’s forge. How the fire burns! And the halt-clad
men are striking the hot iron with the hammer, so that the sparks fly about.
Now then, away to the nobleman’s beautiful estate.” And the boy saw all
that the little girl spoke of as she sat behind him on the stick; for it passed
before him, although they were only galloping round the grass-plot. Then
they played together in a side-walk, and raked up the earth, to make a little
garden. Then she took elder-flowers out of her hair, and planted them ;
and they grew just like those which he had heard the old people talking
about, and which they had planted in their young days. They walked
about hand-in-hand, too, just as the old people had done when they were
children; but they did not go up the round tower, nor to Fredericksburg
garden. No; but the little girl seized the boy round the waist, and they rode
all over the whole country,—sometimes it was spring, then summer, then
autumn, and winter followed,—while thousands of images were presented
to the boy’s eyes and heart, and the little girl constantly sung to him, “You
must never forget all this.” And, through their whole flight, the elder-tree
sent forth the sweetest fragrance.

They passed roses and fresh beech-trees, but the perfume of the elder-
tree was stronger than all, for its flowers hung round the little maiden’s
heart, against which the boy so often leaned his head during their flight.

“Tt is beautiful here in the spring,” said the maiden, as they stood in a
grove of beech-trees covered with fresh green leaves, while at their feet the
sweet-scented thyme and blushing anemone lay spread amid the green
grass in delicate bloom. “Oh, that it were always spring in the fragrant
beech-groves.”

“ Here it is delightful in summer,” said the maiden, as they passed old
knights’ castles, telling of days gone by, and saw the high walls and pointed
gables mirrored in the rivers beneath, where swans were sailing about and
peeping into the cool green avenues. In the fields the corn waved to and fro



ELDER-TREE MOTHER, 63



like the sea, Red and yellow flowers grew amongst the ruins, and the hedges
were covered with wild hops and blooming convolvulus. In the evening
the moon rose round and full, and the hay stacks in the meadows filled the
air with their sweet scent. ‘These were scenes never to be forgotten. “ It
is lovely here also in autumn,” said the little maiden; and then the scene
changed. The sky appeared higher and more beautifully blue, while the
forest glowed with colours of red, green, and gold. The hounds were off
to the chase, large flocks of wild birds flew screaming over the Huns’
graves, where the blackberry bushes twined round the old ruins. The dark-
blue sea was dotted with white sails, and in the barns sat old women,
maidens, and children, picking hops into a large tub. The young ones
sang songs, and the old ones told Fairy tales of wizards and witches.
There could be nothing more pleasant than all this. ‘ Again,” said the
maiden, “it is beautiful ‘bere in winter.” Then in a moment all the trees
were covered with hoar-frost, so that they looked like white coral. The
snow crackled beneath the feet as if every one had on new boots, and oné
shooting star after another fell from the sky. In warm rooms there could
be seen the Christmas trees decked out with presents, and lighted up amid
festivities and joy. In the country farm-houses could be heard the sound
of the violin, and there were games for apples, so that even the poorest
child could say, “ It is beautiful in winter.” And beautiful indeed were all
the scenes which the maiden showed to the little boy, and always around
them floated the fragrance of the elder-blossom, and ever above them
waved the red flag with the white cross under which the old seaman had
sailed. The boy who had become a youth, and who had gone as a sailor
out into the wide world, and sailed to warm countries where the coffee
grew, and to whom the little girl had given an elder-blossom from her
bosom for a keepsake, when she took leave of him, placed the flower in his
hymn-book, and when he opened it in foreign lands, he always turned to
the spot where this flower of remembrance lay, and the more he looked at
it, the fresher it appeared. He could, as it were, breathe the homelike
fragrance of the woods, and see the little girl looking at him from between
the petals of the flower with her clear blue eyes, and hear her whispering,
“Tt is beautiful here at home in spring and summer, in autumn and in
winter,” while hundreds of these home scenes passed through his memory.
Many years had passed, and he was now an old man seated with his old
wife under an elder-tree in full blossom. They were holding each other’s
hands just as the great-grandfather and grandmother had done, and spoke,
as they did, of olden times and the golden wedding. The little maiden
with the blue eyes and with the elder-blossoms in her hair sat in the tree
and nodded to them and said, “ To-day isthe golden wedding.” And then
she took two flowers out of her wreath and kissed them, and they shone
first like silver and then like gold; and as she placed them on the heads
of the old people each flower became a golden crown. And there they sat
like a king and queen under the sweetly-scented tree, which still looked
like an elder-bush. Then he related to his old wife the story of the Elder-
tree mother, just as he had heard it told when he was a little boy, and they



64 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



both fancied it very much hke their own story, especially in some parts
which they liked the best.

“Well, and so it is,” said the little maiden in .ne tree. “Some call me
Elder-mother, others a dryad, but my real name is ‘Memory.’ It is I who
sit in the tree as it grows and grows, and I can think of the past and relate
many things. Let me see if you have still preserved the flower.”

Then the old man opened his hymn-book, and there lay the elder-flower
as fresh as if it had only just been placed there, and “ Memory” nodded,
and the two old people with the golden crowns on their heads sat in the red
glow of the evening sunlight, and closed their eyes, and—and—the story
was ended.

The little boy lay in his bed anc did not quite know whether he had been
dreaming or listening to a story. The teapot stood on the table, but no
elder-bush grew out of it, and the old man who had really told the tale was
on the threshold, and just going out at the door.

“ How beautiful it was,” said the little boy. ‘“ Mother, I have been to
‘warm countries.”

“T can quite believe it,” said his mother. | When any one drinks two
full cups of elder-flower tea, he may well get into warm countries ;” and
then she covered him up that he should not take cold. “You have slept
well while I have been disputing with the old man as to whether it was a
real story or a fairy legend.”

“ And where is the Elder-tree mother?” asked the boy.

“She is in the teapot,” said the mother, “and there she may stay.”





















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































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THE NIGHTINGALE.

In China, you know, the emperor is a Chinese, and all those about him
are Chinamen also. The story I am going to tell you happened a great
many years ago, so it is well to hear it now before it is forgotten. The em-
peror’s palace was the most beautiful in the world. It was built entirely of
porcelain, and very costly, but so delicate and brittle that whoever touched
it was obliged to be careful. In the garden could be seen the most singular
flowers, with pretty silver bells tied to them, which tinkled so that every one
that passed could not help noticing the flowers. Indeed, everything in the
emperor's garden was remarkable, and it extended so far that the gardener
himself did not know where it ended. Those who travelled beyond its limits
knew that there was a noble forest, with lofty trees, sloping down to the
deep blue sea, and the great ships sailed under the shadow of its branches.
In one of these trees lived a nightingale, who sang so beautifully that even
the poor fishermen, who had so many other things to do, would stop and
listen. Sometimes, when they went at night to spread their nets, they would
hear her sing, and say, “Oh, is not that beautiful?” But when they re-
turned to their fishing, they forgot the bird until the next night. Then they
would hear it again, and exclaim, “Oh, how. beautiful is the nightingale’s
song !”

Travellers from every country in the world came to the city of the em-
peror, which they admired very much, as well as the palace and gardens;
but when they heard the nightingale, they all declared it to be the best of
all. And the travellers, on their return home, related what they had seen;
and learned men wrote books, containing descriptions of the town, the
palace, and the gardens; but they did not forget the nightingale, which was
really the greatest wonder. And those who could write poetry composed
beautiful verses about the nightingale, who lived in a forest near the deep
sea, The books travelled all over the world, and some of them came into
the hands of the emperor; and he sat in his golden chair, and, as he read,
he nodded his approval every moment, for it pleased him to find such a
beautiful description of his city, his palace, and his gardens. But when
he came to the words, “the nightingale is the most beautiful of all,” he ex-
claimed, “ What is this? I know nothing of any nightingale. Is there such

5



66 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



a bird in my empire? and even in my garden? I have never heard of it.
Something, it appears, may be learnt from books.”

Then he called one of his lordsin-waiting, who was so high-bred, that
when any in an inferior rank to himself spoke to him, or asked him a
question, he would answer, “ Pooh,” which means nothing.

“There is a very wonderful bird mentioned here, called a nightingale,”
said the emperor ; ‘they say it is the best thing in my large kingdom. Why
have I not been told of it?”

“T have never heard the name,” replied the cavalier ; ‘‘ she has not been
presented at court.”

“Tt ig my pleasure that she shall appear this evening,” said the emperor;
“the whole world knows what I possess better than I do myself.”

“J have never heard of her,” said the cavalier; “yet I will endeavour
to find her.”

But where was the nightingale to be found? The nobleman went up-
stairs and down, through halls and passages; yet none of those whom he
met had heard of the bird. So he returned to the emperor, and said that
it must be a fable, invented by those who had written the book. “ Your
imperial majesty,” said he, “ cannot believe everything contained in books ;
sometimes they are only fiction, or what is called the black art.”

“But the book in which I have read this account,” said the emperor,
“was sent to me by the great and mighty emperor of Japan, and therefore
it cannot contain a falsehood. I will hear the nightingale, she must be here
this evening; she has my highest favour; and if she does not come the
whole court shall be trampled upon after supper is ended.” |

“Tsing-pe!” cried the lord-in-waiting, and again he ran up and down
stairs, through all the halls and corridors; and half the court ran with him,
for they did not like the idea of being trampled upon. There was a great
inquiry about this wonderful nightingale, whom all the world knew, but who
was unknown to the court.

At last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said, “ Oh, yes
I know the nightingale quite well; indeed, she can sing. Every evening I
have permission to take home to my poor sick mother the scraps from the
table; she lives down by the seashore, and as I come back I feel tired,
and I sit down in the wood to rest, and listen to the nightingale’s song.
Then the tears come into my eyes, and it is just as if my mother kissed
me.”

“Little maiden,” said the lord-in-waiting, “I will obtain for you constant
employment in the kitchen, and you shall have permission to see the em-
peror dine, if you will lead us to the nightingale ; for she is invited for this
evening to the palace.” So she went into the wood where the nightingale
sang, and half the court followed her. As they went along, a cow began
lowing.

“ Oh,” said a young courtier, “now we have found her; what wonderful
power for such a small creature ; I have certainly heard it before.”

“No, that is only a cow lowing,” said the little girl; “we are a long way
from the place yet.”



THE NIGHTINGALE. 67



ores a

Then some frogs began to croak in the marsh.

“ Beautiful,” said the young courtier again. “Now I hear it, tinkling
like little church bells.”

“No, those are frogs,” said the little maiden ; “but I think we shall soon
hear her now :” and presently the nightingale began to sing.

“ Hark, hark ! there she is,” said the girl, “and there she sits,” she added,
pointing to a little grey bird who was perched on a bough. |

“Ts it possible ?” said the lord-in-waiting, “I never imagined it would be
a little, plain, simple thing like that. She has certainly changed colour at
seeing so many grand people around her.”

“Little nightingale,” cried the girl, raising her voice, “our most gracious
emperor wishes you to sing before him.”

“With the greatest pleasure,” said the nightingale, and began to sing most
delightfully.

“Tt sounds like tiny glass bells,” said the lord-in-waiting, “and see how
her little throat works. It is surprising that we have never heard this before ;
she will be a great success at court.”

Shall I sing once more Lefore the emperor?” asked the nightingale, whe
thought he was present.

“My excellent little nightingale,” said the courtier, ‘I have the great
pleasure of inviting you to a court festival this evening, where you will
gain imperial favour by your charming song.”

“ My song sounds best in the green wood,” said the bird; but still she
came willingly when she heard the emperor’s wish.

The palace was elegantly decorated for the occasion. The walls and
floors of porcelain glittered in the light of a thousand lamps. Beautiful
flowers, round which little bells were tied, stood in the corridors: what with
the running to and fro and the draught, these bells tinkled so loudly that
no one could speak to be heard. In the centre of the great hall, a golden
perch had been fixed for the nightingale to sit on. The whole court was
present, and the little kitchen-maid had received permission to stand by the
door. She was now installed as a real court cook. All were in full dress,
and every eye was turned to the little grey bird when the emperor nodded
to her to begin. The nightingale sang so sweetly that the tears came into
the emperor’s eyes, and then rolled down his cheeks, as her song became
still more touching and went to every one’s heart. The emperor was so
delighted that he declared the nightingale should have his gold slipper to
wear round her neck, but she declined the honour with thanks: she had
been sufficiently rewarded already. “I have seen tears in an emperor's
eyes,” she said, “that is my richest reward. An emperor's tears have won-
derful power, and are quite sufficient honour for me;” and then she sang
again more enchantingly than ever.

“That singing is a lovely gift,” said the ladies of the court to each other ;
and then they took water in their mouths to make them utter the gurgling
sounds of the nightingale when they spoke to any one, so that they might
fancy themselves nightingales. And the footmen and chambermaids also
expressed their satisfaction, which is saying a great deal, for they are very

ge



68 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



difficult to please. In fact the nightingale’s visit was most successful. She
was now to remain at court, to have her own cage, with liberty to go out
twice a day, and once during the night. Twelve servants were appointed
to attend her on these occasions, whe each held her by a silken string
fastened to her leg. There was certainly not much pleasure in this kind
of flying.

The whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and when two people met,
one said “nightin,” and the other said “gale,” and they understood what
was meant, for nothing else was talked of Eleven pedlers’ children were
named after her, but not one of them could sing a note.

One day the emperor received a large packet on which was written “The
Nightingale.” “Here is no doubt a new book about our celebrated bird,”
said the emperor. But instead of a book, it was a work of art contained in
a casket, an artificial nightingale made to look like a living one, and covered
all over with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. As soon as the artificial bird
was wound up, it could sing like the real one, and could move its tail up and
down, which sparkled with silver and gold. Round its neck hung a piece
of ribbon, on which was written “The Emperor of China’s nightingale
is poor compared with that of the Emperor of Japan’s.”

“This is very beautiful,” exclaimed all who saw it, and he who had
brought the artificial bird received the title of “ Imperial nightingale-
bringer-in-chief.”

“ Now they must sing together,” said the court, “and what a duet it will
be.” But they did not get on well, for the real nightingale sang in its own
natural way, but the artificial bird sang only waltzes.

“That is no fault,” said the music-master, “it is perfect to my taste,” so
then it had to sing alone, and was as successful as the real bird; besides, it
was so much prettier to look at, for it sparkled like bracelets and breast-
pins. Three and thirty times did it sing the same tunes without being tired:
the people would gladly have heard it again, but the emperor said the
living nightingale ought to sing something. But where was she? No one
had noticed her when she flew out at the open window, back to her own green
woods.

“What strange conduct,” said the emperor, when her flight had been dis-
covered; and all the courtiers blamed her, and said she was a very ungrate-
ful creature.

“ But we have the best bird after all,” said one, and then they would have
the bird sing again, although it was the thirty-fourth time they had
listened to the same piece, and even then they had not learnt it, for it was
rather difficult. But the music-master praised the bird in the highest
degree, and even asserted that it was better than a real nightingale, not
only in its dress and the beautiful diamonds, but also in its musical power.
“For you must perceive, my chief lord and emperor, that with a real night-
ingale we can never tell what is going to be sung, but with this bird every-
thing is settled. It can be opened and explained, so that people may
understand how the waltzes are formed, and why one note follows upon
another.”



THE NIGHTINGALE. 69



“ That is exactly what we think,” they all replied, and then the music-
master received permission to exhibit the bird to the people on the following
Sunday, and the emperor commanded that they should be present to hear it
sing. When they heard it they were like people intoxicated; however it
must have been with drinking tea, which is quite a Chinese custom. They
all said “Oh!” and held up their forefingers and nodded, but a poor fisher-
man, who had heard the real nightingale, said, “It sounds prettily enough,
and the melodies are all alike; yet there seems something wanting, I can-
not exactly tell what.” :

And after this the real nightingale was banished from the empire, and
the artificial bird placed on a silk cushion close to the emperor’s bed. The
presents of gold and precious stones which had been received with it were
round the bird, and it was now advanced to the title of “ Little Imperial
Toilet Singer,” and to the rank of No. 1 on the left hand; for the emperor
considered the left side, on which the heart lies, as the most noble, and the
heart of an emperor is in the same place as that of other people.

The music-master wrote a work, in twenty-five volumes, about the artifi-
cial bird, which was very learned and very long, and full of the most diffi-
cult Chinese words; yet all the people said they had read it, and understood
it, for fear of being thought stupid and having their bodies trampled upon.

So a year passed, and the emperor, the court, and all the other Chinese
knew every little turn in the artificial bird’s song; and for that same reason
it pleased them better. ‘They could sing with the bird, which they often
did. The street-boys sang, “ Zi-zi-zi, cluck, cluck, cluck,” and the emperor -
himself could sing it also. It was really most amusing.

One evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the em-
peror lay in bed listening to it, something inside the bird sounded “ whizz.”
Then a spring cracked. ‘‘ Whir-rr-r” went all the wheels, running round,
and then the music stopped. The emperor immediately sprang out of bed,
and called for his physician; but what could he do? ‘Then they sent for a
watchmaker ; and, after a great deal of talking and examination, the bird
was put into something like order; but he said that it must be used very
carefully, as the barrels were worn, and it would be impossible to put in
new ones without injuring the music. Now there was great sorrow, as the
bird could only be allowed to play once a year; and even that was dan-
gerous for the works inside it. Then the music-master made a little speech,
full of hard words, and declared that the bird was as gcod as ever ; and, of
course, no one contradicted him,

Five years passed, and then a real grief came upon the land. The
Chinese really were fond of their emperor, and he now lay so ill that he
was not expected to live. Already a new emperor had been chosen, and
the people who stood in the street asked -the lord-in-waiting how the old
emperor was; but he only said, “ Pooh!” and shook his head.

Cold and pale, lay the emperor in his royal bed ; the whole court thought
he was dead, and every one ran away to pay homage to his successor. The
chamberlains went out to have a talk on the matter, and the ladies’-maids
invited company to take coffee. Cloth had been laid down on the halls



70 HANS ANDERSEN'S PAIRY TALES.



and passages, so that not a footstep should be heard, and all was silent and |
still. But the emperor was not yet dead, although he lay white and stiff
on his gorgeous bed, with the long velvet curtains and heavy gold tassels.
A. window stood open, and the moon shone in upon the emperor and the
artificial bird. The poor emperor, finding he could scarcely breathe with a
strange weight on his chest, opened his eyes, and saw Death sitting there.
He had put on the emperor’s golden crown, and held in one hand his sword
of state, and in the other his beautiful banner. All around the bed, and
peeping through the long velvet curtains, were a number of strange heads,
some very ugly, and others lovely and gentle-looking. These were the
emperor's good and bad deeds, which stared him in the face now Death
sat at his heart.

“Do you remember this?” “Do you recollect that?” they asked one
after another, thus bringing to his remembrance circumstances that made
the perspiration stand on his brow.

“IT know nothing about it,” said the emperor. “ Music! music!” he
cried; “the large Chinese drum! that I may not hear what they say.” But
they still went on, and Death nodded like a Chinamen to all they said.
“Music ! music!” shouted the emperor, .“ You little precious golden bird,
sing, pray sing! I have given you gold and costly presents; I have even.
hung my golden slipper round your neck. Sing! sing!” But the bird
remained silent. There was no one to wind it up, and therefore it could
not sing a note.

Death continued to stare at the emperor with his cold, hollow eyes, and
the room was fearfully still, Suddenly there came through the open window
the sound of sweet music. Outside, on the bough of a tree, sat the living -
nightingale. She had heard of the emperor's illness, and was therefore
come to sing to him of hope and trust. And as she sung, the shadows
grew paler and paler ; the blood in the emperor’s veins flowed more rapildly,
and gave life to his weak limbs ; and even Death himself listened, and said,
“ Go on, little nightingale, go on.”

“Then will you give me the beautiful golden sword and that rich banner ?
and will you give me the emperor’s crown?” said the bird.

So Death gave up each of these treasures for a song ; and the nightingale
continued her singing. She sung of the quiet churchyard, where the white
roses grow, where the elder-tree wafts its perfume on the breeze, and the
fresh, sweet grass is moistened by the mourners’ tears. Then Death longed
to go and see his garden, and floated out through the window in the form of
a cold, white mist.

“ Thanks, thanks, you heavenly little bird. I know you well. I banished
you from my kingdom once, and yet you have charmed away the evil faces
from my bed, and banished Death from my heart, with your sweet song.
How can I-reward you ?”

‘You have already rewarded me,” said the nightingale. “I shall never
forget that I drew tears from your eyes the first time I sang to you. These
are the jewels that rejoice a singer’s heart. But now sleep, and grow strong
and weil again. I will sing to you again.”





Ole Luk-Oie.



OLE-LUK-OI1E, THE DREAM-GOD. 71



And as she sung, the emperor fell into a sweet sleep; and how mild and
refreshing that slumber was! When he awoke, strengthened and restored,
the sun shone brightly through the window ; but not one of his servants had
returned—they all believed he was dead ; only the nightingale still sat beside
him, and sang.

“Vou must always remain with me,” said the emperor. “You shail
sing only when it pleases you; and J will break the artificial bird into a
thousand pieces.”

“No; do not do that,” replied the nightingale; ‘the bird did very well
as long as it could. Keep it here still. J cannot live in the palace, and
build my nest; but let me come when I like. I will sit on a bough outside
your window, in the evening, and sing to you, so that you may be happy,
and have thoughts full of joy. I will sing to you of those who are happy,
and those who suffer; of the good and the evil, who are hidden around you.
The little singing bird files far from you and your court to the home of the
fisherman and the peasant’s cot. I love your heart better than your crown ;
and yet something holy lingers round that also. I will come, I will sing to
you , but you must promise me one thing.”

“ Everything,” said the emperor, who, having dressed himself in his
imperial robes, stood with the hand that held the heavy golden sword pressed
to his heart.

“T only ask one thing,” she replied; “let no one know that you have a
little bird who tells you everything. It will be best to conceal it.” Se
saying, the nightingale flew away.

The servants now cime in to look after the dead emperor; when Io!
there he stood, and, te their astonishment, said, “Good morning.”



OLE-LUK-OIE, THE DREAM-GOD.

THERE is nobody in the world who knows so many stories as Ole-Luk-
Oie, or who can relate them so nicely. In the evening, while the children
are seated at the table or in their little chairs, he comes up the stairs very
softly, for he walks in his socks, then he opens the doors without the
slightest noise, and throws a small quantity of very fine dust in their eyes,

"just enough ‘to prevent them from keeping them open, and so they do not
see him. Then he creeps behind them, and blows softly upon their necks,
till their heads begin to droop. But Ole-Luk-Oie does not wish to hurt:
them, for he is very fond of children, and only wants them to be quiet that
he may relate to them pretty stories, and they never are quiet until they are
in bed and asleep. As soon as they are asleep, Ole-Luk-Oie seats himself
upon the bed. He is nicely dressed; his coat is made of silken stuff; it



72 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



is Impossible to say of what colour, for it changes from green to red, and
from red to blue as he turns from side to side. Under each arm he carries
an umbrella; one of them, with pictures on the inside, he spreads over the
good children, and then they dream the most beautiful stories the whole
night. But the other umbrella has no pictures, and this he holds over the
naughty children, so that they sleep heavily, and wake in the morning with-
out having dreamed at all,



THE JOURNEY.

Now we shall hear how Ole-Luk-Oie came every night during a whole
week to a little boy named Hjalmar, and what he told him. There were
seven stories, as there are seven days in the week.

MONDAY.

“ Now pay attention,” said Ole-Luk-Oie, in the evening, when Hjalmar
was in bed, “and I will decorate the room.”

Immediately all the flowers in the flower-pots became large trees, with
long branches reaching to the ceiling, and stretching along the walls, so that
the whole room was like a greenhouse. All the branches were loaded with
tlowers, each flower as beautiful and as fragrant as a rose ; and, had any one



OLE-LUK-OIE, THE DREAM-GOD. 73



tasted them, he would have found them sweeter even than jam. The fruit
glittered like gold, and there were cakes so full of plums that they were
nearly bursting. It was incomparably beautiful. At the same time sounded
dismal moans from the table-drawer in which lay Hjalmar’s school books.

“What can that be now?” said Ole-Luk-Oie, going to the table and

~pulling out the drawer.

It was a slate, in such distress because of a false number in the sum, that
it had almost broken itself to pieces. The pencil pulled and tugged at its
string as if it were a little dog that wanted to help, but could not.

And then came a moan from Hjalmar’s copy-book. Oh, it was quite

‘terrible to hear! On each leaf stood a row of capital letters, every one
having a small letter by its side. This formed a copy! under these were
other letters, which Hjalmar had written: they fancied they looked like the
copy, but they were mistaken; for they were leaning on one side as if they
intended to fall over the pencil-lines.

“See, this is the way you should hold yourselves,” said the copy. “ Look
here, you should slope thus, with a graceful curve.

“Oh, we are very willing to do so, but we cannot,” said Hjalmar’s
letters; “we are so wretchedly made.”

“ Vou must be scratched out, then,” said Ole-Luk-Oie.

“Oh, no!” they cried, and then they stood up so gracefully it was quite
a pleasure to look at them.

“ Now we must give up our stories, and exercise these letters,” said Ole-
Luk-Oie; “One, two—one, two—”’ So he drilled them till they stood up -
gracefully, and looked as beautiful as a copy could look. But after Ole-Luk-
Oie was gone, and Hjalmar looked at them in the morning, they were as
wretched and as awkward as ever.

TUESDAY.

As soon as Hjalmar was in bed, Ole-Luk-Oie touched, with his little
magic wand, all the furniture in the room, which immediately began to
chatter, and each article only talked of itself.

Over the chest of drawers hung a large picture in a gilt frame, represent-
ing a landscape, with fine old trees, flowers in the grass, and a broad stream,
which flowed through the wood, past several castles, far out into the wild
ocean, Ole-Luk-Oie touched the picture with his magic wand, and imme-
diately the birds commenced singing, the branches of the trees rustled, and
the clouds moved across the sky, casting their shadows on the landscape
beneath them. Then Ole-Luk-Oie lifted little Hjalmar up to the frame, and
placed his feet in the picture, just on the high grass, and there he stood
with the sun shining down upon him through the branches of the trees.
He ran to the water, and seated himself in a little boat which lay there,
and which was painted red and white. The sails glittered like silver, and
six swans, each with a golden circlet round its neck, and a bright blue star
on its forehead, drew the boat past the green wood, where the trees talked
of robbers and witches, and the flowers of beautiful little elves and fairies,
whose histories the butterflies had related to them. Brilliant fish, with scales



74 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



like silver and gold, swam after the boat, sometimes making a spring and
splashing the water round them, while birds, red and blue, small and great,
flew after him in two long lines. The gnats danced round them, and the
cockchafers cried ‘Buz, buz.” They all wanted to follow Hjalmar, and all
had some story to tell him. It was a most pleasant sail. Sometimes the
forests were thick and dark, sométimes like a beautiful garden, gay with
sunshine and flowers ; then he passed great palaces of glass and of marble,
and on the balconies stood princesses, whose faces were those of little girls
whom Hjalmar knew well, and had often played with. One of them held
out her hand, in which was a heart made of sugar, more beautiful than any
confectioner ever sold. As Hjalmar sailed by he caught hold of one side
of the sugar heart, and held it fast, and the princess held fast also, so that
it broke in two pieces. Hjalmar had one piece, and the princess the other,
but Hjalmar’s was the largest. At each castle stood little princes acting as
sentinels. They presented arms, and had golden swords, and made it rain
plums and tin soldiers, so that they must have been real princes.

Hjalmar continued to sail, sometimes through woods, sometimes as it
were through large halls, and then by large cities. At last he came to the
town where his nurse lived, who had carried him in her arms when he was
a very little boy, and had always been kind to him. She nodded and
beckoned to him, and then sang the little verses she had herself composed
and sent to him,—

* How oft my memory turns to thee,
My own Hyjalmar, ever dear !
‘When I could watch thy infant glee,
Or kiss away a pearly tear.
°T was in my arms thy lisping tongue
First spoke the half-remembered word,
While o’er thy tottering steps I hung,
My fond protection to afford.
Farewell! I pray the Heavenly Power
To keep thee till thy dying hour.”

And all the birds sang the same tune, the flowers danced on their stems, and
the old trees nodded as if Ole-Luk-Oie had been telling them stories as well.
WEDNESDAY.

How the rain did pour down! WHijalmar could hear it in his sleep ; and
when Ole-Luk-Oie opened the window, the water flowed quite up {o the
window-sill. It had the appearance of a large lake outside, and a beautiful
ship lay close to the house.

“Wilt thou sail with me to-night, little Hjalmar?” said Ole-Luk-Oie ;
“then we shall see foreign countries, and thou shalt return here in the
morning.”

All in a moment, there stood Hjalmar, in his best clothes, on the deck of
the noble ship; and inmmediately the weather became fine. They sailed
through the streets, round by the church, and on every side rolled the wide,
great sea. ‘They sailed till the and disappeared, and then they saw a flock
of storks, who had left their own country, and were travelling to warmer
climates. The storks flew one behind the other, and had already been a



OLE-LUK-OTE, THE DREAJM-GOD. 75



long, long time on the wing. One of them seemed so tired that his wings
could scarcely carry him. He was the last of the row, and was soon
left very far behind. At length he sunk lower and lower, with out.
stretched wings, flapping them in vain, till his feet touched the rigging of
the ship, and he slided from the sails to the deck, and stood before them.
Then a sailor-boy caught him, and put him in the hen-house, with the fowls,
the ducks, and the turkeys, while the poor stork stood quite bewildered
amongst them.

“Just look at that fellow,” said the chickens.

Then the turkey-cock puffed himself out as large as he could, and
inquired who he was; and the ducks waddled backwarks, crying, “ Quack,
quack.”

Then the stork told them all about warm Africa, of the pyramids, and of
the ostrich, which, like a wild horse, runs across the desert. But the ducks
did not understand what he said, and quacked amongst themselves, “ We
are all of the same opinion ; namely, that he is stupid.” :

“Ves, to be sure, he is stupid,” said the turkey-cock; and gobbled.

Then the stork remained quite silent, and thought of his home in Africa.

“Those are handsome thin legs of yours,” said the turkey-cock. “ What
do they cost a yard?”

* Quack, quack, quack,
to hear.

“Vou may as well laugh,” said the turkey; “for that remark was rather
witty, or perhaps it was above you. Ah, ah, is he not clever? He will be
a great amusement to us while he remains here.” An then he gobbled, and
the ducks quacked, “ Gobble, gobble; Quack, quack.”

What a terrible uproar they made, while they were having such fun among
themselves !

Then Hjalmar went to the hen-house; and, opening the door, called to
the stork. Then he hopped out onthe deck. He had rested himself now,
and he looked happy, and seemed as if he nodded to Hjalmar, as if to
thank him. Then he spread his wings, and flew away to warmer countries,
while the hens clucked, the ducks quacked, and the turkey-cock turned quite
scarlet in the head.

“To-morrow you shall be made into soup,” said Hjalmar to the fowls;
and then he awoke, and found himself lying in his little bed.

It was a wonderful journey which Ole-Luk-Oie had made him take this
night.

Pe

grinned the ducks; but the stork pretended not

THURSDAY.

“What do you think I have got here?” said Ole-Luk-Oie. “Do not be
frightened, and you shall see a little mouse.” And then he held out his
hand to him, in which lay a lovely little creature. “It has come to invite
you toawedding. Two little mice are going to enter into the marriage state
to-night. They reside under the floor of your mother’s store-room, and that
must be a fine dwelling-place.”

“ But how can I get through the little mouse-hole in the floor?” asked
Hjalmar.



75 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



“ Leave me to manage that,” said Ole-Luk-Oie. “TI will soon make you
small enough.” And then he touched Hjalmar with his magic wand, where-
upon he became less and less, until at last he was not longer than a little
finger. ‘“ Now you can borrow the dress of the tin soldier. I think it will
just fit you. It looks well to wear a uniform when you go into company.”

“Ves, certainly,” said Hjalmar; and in a moment he was dressed as
neatly as the neatest of all tin soldiers.

** Will you be so goad as to seat yourself in your mamma’s thimble,” said the
little mouse, “ that I may have the pleasure of drawing you to the wedding.”

“ Will you really take so much trouble, young lady?” said Hjalmar, And
so in this way he rode to the mouse’s wedding.

First they went under the floor, and then passed through a long passage,
which was scarcely high enough to allow the thimble to drive under, and the
whole passage was lit wp with the phosphorescent light of rotten wood.

“ Does it not smell delicious?” asked the mouse, as she drew him along.
“The wall and the floor have been smeared with bacon-rind; nothing can
be nicer.”

Very soon they arrived at the bridal hall. On the right stood all the
little lady-mice, whispering and giggling, as if they were making game of
each other. To the left were the gentlemen-mice, stroking their whiskers
with their fore-paws ; and in the centre of the hall could be seen the bridal
pair, standing side by side, in a hollow cheese-rind, and kissing each other,
while all eyes were upon them ; for they had already been betrothed, and
were soon to be married. More and more friends kept arriving, till the mice
were nearly treading each other to death ; for the bridal pair now stood in
the doorway, and none could pass in or out.

The room had been rubbed over with bacon-rind, like the passage, which
was all the refreshment offered to the guests, But for dessert they produced
a pea, on which a mouse belonging to the bridal pair had bitten the first
letters of their names. This was something quite uncommon. All the mice
said it was a very beautiful wedding, and that they had been very agreeably
entertained.

After this, Hjalmar returned home. He had certainly been in grand
society; but he had been obliged to creep under a room, and to make him-
self small enough to wear the uniform of a tin soldier,

FRIDAY.

“Tt is incredible how many old people there are who would be glad to
have me at night,” said Ole-Luk-Oie, “especially those who have done
something wrong. ‘ Good little Ole,’ say they to me, ‘we cannot close our
eyes, and we lie awake the whole night and see all our evil deeds sitting on
our beds like little imps, and sprinkling us with hot water. Will you come
and drive them away, that we may have a good night’s rest?’ and then they
sigh so deeply and say, ‘We would gladly pay you for it. Good night,
Ole-Luk, the money lies in the window.’ But I never do anything for gold.”
“What shall we do to-night?” asked Hjalmar. “I do not know whether
you would care to go to another wedding,” he replied, “although it is quite



OLE-LUK-OIE, THE DREAM-GOD, 77



a different affair to the one we saw last night. Your sister’s large doll, that
is dressed like a man, and is called Herman, intends to marry the doll
Bertha. It is also the doll’s birthday, and they will receive many presents.”

“ Yes, I know that already,” said Hjalmar, “my sister always allows her
dolls to keep their birthdays or to have a wedding when they require new
clothes ; that has happened already a hundred times, I am quite sure.”

sf Yes, so it may; but to-night is the hundred and first wedding, and when
that has taken place it must be the last, therefore this is to be extremely
beautiful. Only look.”

Hjalmar looked at the table, and there stood the little card-board doll’s-
house, with lights in all the windows, and drawn up before it were the tin
soldiers presenting arms. The bridal pair were seated on the floor, leaning
against the leg of the table, looking very thoughtful, and with good reason,
Then Ole-Luk-Oie dressed up in grandmother’s black gown married them.
As soon as the ceremony was concluded, all the furniture in the room joined
in singing a beautiful song, which had been composed by the lead pencil,
and which went to the melody of a military tattoo.

‘¢ What merry sounds are on the wind,
As marriage rites together bind
A quiet and a loving pair,
Though formed of kid, yet smooth and fair !
Hurrah ! If they are deaf and blind,
We'll sing, though weather prove unkind,”

And now came the presents ; but the bridal pair had nothing to eat, for
love was to be their food.

“Shall we go to a country house, or travel?” asked the bridegroom.

Then they consulted the swallow who had travelled so far, and the old
hen in the yard, who had brought up five broods of chickens.

And the swallow talked to them of warm countries, where the grapes
hang in large clusters on the vines, and the air is soft and mild, and about
the mountains glowing with colours more beautiful than we can think of.

“But they have no red cabbage like we have,” said the hen; “I was
once in the country with my chickens for a whole summer, there was a large
sand-pit, in which we could walk about and scratch as we liked. Then we
got into a garden in which grew red cabbage ; oh, how nice it was, I cannot

think of anything more delicious.”

“But one cabbage stalk is exactly like another,” said the swallow; “and
here we have often bad weather.”

“Ves, but we are accustomed to it,” said the hen.

* But it is so cold here, and freezes sometimes.”

“Cold weather is good for cabbages,” said the hen; ‘‘ besides, we do
have it warm here sometimes. Four years ago, we had a summer that
lasted more than five weeks, and it was so hot one could scarcely breathe.
And then in this country we have no poisonous animals, and we are free
from robbers. He must be wicked who does not consider our country the
finest of all lands. He ought not to be allowed to live here.” And then



78 HANS ANDERSEN’ S FAIRY TALES,
the hen wept very much and said, “I have also travelled. I once went
twelve miles in a coop, and it was not pieasant travelling at all.”

“The hen is a sensible woman,” said the doll Bertha. ‘I don’t care for
travelling over mountains, just to go up and come down again. No, let us go to
the sand-pit in front of the gate, and then take a walk in the cabbage garden.”

And so they settled it

SATURDAY.

“Am I to hear any more stories?” asked uttle Hjaimar, as soon as Ole-
Luk-Oie had sent him to sleep.

“We shall have no time this evening,” said he, spreading out his prettiest
umbrella over the child. “Look at these Chinese,” and then the whole
umbrella appeared like a large china-bowl, with blue trees and pointed
bridges, upon which stood little Chinamen nodding their heads. “We
must make all the world beautiful for to-morrow morning,” said Ole-
Luk-Oie, “for it will be a holiday, it is Sunday. I must now go to the
church steeple and see if the little sprites who live there have polished the
bells, so that they may sound sweetly, ‘Then I must go into the fields and
see if the wind has blown the dust from the grass and the leaves, and the
most difficult task of all which I have to do, is to take down all the stars
and brighten them up. I have to number them first before I put them in
my apron, and also to number the places from which I take them, so that
they may go back into the right holes, or else they would not remain, and
we should have a number of falling stars, for they would all tumble down
one after the other.”

“ Hark ye! Mr. Luk-Oie,” said an old portrait which hung on the wall
of Hjalmar’s bedroom. “Do you know me? I am Hijalmar’s great grand-
father. I thank you for telling the boy stories, but you must not confuse
his ideas. The stars cannot be taken down from the sky and polished;
they are spheres like our earth, which is a good thing for them.”

“Thank you, old great-grandfather,” said Ole-Luk-Oie. “I thank you;
you may be the head of the family, as no doubt you are, but I am older
than you. I am an ancient heathen. ‘The old Romans and Greeks named
me the Dream-god. I have visited the noblest houses, and continue to do
so; still I know how to conduct myself both to high and low, and now you
may tell the stories yourself ;” and so Ole-Luk-Oie walked off, taking ‘his
umbrellas with him.

“Well, well, one is never to give an opinion, I suppose,” grumbled the
portrait, And it woke Hjalmar.

SUNDAY,

* Good evening,” said Ole-Luk-Oie.

Hjalmar nodded, and then sprang out of bed, and turned his great-grand-
father’s portrait to the wall, so that it might not interrupt them as it had
done yesterday. “Now,” said he, ‘‘ you must tell me some stories about
five green peas that lived in one pod; or of the chickseed that courted the
chickweed ; or of the darning needle, who acted so proudly because she
fancied herself an embroidery needle.”



THE OLD BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP. 70

“You may have too much of a good thing,” said Ole-Luk-Oie.

“You know that I like best to show you something, so I will show you
ay brother. He is called Ole-Luk-Oie, but he never visits any one but
once, and when he does come, he takes him away on his horse, and tells
him stories as they ride along. He knows only two stories. One of these
is so wonderfully beautiful, that no one in the world can imagine anything
at all like it; but the other is just as ugly and frightful, so that it would be
impossible to describe it.”’ Then Ole-Luk-Oie lifted Hjalmar up to the
window. “There now, you can see my brother, the other Ole-Luk-Oie ;
he is also called Death. You perceive he is not so bad as they represent
him in the picture books; there he is a skeleton, but now his coat is em-
broidered with silver, and he wears the splendid uniform of a hussar, and a
mantle of black velvet flies behind him, over the horse. Look,-how he
gallops along.” Hjalmar saw, that as this Ole-Luk-Oie rode on, he lifted
up old and young, and carried them away on his horse, Some he seated in
front of him, and some behind, but always inquired first, ‘‘ How stands the
mark-book ?”

“Good,” they all answered.

“Ves, but let me see for myself,” he replied; and they were obliged to
give him the books. Then all those who had “ Very good,” or “ Exceed-
ingly good,” came in front of the horse, and heard the beautiful story; while
those who had “ Middling,” or “Tolerably good,” in their books, were
obliged to sit behind, and listen to the frightful tale. They trembled and
cried, and wanted to jump down from the horse, but they could not
get free, for they seemed fastened to the seat.

“Why, Death is a most splendid Luk-Oie,” said Hjalmar. “Iam not in
the least afraid of him.”

“You need have no fear of him,” said Ole-Luk-Oie, “if you take care
and keep a good conduct book.”

“Now I call that very instructive,” murmured the great-grandfather’s
portrait. “Tt is useful sometimes to express an opinion ;” so he was quite
satisfied, :

These are some of the doings and sayings of Ole-Luk-Oie. I hope he
may visit you himself this evening, and relate some more.

THE OLD BACHELOR’S NIGHTCAP.

Ture is a street in Copenhagen with a very strange name. It is called
“ Hysken” street. Where the name came from, and what it means 1s very
uncertain. It is said to be German, but this is unjust to the Germans, for
it would then be called “ Hauschen,” and not “ Hysken.” “ Hauschen,”
means a little house; and for many years it consisted only of a few small
houses, which were scarcely larger than the wooden booths we see in the
market places at a fair time. They were perhaps a little higher, and had



80 FHIANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.
windows ; but the panes consisted of horn or bladder-skins, for glass was
then too dear to have glazed windows in every house. This was a long
time ago, so long indeed that our grandfathers, and even great-grandfathers,
would speak of those days as “olden times;” indeed, many centuries have
passed since then.

The rich merchants in Bremen and Lubeck, who carried on trade in:
Copenhagen, did not reside in the town themselves, but sent their clerks,
who dwelt in the wooden booths in the Hauschen Street, and sold beer and
spices. The German beer was very good, and there were many sorts—from
Bremen, Prussia, and Brunswick—and quantities of all sorts of spices,
saffron, aniseed, ginger, and especially pepper; indeed pepper was almost
the chief article sold here ; soit happened at last that the German clerks in
Denmark got their nickname of “ pepper gentry.” It had been made a
condition with these clerks that they should not marry; so that those who
lived to be old had to take care of themselves, to attend to their own com-
foris, and even to light their own fires, when they had any to light. Many
of them were very aged; lonely old boys, with strange thoughts and
eccentric habits. From this, all unmarried men, who have attained a
certain age, are called, in Denmark, “ pepper gentry ;” and this must be re-
membered, by all those who wish to understand the story. These “pepper
gentlemen,” or, as they are called in England, “old bachelors,” are often
made a butt for ridicule; they are told to put on their nightcaps, draw
them over their eyes, and go to sleep. The boys in Denmark make a song
of it, thus :—

‘© Poor old bachelor, cut your wood,
Such a nightcap was never seen ;

Who would think it was ever clean?
Go to sleep, it will do you good.”

So they sing about the “ pepper gentlemen ;” so do they make sport of the -
poor old bachelor and his nightcap, and all because they really know nothing
of either. It is a cap that no one need wish for, or laugh at. And why not?
Well, we shall hear in the story.

Tn olden times, Hauschen Street was not paved, and passengers would
stumble out of oné hole into another, as they generally do in unfrequented
highways; and the street was so narrow, and the booths leaning against
each other were so close together, that in the summer time a sail would be
stretched across the street from one booth to another opposite. At these
times the odour of the pepper, saffron, and ginger became more powerful
than ever. Behind the counter, as a rule, there were no young men. The
clerks were almost all old boys; but they did not dress as we are ac-
customed to see old men represented wearing wigs, nightcaps, and knee-
breeches, and with coat and waistcoat buttoned up to the chin, We have
seen the portraits of our great-grandfathers dressed in this way; but the
“pepper gentlemen ” had no money to spare to have their portraits taken,
though one of them would have made a very interesting picture for us now,
if taken as he appeared standing behind the counter, or going to church, or
on holidays. On these occasions they wore high-crowned, broad-brimmed .



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The Fir-tree.
HANS ANDERSEN’S

FAIRY TALES

A NEW TRANSLATION
‘BY .
Mrs. H. B. PAULL,

Editor of “ Grimm’s Fairy Tales.”
y

With Original Mustrations,
_ AND SIXTEEN PAGE PLATES PRINTED IN COLOURS.



LONDON AND NEW YORK:
FREDERICK WARNE AND CO.


PUBLISHER’S PREFACE.

—_—~—

Tuts new edition of Hans’ Andersen contains
several additional Fairy Tales, for the first time
translated from the Danish by Mrs. Paull, to whose

able pen we are indebted for the previous editions.

The sixteen Coloured Plates and the Woodcut
Illustrations are from the hand of a Danish Artis,
who is considered to have an especial gift for
depicting the scenes described by his celebrated

countryman.
CONTENTS.

—~——
The Fir-Treé... sae
The Brave Tin Soldier ..
Little Tiny ... ee ons
The Goblin and the Huckster ade ae
A Great Sorrow : aes or
the Silver Shilling oe see nee
The Ugly Duckling io tee oc
The Roses and the spares “ va
Little Tuk... af dea
Grandmother aie a eee
The Old Gravestone Ho wes wae
The Beli-Deep 7 cue
The Beetle who went on his Ti vavels ee
Elder-Tree Mother ors oes sn tes
The Nightingale eee ene
Ole Luk-Oie, the Dream-God és ace
The Old Bachelor's Nightcap an a
The Elf of the Rose one oie
The Angel... wees eee on
The Pea Blossom te ae foens
Ib and Little Christina ... wee Ae
The Botile Neck oe oon sa
The Flax sis a3
The Last Dream of the Old Oak... ot
The Girl who Trod o1 on ee Loaf ws eee
The Daisy... vee wae
The Old House “ Sue
The Happhy Family ove
The Metal Pig eee
The Emperor's New Clothes as ase
The Last Pearl was aoe ese
The Tinder-Box see ate : ave
The Red Shoes iis oes Se
The Golden Treasure. ee ine
The Butterty... at aoe we
The Dumb Book ute ise wie
The Gardener ie ae
She was Good for Nothing ea ove
Little Ida's Flowers wis one Ges
The Conceited Apple-Branch ie sae
The Sunbeam and the Cee eae ma

_ The Storks ... s00 See

The Philosophers Stone ». ooo vee

168

. 170

RQ7
vill CONTENTS.

The Loveliest Rose in the World... a
The Snow Man eae - ooo
The Story of the Year... ae eee
The Story of a Mother .., soe eae
The Fewish Maiden os cae sek
The Darning-Needle Ho ae tee
The Little Match-seller . sed oo
The Travelling ee Bua eee
The Jumpers see .

The Swineherd 8 tbe ses
A Leaf from Heaven... see ee
Anne Lisbeth wee ia eee
A Cheerful Temper ies ee tee
The Top and Bali She es th = eee
The Wild Swans a eee
Everything in tts RUE: Place te dee
The Money-Box 223 oe
The Shadow vee nae eae
The Racers... a a eee
Lt ts quite True te LAs aa . “avs
The Buckwheat ats nee
Soup from a Sausage Skewer mes ve
The Bell, or Naturés Music eae
The Farm- -yard Cock and the Weather-Cock
The Snow Queen es nee
The Portuguese Duck... s nee
The Flying Trunk Mes an ooo
The Little Mermaid act tee eee
The Pen and the Inkstand er wes
What the Moon Saw... eee
What the Old Man does is always Right one
A Rose from Homer's Grave se
The Garden of Paradise .. sak a
The Mail-Coach Passengers ate eee

The Mischievous Boy... ae M,
Under the Willow-Tree ... “
The Old Man and the Angel

Little Claus and Big Claus ook ies
The Shepherdess and the Sweep “ nee
The Puppet-Show Man ...

The Shepherds Story of the Bond of Friendship.
The Old Street Lamp... alee
The Old Church Bell... ss al
The Mother's Love sai ak
The Shirt Collar se es ive
Children’s Pratile s aoe
Beaty of Form and Beauly of Mind oa -Xebe
The Story of the Wind . “i ase
A Story fae ane sie ie
Something ...

A Story from the Sand- Hills

The Elfin Hill a

flolger Danske eas

PAGE
207
209
214
220
225
229
232
234
247
249
254
257

268
270
281
287
289
298
300
393
305
315
319
321
344
348
353.
370
373
379


HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

REMINISCENCES OF HANS C. ANDERSEN.

“A PROPHET has no honour in his own country.” To no one can this
bitter proverb be more truly applied, in the early part of his career, than to
the author of “Fairy Tales,” now so well known and read in many
languages, not only in the Netherlands but in all civilized countries.

Hans Christian Andersen was not descended from the high and noble in
the land. The only child of poor parents ; he was born at Odense, on the
island of Funen, on the 2nd of April, 1805. This town of Odense has been
immortalized by Andersen in one of his tales, the “‘ The Bell-Deep,” which
is no doubt founded on a legend he had been acquainted with from his
childhood.

Hans Andersen’s father was a shoemaker, who, it is said, had not the
means of giving him much education, but he sent him to the grammar school
x REMINISCENCES OF HANS C. ANDERSEN.



in the town, and the boy’s natural abilities and love of reading made him
take advantage of the instruction he there received.

Not, however, for long; his father’s death in 1814, left his mother a sor-
rowing widow, in poor circumstances, with an orphan boy of nine years. It
therefore became necessary for him to leave schoo), and try to help his
mother in earning a home for them both. An opportunity for him to work
at a factory in the town was offered to his mother, and eagerly accepted by

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THE FACTORY.

her, and for some years the now famed and renowned poet and author,
worked as a factory boy.

There was a something, however, so different in the coarse and illiterate
workmen at the factory to the refined and tender-hearted child, that his
patient sufferings of their taunts and torments must have been terrible to
bear. At last he complained to his mother, and she removed him.

An opening for the youth, now in his fourteenth year, to become a tailor
presented itself; but the boy of intellectual tastes implored his mother, even
with tears, to allow him to choose his own career in life.
REMINISCENCES OF HANS C. ANDERSEN. xi

His mother at last consented, and with a small sum of money in his.
pocket, he left his home to travel to Copenhagen alone.

Who can tell how much of a mother’s love and pride in her son gave her
the courage to part with him, and to utter a farewell which cost her so much.
No doubt she already looked forward to a glorious future for her imagina-
tive child, who most probably inherited from her the refined and poetic
fancy which in after years made him so famous.

Her fancies, indeed, had a tinge of the superstition still holding sway in
the land of the Norsemen; and, strange to say, she looked forward to a
time when her son would revisit his native town, and Odense would be
illuminated in his honour.

This really happened many years afterwards, when the great poet and
author, covered with glory and fame, entered the town of his birth.

And now the boy of fourteen was launched om the ocean of life to seek for
that renown which only became his after years of disappointment and trial.

His spirit swelled with hope as he thought of the glory he could gain, and
he was at that moment the veritable little drummer-boy whom he so clearly
portrays in the story of “The Golden Treasure,” when the energy of his
character enabled him to reach Copenhagen, the chief city of his native land.

How little he was appreciated in this great city is well known. From
early childhood his keen susceptibility to the emotions of joy or sorrow
made them sometimes overpowering. At nine years of age he had laughed at
a comedy, or wept at a tragedy performed on a stage by Marionettes! and in
after years the real, living actors would move him with equal power.

On his arrival at Copenhagen he met with a friend in one of the profes-
sors at the University, and as the boy was fond of music he proposed that
Andersen should learn to sing on the stage. But this effort failed, for the
boy’s voice, though harmonious, was thin and weak, and could not be heard
even at a moderate distance.

After some years of struggling to earn a living, even while writing down
the curious thoughts with which his imagination teemed, he determined to
visit Germany 5 but his friend had obtained for him instruction in Latin
and German, which enabled him to remain and to bring out in 1829 his
first work, a play entitled “The Life of a Nicolaton,” which was very suc-
cessful; and in the next year he published his first story, and soon after
another, —“ Shadow Pictures.”

In 1832 he carried out his intention and visited Germany, and here his
books at once obtained notice, which gave him courage to continue the
work he so loved with renewed zeal.

During the years from 1832 to 1838 Andersen wrote his far-famed works
a “ Picture Book without Pictures ;” ‘The Improvisatore ;” “‘ He was only
an Actor ;” “The Story of the Year ;” and several others.

But the works that made him famous were his “ Fairy Tales,” the first of
which appeared in 1838, while others so quickly followed that they obtained
for Hans Andersen the name of “ The Children’s Friend.”

These stories, though highly imaginative, were full of interest, and evi-
dently the work of a man of deep conscientiousness and moral principle.
x REMINISCENCES OF HANS C. ANDERSEN.

But the poetic figures, the emotional language, and the brilliant pictures
presented so vividly to the reader, whether young or old, thrilled to the
heart ; and not only testified to the wonderful imagination of the writer, but
to the purity and youthful freshness which breathed through every page,
and lived in the heart of Andersen to the latest hours of his life.

In the early part of Andersen’s career he had been greatly pained, but
not daunted, by the severe and even mocking criticisms which his writings
received, in ‘Copenhagen especially.

The first to notice them were the editors of comic periodicals, and in
these they were criticised and made a mock of, often with a want of delicacy
most painful to the sensitive author.

By others his style was pronounced to be intricate, confused, and crude.
At the same time, it was acknowledged that the writer possessed great
power of language, and a remarkable richness of thought and imagination,
rendering the word-pictures his fancy drew too attractive to be passed over
unread.

One of Andersen’s oldest friends was Count Conrad of Rantzsan-Breiten-
burgh. This gentleman, who had been Prime Minister in the Duchy of
Schleswig-Holstein, had given Andersen his first step as an author, which
the narrow limits of his own poor dwelling rendered almost impossible.
The Count had, however, heard of him, sought him out, and recognised at
once that the humble-minded young writer was destined to become a
popular poet and author.

This was the turning point in Andersen’s career, the unkind criticisms
referred to had so disheartened him that he was tempted to despair of
success. The Count’s opinion gave him fresh courage and energy for
renewed efforts, which, as we now know, brought him glory and fame.

When the Count left Copenhagen he did not forget Andersen, but made
him promise that at the first opportunity he would come and visit him at
Castle Breitenburgh.

The opportunity presented itself after some years, and Andersen used to
say that the weeks and months of his stay at Castle Breitenburgh, belonged
to the most beautiful period of his life, and truly he might say this; for
Count Conrad, the owner of the castle was in the highest degree a man
calculated to arouse and console the tender-hearted, poetic, and often sad
spirit of his guest.

Andersen was one of those clever men who are totally devoid of vanity,
and he would often express in a straightforward and touching manner his
modest opinion of his own talents, and yet at the same time acknowledging
how greatly he longed for and needed encouragement. And all this time
within his soul, thoughts were pressing full on his creative fancy which he
longed to send forth to the world, yet dreaded with pain these adverse
criticisms,

_Not even in his old age, when he had been recognised by the whole
civilized world as a poet and author, could Andersen harden himself

to treat with indifference the unjust criticisms of the most insignificant
critic.
REMNISCENCES OF HANS C. ANDERSEN. xiii



Count Conrad died in the year 1844, while Andersen was in Germany,
and the loss of such a friend was to the poet very great. And although











































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Sree





Shas =———=



















BRIETENBURGH CASTLE,

he was now a popular author, and often invited by the Danish and German
nobility to visit them at their castles, the memory of his first kind friend,
the owner of Breitenburgh Castle, held the foremost place in his heart,
xiv REMINISCENCES OF HANS C. ANDERSEN,



He was popular in Denmark now, although his name as a story-writer
was first recognised by the common people, who quickly appreciated and
understood the vein of simplicity which runs through every page of Hans
Andersen’s tales.

The characters in these stories, whether of men or animals, whether
animate or inanimate, became living breathing creatures when he read his
stories aloud, for in spite of his humble birth, his pronunciation of his
native language was pure, correct, and noble.

While listening, it seemed not impossible that the objects described
might be beings possessing souls, and the power of becoming sad or
joyous, sublime or ridiculous as the author represented. :

In the year 1845, King Christian VIII. of Denmark, placed a very
pleasant shooting box, situated in the thickest covert of the magnificent
part of Fredericksburg, at the disposal of Hans Andersen, who had been
a widower for many years.

This unused building was now named “ Pheasant Court,” it had a large
garden and was to be used by the poet as his own, for life.

It was about this time that Andersen made a tour of the different
countries of Europe, and those who knew him personally speak with
delight of having met him at dinner parties, and of the glowing descriptions
he would give of the places he had visited, and the persons he had met
during his travels.

Scottish scenery charmed him, and he would speak of Sir Walter Scott
and Robert Burns, to whom he was introduced, in the most glowing terms.

Among his friends nearer home were the two renowned Swedish ladies,
‘Frederika Bremer, and Jenny Lind,” both of whom had a touching sisterly
affection for the poet.

His love of flowers was a poet’s love of the beautiful, and even from the
first appearance of that decay of nature which was to remove him at last
from earth, he would have fresh flowers in his room daily, often remarking
on their beauty and fragrance.

In 1872 Andersen had suffered from a severe illness, while visiting at
Rolighed, the country residence of a merchant named Melchior. Finding
himself as he thought better he returned home, but was still obliged to keep
in his room the whole winter. :

In the spring of 1873 he travelled to Switzerland, and there went
through a course of goats’ milk, among the mountains at Glion, on the
lake of Geneva.

He there became so much better and stronger that he was able to take
long drives, and returned to his home full of hope, that his health was quite
restored.

But this hope soon faded, and in the spring of 1875 it became evident
that his days were numbered. ‘But he was not forsaken by his friends.
Frau Melchior watched over him with tender care, and as the summer passed
and he became weaker, she had him removed to their country house,
Rolighed.

The king came to visit him many times, and the crown prince much
REMINISCENCES OF HANS C. ANDERSEN. XV



obiren and he was also visited frequently by men and women of high
- position. Not only were his last days brightened by these attentions, but
from his own hopeful and poetic character.

Days passed and as he grew weaker he was greatly comforted by the
tender care that surrounded him, and while talking with his visitors he

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ANDERSEN’S MONUMENT,

would often cut out and paste together a little figure in which the poetic
art would show itself, even as in his fairy tales the charm of the characters
introduced would represent his own poetic imagination.

Hans Christian Andersen died August 4th, 1875, at the age of yo. He
had on that day been sleeping peacefully for some hours, and at about
eleven o’clock at night Frau Melchior left the bedside for a moment. and
xvi REMINISCENCES OF HANS C. ANDERSEN,
when she returned, after scarcely two minutes absence, he was gone. He
had only breathed one gentle sigh and awoke, not again on earth, but

in heaven.
A statue bearing his name and called “The Asylum for Little children,”

has been erected among the very old trees of the Rosenburg Castle gardens,
not many steps from that of Christian IV., the most celebrated and
popular of the Oldenburg line of kings. In the Danish National Songs,
this king is extolled in a verse beginning— ;

“* King Christian stood by the top-mast high,”

Andersen’s sfatue was unveiled June 26th, 1880.


HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.

















































































































































































































Far down in the forest, where the
warm sun and the fresh air made a
sweet resting-place, grew a prettylittle
fir-tree; and yet it was not happy,
it wished so much to he tall like its
companions, the pines and firs which
grew around it, The sun shone, and
the soft air fluttered its leaves, and
the little peasant children passed
by, prattling merrily, but the fir-tree
heeded them not. Sometimes the
children would bring a large basket of
raspberries or strawberries, wreathed
on astraw, and seat themselves near

I
*


















2 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



the fir-tree, and say, “Is it not a pretty little tree?” which made it feel more
unhappy than before. And yet all this while the tree grewa notch or joint
taller every year; for by the number of joints in the stem of a fir-tree we
can discover its age. Still, as it grew, it complained, “Oh! how I wish I
were as tall as the other trees, then I would spread out my branches on
every side, and my top would overlook the wide world. I should have the
birds building their nests on my boughs, and when the wind blew, I should
bow with stately dignity like my tall companions.” The tree was so dis-
contented, that it took no pleasure in the warm sunshine, the birds, or the
rosy clouds that floated over it morning and evening. Sometimes, in
winter, when the snow lay white and glittering on the ground, a hare would
come springing along, and jump right over the little tree; and then how
mortified it would feel! Two winters passed, and when the third arrived,
the tree had grown so tall that the hare was obliged to run round it. Yet
it remained unsatisfied and would exclaim, “ Oh, if I could but keep on
growing tall and old! There is nothing else worth caring for in the
world!” In the autumn, as usual, the woodcutters came and cut down
several of the tallest trees, and the young fir-tree, which was now grown to
its full height, shuddered as the noble trees fell to the earth with a crash.
After the branches were lopped off, the trunks looked so slender and bare,
that they could scarcely be recognised. Then they were placed upon
waggons, and drawn by horses out of the forest. ‘Where were they
going? What would become of them?” The young fir-tree wished very
much to know; so in the spring, when the swallows and the storks came, it
asked, “ Do you know where those trees were taken? Did you meet them ?”

The swallows knew nothing; but the stork, after a little reflection,
nodded his head, and said, “Yes, I think I do. I met several new ships
when I flew from Egypt, and they had fine masts that smelt like fr. I
think these must have been the trees; I assure you they were stately, very
stately.”

“Oh, how I wish I were tall enough to go on the sea,” said the fir-tree.
“ What is this sea, and what does it look like?”

“Tt would take too much time to explain,” said the stork, fying quickly
away.

“ Rejoice in thy youth,” said the sunbeam ; “rejoice in thy fresh growth,
and the young life that is in thee.”

And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew watered it with tears; but the
fir-tree regarded them not.

Christmastime drew near, and many young trees were cut down, some
even smaller and younger than the fir-tree, who enjoyed neither rest nor
peace with longing to leave its forest home. These young trees, which were
chosen for their beauty, kept their branches, and were also laid on waggons
and drawn by horses out of the forest. ;

“Where are they going ?” asked the firtree. “ They are not taller than I
am: indeed, one is much less; and why are the branches not cut off?
Where are they going?”

“We know, we know,” sang the sparrows; “we have looked in at the
THE FIR TREE. 3



windows of the houses in the town, and we know what is done with them.
They are dressed up in the most splersdid manner. We have seen them
standing in the middle of a warm room, and adorned with all sorts of
beautiful things,—honey cakes, gilded apples, playthings, and many
hundreds of wax tapers.”

“ And then,” asked the fir-tree, trembling through all its branches, “and
then what happens?”

“We did not see any more,” said the sparrows; “but this was enough
for us.”

“ T wonder whether anything so brilliant will ever happen to me,” thought
the firtree. “It would be much better than crossing the sea. I long for
it almost with pain. Oh! when will Christmas be here? I am now as tall
and well grown as those which were taken away last year. Oh! that I were
now laid on the waggon, or standing in the warm room, with all that bright-

‘ ness and splendour around me! Something better and more beautiful is to
come after, or the trees would not be so decked out. ‘Yes, what follows
will be grander and more splendid. What can it be? I am weary with
longing. I scarcely know how I feel.”

“Rejoice with us,” said the air and the sunlight. “Enjoy thine own
bright life in fresh air.”

But the tree would not rejoice, though it grew taller every day; and
winter and summer, its dark-green foliage might be seen in the forest, while
passers by would say, “ What a beautiful tree |” :

A short time before Christmas, the discontented fir-tree was the first to
fall. As the axe cut through the stem, and divided the pith, the tree fell
with a groan to the earth, conscious of pain and faintness, and forgetting all
its anticipations of happiness, in sorrow at leaving its home in the forest.
It knew that it should never again see its dear old companions, the trees,
nor the little bushes and many-coloured flowers that had grown by its side ;
perhaps not even the birds. Neither was the journey at all pleasant. The
tree first recovered itself while being unpacked in the courtyard of a house,
with several other trees; and it heard a man say, ‘‘ We only want one, and
this is the prettiest.”

Then came two servants in grand livery, and carried the fir-tree into a
large and beautiful apartment. On the walls hung pictures, and near the
great stove stood great china vases, with lions on the lids. There were
rocking-chairs, silken sofas, large tables, covered with pictures, books, and
playthings, worth a great deal of money,—at least, the children said so.
Then the firtree was placed in a large tub, full of sand; but green baize
hang all round it, so that no one could see it was a tub, and it stood ona
very handsome carpet. How the fir-tree trembled! “What was going to
happen to him now?” Some young ladies came, and the servants helped .
them to adorn the tree. On one branch they hung little bags cut out of
coloured paper, and each bag was filled with sweetmeats; from other
branches hung gilded apples and.walnuts, as if they had grown there; and
above, and all round, were hundreds of red, blue, and white tapers, which

~ were fastened on the branches. Dolls, exactly like real babies, were placed

I a
A HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



under the green leaves,—the tree had never seen such things before,—and
at the very top was fastened a glittering star, made of tinsel. Oh, it was
very beautiful !

“This evening,” they all exclaimed, “how bright it will be!” “Oh, that
the evening were come,” thought the tree, “and the tapers lighted! then I
shall know what else is going to happen. Will the trees of the forest come
to see me? I wonder if the sparrows will peep in at the windows as they
fly? shall I grow faster here, and keep on all these ornaments during
summer and winter?” But guessing was of very little use; it made his-
bark ache, and this pain is as bad fora slender fir-tree, as headache is for
us. At last the tapers were lighted, and then what a glistening blaze of
light the tree presented! It trembled so with joy in all its branches, that
one of the candles fell among the green leaves and burnt some of them.
“Help! help!” exclaimed the young ladies, but there was no danger, for
they quickly extinguished the fire. After this, the tree tried not to tremble.
at all, though the fire frightened him ; he was so anxious not to hurt any of
the beautiful ornaments, even while their brilliancy dazzled him. And now
the folding doors were thrown open, and a troop of children rushed in as if
they intended to upset the tree; they were followed more slowly by their
elders. For a moment the little ones stood silent with astonishment, and
then they shouted for joy, till the room. rang, and they danced merrily
round the tree, while one present after another was taken from it.

“What are they doing? What will happen next?” thought the fir, At
last the candles burnt down to the branches and were put out. Then the
children received permission to plunder the tree.

Oh, how they rushed upon it, till the branches cracked, and had it not
been fastened with the glistening star to the ceiling, it must have been
thrown down. ‘The children then danced about with their pretty toys, and
no one noticed the tree, except the children’s maid, who came and peeped
among the branches to see if an apple or a fig had been forgotten.

“ A story, a story,” cried the children, pulling a little fat man towards the
tree.

“Now we shall be in the green shade,” said the man, as he seated himself
under it, “and the tree will haveethe pleasure of hearing also, but I shall
only relate one story; what shall it be? Ivede-Avede, or Humpty Dumpty,
who fell downstairs, but soon got up again, and at last married a princess.”

“Ivede-Avede,” cried some. “Humpty Dumpty,” cried others, and
- there was a fine shouting and crying out. But the fir-tree remained quite
_ still, and thought to himself, “Shall I have anything to do with all this ?”
but he had already amused them as much as they wished. Then the old
man told them the story of Humpty Dumpty, how he fell downstairs, and
was raised up again, and married a princess. And the children clapped
their hands and cried, “Tell another, tell another,” for they wanted to hear
the story of “Ivede-Avede;” but they only had “Humpty Dumpty.”
After this the fir-tree became quite silent and thoughtful; never had the
birds in the forest told such tales as “Humpty Dumpty,” who fell down-
stairs, and yet married a princess.
THE FIR TREE. 5



“ Ah! yes, so it happens in the world,” thought the fir-tree ; he believed
it all, because it was related by such a nice man. “Ah! well,” he thought,
“who knows? perhaps I may fall down too, and marry a princess ;” and
he looked forward joyfully to the next evening, expecting to be again
decked out with lights and playthings, gold and fruit. “To-morrow I will
not tremble,” thought he; “I will enjoy all my splendour, and I shall hear
the story of Humpty Dumpty again, and perhaps Ivede-Avede.” And the tree
remained quiet and thoughtful all night. In the morning the servants and the
housemaid came in. “ Now,’ thought the fir, “all my splendour is going
to begin again.” But they dragged him out of the room and upstairs to the
garret, and threw him on the floor, in a dark corner, where no daylight
shone, and there they left him. ‘What does this mean?” thought the tree,
“What am I to do here? I can hear nothing in a place like this,” and he
leant against the wall, and thought and thought. And he had time enough to
think, for days and nights passed and no one came near him, and when at
last somebody did come, it was only to put away large boxes in a corner.
So the tree was completely hidden from sight as if it had never existed. “It
‘is winter now,” thought the tree, “the ground is hard and covered with
snow, so that people cannot plant me. I shall be sheltered here I dare say,
‘until spring comes. How thoughtful and kind everybody is tome! Still I
wish this place were not so dark, as well as lonely, with not even a little
hare to look at. How pleasant it was out in the forest while the snow lay
on the ground, when the hare would run by, yes, and jump over me
too, although I did not like it then. Oh! it is terribly lonely here.”

“ Squeak, squeak,” said a little mouse, creeping cautiously towards the
tree; then came another, and they both sniffed at the firtree and crept be-
tween the branches.

“Oh, it is very cold,” said the little mouse, “or else we should be so com-
fortable here, shouldn’t we, you old fir-tree ?”

“T am not old,” said the firtree, “there are many who are older than I
am.”

“Where do you come from? and what do you know?” asked the mice,
who were full of curiosity. “Have you seen the most beautiful places
in the world, and can you tell us all about them? and have you been in the
storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelf, and hams hang from the ceiling ?
ae can run about on tallow candles there, and go in thin and come out
at.”

“*T know nothing of that place,” said the fir-tree, “‘ but I know the wood
where the sun shines and the birds sing.” And then the tree told the little mice
all about its youth. They had never heard such an account in their lives ;
and after they had listened to it attentively, they said, ‘‘ What a number of
things you have seen! you must have been very happy.”’

“ Flappy!” exclaimed the fir-tree, and then as he reflected upon what he
had been telling them he said, “ Ah, yes! after all, those were happy days.”

- But when he went on and related all about Christmas-eve, and how he had
been dressed up with cakes and lights, the mice said, “ How happy you
must have been, you old fir-tree.”
6 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



“T am not old at all,” replied the tree, “I only came from the forest this
winter, I am now checked in my growth.”

“What splendid stories you can relate,” said the little mice. And the
next night four other mice came with them to hear what the tree had to tell.
The more he talked the more he remembered, and then he thought to him-
self, “Those were happy days, but they may come again. Humpty
Dumpty fell downstairs, and yet he married the princess; perhaps I may
matry a princess too.” And the fir-tree thought of the pretty little birch-tree
that grew in the forest, which was to him a real beautiful princess.

“Who is Humpty Dumpty?” asked the little mice. And then the tree
related the whole story ; he could remember every single word, and the little
mice were so delighted with it, that they were ready to jump to the top of
the tree. The next night a great many more mice made their appearance,
and on Sunday two rats came with them; but they said it was not a pretty
story at all, and the little mice were very sorry, for it made them also think
less of it

“Do you know only one story?” asked the rats.

“Only one,” replied the fir-tree; “I heard it on the happiest evening in
my life ; but I did not know I was so happy at the time.”

“We think it is a very miserable story,” said the rats. “Don’t you know
any story about bacon, or tallow in the storeroom ?”

“No,” replied the tree.

“Many thanks to you then,” replied the rats, and they marched off.

The little mice also kept away after this, and the tree sighed, and said,
“Tt was very pleasant when the merry little mice sat round me and listened
while I talked. Now that is all passed too. However, I shall consider
myself happy when some one comes to take me out of this place.” But
would this ever happenP Yes; one morning people came to clear out the
garret, the boxes were packed away, and the tree was pulled cut of the
corner, and thrown roughly on the garret floor; then the servant dragged it out
upon the staircase where the daylight shone. “Now life is beginning again,”
said the tree, rejoicing in the sunshine and fresh air. Then it was carried
downstairs and taken into the courtyard so quickly, that it forgot to think
of itself, and could only look about, there was so much to be seen. The .
court was close to a garden, where everything looked blooming. Fresh and
fragrant roses hung over the little palings. The linden-trees were in blossom ;
while the swallows flew here and there, crying, “ Twit, twit, twit, my mate
is coming,’—but it was not the fir-tree they meant. ‘Now I shall live,”
cried the tree, joyfully spreading out its branches; but alas! they were all
withered and yellow, and it lay in a corner amongst weeds and nettles. The
star of gold paper still stuck in the top of the tree and glittered in the sun-
shine. In the same courtyard two of the merry children were playing who
had danced round the tree at Christmas, and had been so happy. The
youngest saw the gilded star, and ran and pulled it off the tree. “ Look
what is sticking to the ugly old fir-tree,” said the child, treading on the
branches till they crackled under his boots. And the tree saw all the fresh
bright flowers in the garden, and then looked at itself, and wished it had
THE BRAVE TIN SOLDIER. 7



remained in the dark corner of the garret. It thought of its fresh youth in
the forest, of the merry Christmas evening, and of the little mice who had
listened to the story of “ Humpty Dumpty.” ‘ Past! past!” said the old
tree ; “Oh, had I but enjoyed myself while I could have done so! but now
it is too late.” Then a lad came and chopped the tree into small pieces,
till a large bundle lay ina heap on the ground. The pieces were placed ina
fire under the copper, and they quickly blazed up brightly, while the tree
sighed so deeply that each sigh was like a little pistol-shot. Then the
children, who were at play, came and seated themselves in front of the fire,
and looked at it, and cried, “Pop, pop.” But at each “pop,” which was a
deep sigh, the tree was thinking of a summer day in the forest, or of some
winter night there, when the stars shone brightly ; and of Christmas evening,
and of “Humpty Dumpty,” the only story it had ever heard or knew how
to relate, till at last it was consumed. The boys still played in the garden,
and the youngest wore the golden star on his breast, with which the tree had
been adorned during the happiest evening of its existence. Now all was
past; the tree’s life was past, and the story also,—for all stories must come
to an end at last.

THE BRAVE TiN SOLDIER.

THERE were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers, who were all brothers, for
they had been made out of the same old tin spoon. They shouldered arms
and looked straight before them, and wore a splendid uniform, red and
blue. The first thing in the world they ever heard were the words, “Tin
soldiers!” uttered by a little boy, who clapped his hands with delight when
the lid of the box, in which they lay, was taken off. They were given him
for a birthday present, and he stood at the table to set them up. The
soldiers were all exactly alike, excepting one, who had only one leg; he had
been left to the last, and then there was not enough of the melted tin to
finish him, so they made him to stand firmly on one leg, and this caused
him to be very remarkable, ;
The table on which the tin soldiers stood, was covered with other play-
things, but.the most attractive to the eye was a pretty little paper castle.
_ Through the small windows the rooms could be seen. In front of the
castle a number of little trees surrounded a piece of looking-glass, which
was intended to represent a transparent lake. Swans, made of wax, swam
on the lake, and were reflected init. All this was very pretty, but the
prettiest of all was a tiny little lady, who stood at the open door of the
castle; she, also, was made of paper, and she wore a dress of clear muslin,
with a narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders just like a scarf. In front of
this was fixed a glittering tinsel rose, as large as her whole face. ‘The little
8 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.

lady was a dancer, and she stretched out both her arms, and raised one of
her legs so high, that the tin soldier could not see it at all, and he thought
that she, like himself, had only one leg. ‘That is the wife for me,” he
thought ; “but she is too grand, and lives in a castle, while I have only a
box to live in, five-and-twenty of us altogether, that is no place for her.
Still I must try and make her acquaintance.” Then he laid himself at full
length on the table behind a snuffbox that stood upon it, so that he could



































THE TIN SOLDIER SAILING DOWN THE GUTTER.

‘peep at the little delicate lady, who continued to stand on one leg without
losing her balance. When evening came, the other tin soldiers were all
placed in the box, and the people of the house went to bed. Then the
playthings began to have their own games together, to pay visits, to have
sham fights, and to give balls. The tin soldiers rattled in their box ; they
wanted to get out and join the amusements, but they could not open the
lid. The nut-crackergs played at leap-frog, and the pencil jumped about the
table. There was such a noise that the canary woke up and began to talk,
and in poetry too. Only the tin soldier and the dancer remained in their
places. She stood on tip-toe, with her arms stretched out, as firmly as he
THE BRAVE TIN SOLDIER. 9



. did on his one leg, He never took his eyes from her for even a moment.
The clock struck twelve, and, with a bounce, up sprang the lid of the snuff-
box; but, instead of snuff, there jumped up a little black goblin; for the
snuffbox was a toy puzzle.

“Tin soldier,” said the goblin, “don’t wish for what does not belong to you.”

But the tin soldier pretended not to hear.

“Very well ; wait till to-morrow, then,” said the goblin.

When the children came in the next morning, they placed the tin soldier
in the window. Now, whether it was the goblin who did it, or the draught,
is not known, but the window flew open, and out fell the tin soldier, heels

~ over head, from the third story, into the street beneath. It was a terrible

‘fall; for he came head downwards, his helmet and his bayonet stuck in
between the flagstones, and his one leg up in the air. The servant-maid and

_the little boy went downstairs directly to look for him; but he was nowhere,

.to be seen, although once they nearly trod upon him. If he had called out.

.“ Flere I am,” it would have been all right; but he was too proud to cry

out for help while he wore a uniform.

Presently it began to rain, and the drops fell faster and faster, till there
-was a heavy shower. When it was over, two boys happened to pass by,
and one of them said, “ Look, there is a tin soldier. He ought to have a
boat to sail in.”

So they made a boat out of a newspaper, and placed the tin soldier in it,

-and sent him sailing down the gutter, while the two boys ran by the side of ~
-it, and clapped their hands. Good gracious, what large waves arose in that
gutter ! and how fast the stream rolled on! for the rain had been very heavy.
‘The paper boat rocked up and down, and turned itself round sometimes so
quickly that the tin soldier trembled ; yet he remained firm ; his countenance
did not change; he looked straight before him, and shouldered his musket.
Suddenly the boat shot under a bridge which formed part of a drain, and
then it was as dark as the tin soldier’s box.

“Where am I going now?” thought he. “This is the black goblin’s
fault, Iam sure. Ah, well, if the little lady were only here with me in the
boat, I should not care for any darkness.”

Suddenly there appeared a great water-rat, who lived in the drain.

“Tave you a passport?” asked the rat, “give it to me at once.” But
the tin soldier remained silent and held his musket tighter than ever. The
boat sailed on and the rat followed it. How he did gnash his teeth and
cry out to the bits of wood and straw, “Stop him, stop him; he has not

- paid toll, and has not shown his pass.” But the stream rushed on stronger
and stronger. The tin soldier could already see daylight shining where the
arch ended. Then he heard a roaring sound quite terrible enough to frighten
the bravest man. At the end of the tunnel the drain fell into a large canal
over a steep place, which made it as dangerous for him as a waterfall would
be to us. He was too close to it to stop, so the boat rushed on, and the
poor tin soldier could only hold himself as stiffly as possible, without
moving an eyelid, to show that he was not afraid. The boat whirled round
three or four times, and then filled with water to the very edge; nothing
ite) HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



could save it from sinking. He now stood up to his neck in water, while
deeper and deeper sank the boat, and the paper became soft and loose with
the wet, till at last the water closed over the soldier's head. He thought of
the elegant little dancer whom he should never see again, and the words of
the song sounded in his ears—

‘“* Farewell, warrior, ever brave,
Drifting onward to thy grave.”

Then the paper boat fell to pieces, and the soldier sank into the water and
immediately afterwards was swallowed up by a great fish. Oh, how dark it
was inside the fish! a great deal darker than in the tunnel, and narrower
too, but the tin soldier continued firm, and lay at full length, shouldering
his musket. The fish swam to and fro, making the most wonderful move-
ments, but at last he became quite still. After a while, a flash of
lightning seemed to pass through him, and then the daylight ap-
peared, and a voice cried out, ‘ I declare here is the tin soldier.” The
fish had been caught, taken to the market and sold to the cook, who took
him into the kitchen and cut him open with a large knife. She picked up
the soldier and held him by the waist between her finger and thumb, and
carried him into the room. They were all anxious to see this wonderfulsoldier
who had travelled about inside a fish ; but he was not at all proud. They
placed him on the table, and—how many curious things do happen in the
world !—there he was in the very same room from the window of which he
had fallen, there were the same children, the same playthings standing on
the table, and the pretty castle with the elegant little dancer at the door;
she still balanced herself on one leg, and held up the other, so she was as
firm as himself. It touched the tin soldier so much to see her that he
almost wept tin tears, but he kept them back. He only looked at her, and
they both remained silent. Presently one of the little boys took up the tin
soldier, and threw him into the stove. He had no reason for doing so,
therefore it must have been the fault of the black goblin who lived in the
snuff-box. ‘The flames lighted up the tin soldier, as he stood ; the heat was
very terrible, but whether it proceeded from the real fire or from the fire of
love he could not tell. Then he could see that the bright colours were
faded from his uniform, but whether they had been washed off during his
journey, or from the effects of his sorrow, no one could say. He looked at
the little lady, and she looked at him. He felt himself melting away, but
he still remained firm with his gun on his shoulder. Suddenly the door of
the room flew open, and the draught of air caught up the little dancer, she
fluttered like a sylph right into the stove by the side of the tin soldier, and
was instantly in flames and was gone. The tin soldier melted down into a -
lump, and the next morning, when the maid-servant took the ashes out of the
stove, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the little
dancer nothing remained but the tinsel rose, which was burnt black as a
cinder.
EEE EEE EEE Ee seeseesaee













Boe NR.
is ONY
DY ey “DY IN











ie
i)

Sli ac nl ls DoS Sal

LITTLE TINY.

THERE was once a woman who wished very much to have a little child,
but she could not obtain her wish. At last she went to a fairy, and said,
“T should so very much like to have a little child; can you tell me where
I can find one?” :

“Qh, that can be easily managed,” said the fairy. “Here is a barley-
corn of a different kind to those which grow in the farmers’ fields, and which
the chickens eat; put it into a flower-pot, and see what will happen.”

“Thank you,” said the woman, and she gave the fairy twelve shillings,
which was the price of the barleycorn. Then she went home and planted
it, and immediately there grew up a large handsome flower, something like
a tulip in appearance, but with its leaves tightly closed as if it were still a
bud. “tis a beautiful flower,” said the woman, and she kissed the red
and golden-coloured leaves, and while she did so the flower opened, and
she could see that it was a real tulip. Within the flower, upon the green
velvet stamens, sat a very delicate and graceful little maiden. She was
scarcely half as long as a thumb, and they gave her the name of “ Little
Thumb,” or Tiny, because she was so small. A walnut-shell, elegantly
polished, served her for a cradle ; her bed was formed of blue violet-leaves,
with a rose-leaf for a counterpane. Here she slept at night, but during the
day she amused herself on a table, where the woman had placed a plate full
of water. Round this plate were wreaths of flowers with their stems in the
water, and upon it floated a large tulip-leaf, which served Tiny for a boat.

- Here the little maiden sat and rowed herself from side to side, with two
oars made of white horse-hair. It really was a very pretty sight. Tiny
could also sing so softly and sweetly that nothing like her singing had ever
before been heard. One night, while she lay in her pretty bed, a large,
ugly, wet toad crept through a broken pane of glass in the window, and
leaped right upon the table where Tiny lay sleeping under her rose-leaf
quilt. “‘ What a pretty little wife this would make for my son,” said the
toad, and she took up the walnut-shell in which little Tiny lay asleep, and
jumped through the window with it into the garden.

In the swampy margin of a broad stream in the garden lived the toad, with
her son. He was uglier even than his mother, and when he saw the pretty
little maiden in her elegant bed, he could only cry, “Croak, croak, croak.”

“ Don’t speak so loud, or she will wake,” said the toad, “and then she
12 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



a
might run away, for she is as light as swan’s down. We will place her on
one of the water-lily leaves out in the stream ; it will be like an island to
her, she is so light and small, and then she cannot escape; and, while she
is away, we will make haste and prepare the stateroom under the marsh,
in which you are to live when you are married.”

Far out in the stream grew a number of water-lifies, with broad green
leaves, which seemed to float on the top of the water. The largest of these
leaves appeared farther off than the rest, and the old toad swam out to it
with the walnut-shell, in which little Tiny lay still asleep. The tiny little
creature woke very early in the morning, and began to cry bitterly when
she found where she was, for she could see nothing but water on every side
of the large green leaf, and no way of reaching the land. Meanwhile the
old toad was very busy under the marsh, decking her room with rushes and
wild yellow flowers, to make it look pretty for her new daughter-in-law.
Then she swam out with her ugly son to the leaf on which she had placed
poor little Tmy. She wanted to fetch the pretty bed, that she might put
jt in the bridal chamber to be ready for her. The old toad bowed low to
her in the water, and said, “‘ Here is my son; he will be your husband, and
you will live happily together in the marsh by the stream,”

“ Croak, croak, croak,” was all herson could say for himself; so the toad
took up the elegant little bed, and swam away with it, leaving Tiny all alone
on the green leaf, where she sat and wept. She could not bear to think of
living with the old toad, and having her ugly son for a husband. The little
fishes, who swam about in the water beneath, had seen the toad, and heard
what she said, so they lifted their heads above the water to look at the little
maiden. As soon as they caught sight of her, they saw she was very pretty,
and it made them very sorry to think that she must go and live with the
ugly toads. “No, it must never be!” so they assembled together in the
water, round the green stalk which held the leaf on which the little maiden
stood, and gnawed it away at the root with their teeth. Then the leaf
floated down the stream, carrying Tiny far away out of reach of land.

Tiny sailed past many towns, and the little birds in the bushes saw her,
and sang, “ What a lovely little creature!” So the leaf swam away with her
farther and farther, tillit brought her to other lands. A graceful little white
butterfly constantly fluttered round her, and at last alighted on the leaf. Tiny
pleased him, and she was glad of it, for now the toad could not possibly
reach her, and the country through which she sailed was beautiful, and the
sun shone upon the water, till it glittered like liquid gold. She took off
her girdle and tied one end of it round the butterfly, and the other end of
the ribbon she fastened to the leaf, which now glided on much faster than
ever, taking little Tiny with it as she stood. Presently a large cockchafer
flew by ; the moment he caught sight of her, he seized her round her deli-
cate waist with his claws, and flew with her into a tree. The green leaf
floated away on the brook, and the butterfly flew with it, for he was fastened
to it, and could not get away.

Oh, how frightened little Tiny felt when the cockchafer flew with her to
the tree! But especially was she sorry for the beautiful white butterfly
LITTLE TINY. . 13
which she had fastened to the leaf, for if he could not free himself he would
die of hunger. But the cockchafer did not trouble himself at all about the
matter. He seated himself by her side ona large green leaf, gave her some
honey from the flowers to eat, and told her she was very pretty, though not
in the least like a cockchafer. After a time, all the cockchafers who lived
in the tree came to visit her. They stared at Tiny, and then the young
lady-cockchafers turned up their feelers, and said, “She has only two legs !
how ugly that looks.” ‘She has no feelers,” said another. “Her waist
is quite slim. Pooh! she is like a human being.”

“Oh! she is ugly,” said all the lady-cockchafers, although Tiny was very
pretty. Then the cockchafer who had run away with her, believed all the
others when they said she was ugly, and would have nothing more to say to
her, and told her she might go where she liked. Then he flew down with
her from the tree, and placed her on a daisy, and she wept at the thought
that she was so ugly that even the cockchafers would have nothing to say
to her. And all the while she was really the loveliest creature that one
could imagine, and as tender and delicate as a beautiful rose-leaf. During
the whole summer poor little Tiny lived quite alone in the wide forest. She
wove herself a bed with blades of grass, and hung it up under a broad leaf,
to protect herself from the rain. She sucked the honey from the flowers
for food, and drank the dew from their leaves every morning. So passed
- away the summer and the autumn, and then came the winter,—the long,

cold winter. All the birds who had sung to her so sweetly were flown away,

and the trees and the flowers had withered. The large clover leaf, under the

shelter of which she had lived, was now rolled together and shrivelled up,
_. nothing remained but a yellow withered stalk. She felt dreadfully cold, for
~ her clothes were torn, and she was herself so frail and delicate, that poor little
Tiny was nearly frozen todeath. It began to snow too; and the snow-flakes,
as they fell upon her, were like a whole shovelful falling upon one of us,
for we are tall, but she was only an inch high. Then she wrapped herself
up in a dry leaf, but it cracked in the middle, and could not keep her warm
and she shivered with cold. Near the wood in which she had been living,
lay a large corn-field, but the corn had been cut a long time ; nothing re-
mained but the bare dry stubble standing up out of the frozen ground, It
was to her like struggling through a large wood. Oh! how she shivered
with the cold. She came at last to the door of a field-mouse, who had a
little den under the corn-stiibble. There dwelt the field-mouse in warmth
and comfort, with a whole roomful of corn, a kitchen, and a beautiful dining-
room. Poor little Tiny stood before the door just like a little beggar-girl,
and begged for a small piece of barley-corn, for she had been without a
norsel to eat for two days. ;

“¥ou poor little creature,” said the field-mouse, who was really a good
old field-mouse, “come into my warm room and dine with me,” She was
very pleased with Tiny, so she said, “You are quite welcome to stay with
me all the winter, if you like; but you must keep my rooms clean and neat,
and tell me stories, for I shall like to hear them very much.” And Tiny
did all the field-mouse asked her, and found herself very comfortable.


14 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES,



“We shall have a visitor soon,” said the field-mouse one day ; “ my neigh-
bour pays me a visit once a week. He is better off than I am; he has
large rooms, and wears a beautiful black velvet coat. If you could only
have him for a husband, you would be well provided for indeed. ‘But he is
blind, so you must tell him some of your prettiest stories.”

But Tiny did not feel at all interested about this neighbour, for he was
a mole. However, he came and paid his visit, dressed in his black velvet coat.

“He is very rich and learned, and his house is twenty times larger than
mine,” said the field-mouse. ;

He was rich and learned, no doubt, but he always spoke slightingly of
she sun and the pretty flowers, because he had never seen them. ‘Tiny was
obliged to sing to him, “ Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home,” and many
other pretty songs. And the mole fell in love with her because she had
such a sweet voice ; but he said nothing yet, for he was very cautious, A
short time before, the mole had dug a long passage under the earth, which
led from the dwelling of the field-mouse to his own, and here she had per-
mission to walk with Tiny, whenever she liked. But he warned them not
to be alarmed at the sight of a dead bird which lay in the passage. It was
a perfect bird, with a beak and feathers, and could not have been dead long,
and was lying just where the mole had made his passage. The mole took
a piece of phosphorescent wood in his mouth, and it glittered like fire in
the dark; then he went before them to light them through the long, dark
passage. When they came to the spot where lay the dead bird, the mole
pushed his broad nose through the ceiling, the earth gave way, so that there
was 4 large hole, and the daylight shone into the passage. In the middle
of the floor lay a dead swallow, his beautiful wings pulled close to his sides,
this feet and his head drawn up under his feathers; the poor bird had evi-
dently died of the cold. It made little Tiny very sad to see it, she did so
love the little birds ; all the summer they had sung and twittered for her so
beautifully. But the mole pushed it aside with his crooked legs, and said,
“ Efe will sing no more now. How miserable it must be to be born a little
bird! I am thankful that none of my.children will ever be birds, for they
can do nothing but cry, ‘ Tweet, tweet,’ and always die of hunger in the
winter.”

“Yes, you may well say that, as a clever man!” exclaimed the field-
mouse, “ What is the use of his twittering, for when winter comes he must
either starve or be frozen to death. Still birds are very high bred.”

Totty said nothing ; but when the two others had turned their backs on
the bird, she stooped down and stroked aside the soft feathers which covered
the head, and kissed the closed eyelids. “Perhaps this was the one who
sang to me so sweetly in the summer,” she said; “and how much pleasure
it gave me, you dear, pretty bird.” .

The mole now stopped up the hole through which the daylight shone,
and then accompanied the ladies home. But during the night Tiny could
not sleep; so she got out of bed and wove a large, beautiful carpet of hay;
then she carried it to the dead bird, and spread it over him, with some down
from the flowers which she had found in the field-mouse’s room. It was
LITTLE TINY. 5



as soft as wool, and she spread some of it on each side of the bird, so that
he might lie warmly in the cold earth. ‘ Farewell, you pretty little bird,”
said she, “farewell; thank you for your delightful singing during the sum-
mer, when all the trees were green, and the warm sun shone upon us.”
“Then she laid her head upon the bird’s breast, but she was alarmed imme-
diately, for it seemed as if something inside the bird went “thump, thump.”
It was the bird’s heart; he was not really dead, only benumbed with the
cold, and the warmth had restored him to life. In autumn, all the swallows
fly away into warm countries, but if one happens to linger, the cold seizes
it, it becomes frozen, and falls down as if dead; it remains where it fell,
_and the cold snow covers it. ‘Tiny trembled very much; she was quite
frightened, for the bird was large, a great deal larger than herself,—she was
only an inch high. But she took courage, laid the wool more thickly over the
poor swallow, and then took a leaf which she had used for her own counter-
pane, and laid it over the head of the poor bird. The next night she again
stole out to see him. He was alive but very weak ; he could only open
his eyes for a moment to look at Tiny, who stood by holding a piece of
decayed wood in her had, for she had no other lantern, “Thank you,
pretty little maiden,” said the sick swallow; I have been so nicely warmed,
that I shall soon regain my strength, and be able to fly about again in the
warm sunshine.”
“ Oh,” said she, “it ig cold out of doors now; it snows and freezes. Stay
in your warm bed ; I will take care of you.”
‘Then she brought the swallow some water in a flower-leaf, and after he
had drank, he told her that he had wounded one of his wings in a thorn-
bush, and could not fly as fast as the others, who were soon far away on
their journey to warm countries. ‘Then at last he had fallen to the earth,
and could remember no more, nor how he came to be where she had found
him. The whole winter the swallow remained underground, and Tiny
nursed him with care and love. Neither the mole nor the field-mouse knew
_ anything about it, for they did not like swallows. Very soon the spring

time came, and the sun warmed the earth, Then the swallow bade farewell
to Tiny, and she opened the hole in the ceiling which the mole had made.
The sun shone in upon them'so beautifully, that the swallow asked her if
she would go with him; she could sit on his back, he said, and he would
fly away with her into the green woods. But Tiny knew it would make
the field-mouse very grieved if she left her in that manner, so she said, “ No,
I cannot.”

“ Farewell, then, farewell, you good pretty little maiden,” said the swallow ;
and he flew out into the sunshine.

Tiny looked after him, and the tears rose inhereyes. She was very fond
of the poor swallow.

‘Tweet, tweet,” sang the bird, as he flew out into the green woods, and
Tiny felt very sad. She was not allowed to go out into the warm sunshine.
The corn which had been sown in the field over the house of the field-

mouse had grown up high into the air, and formed a thick wood to Tiny,
who was only an inch in‘height.
16 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



“You are going to be matried, Tiny,” said the field-mouse. “ My neigh-
pour has asked for you. What good fortune for a poor child like you!
Now we will prepare your wedding clothes. They must be both woollen
and linen. Nothing must be wanting when you are the mole’s wife.”

Tiny had to turn the spindle, and the field-mouse hired four spiders,
who were to weave day and night. Every evening the mole visited her,
and was continually speaking of the time when the summer would be over.
Then he would keep his wedding day with Tiny; but now the heat of the
sun was so great that it burned the earth, and made it quite hard, like a
stone. As soon as the summer was over, the wedding should take place.
But Tiny was not at all pleased; for she did not like the tiresome mole.
Every morning when the sun rose, and every evening when it went down,
she would creep out at the door, and as the wind blew aside the ears of
corn, so that she could see the blue sky, she thought how beautiful and
bright it seemed out there, and wished so much to see her dear swallow
again. But he never returned; for by this time he had flown far away
into the lovely green forest. ‘

When autumn arrived, Tiny had her outfit quite ready; and the field-
mouse said to her, “In four weeks the wedding must take place.”

Then Tiny wept, and said she would not marry the disagreeable mole.

“ Nonsense,” replied the field-mouse. “Now don’t be obstinate, or I
shall bite you with my white teeth, He is a very handsome mole; the
queen herself does not wear more beautiful velvets and furs. His kitchens
and cellars are quite full. You ought to be very thankful for such good
fortune.”

So the wedding-day was fixed, on which the mole was to fetch Tiny away
to live with him, deep under the earth, and never again to see the warm
sun, because #e did not like it. The poor child was very unhappy at the
thought of saying farewell to the beautiful sun, and as the field-mouse had
given her permission to ~tand at the door, she went to look at it once
more.

“Farewell, bright sun,” she cried, stretching out her arm towards it; and
then she walked a short distance from the house; for the corn had been cut,
and only the dry stubble remained in the fields. “ Farewell, farewell,” she
repeated, twining her arm ronnd a little red flower that grew just by her
side. “Greet the little swallow from me, if you should see him again.”

“Tweet, tweet,” sounded over her head suddenly. She looked up, and
there was the swallow himself flying close by, As soon as he spied Tiny,
he was delighted; and then she told him how unwilling she felt to marry
the ugly mole, and to live always beneath the earth, and never to see the
bright sun any more. And as she told him, she wept.

“Cold winter is coming,” said the swallow, “and I am going to fly away
into warmer countries. Will you go with me? You can sit on my back,
and fasten yourself on with your sash. Then we can fly away from the
ugly mole and his gloomy rooms,—far away, over the mountains, inte
warmer countries, where the sun shines more brightly than here ; where it
is always summer, and the flowers bloom in greater beauty. Fly now with
LITTLE TINY. 17



me, dear little Tiny; you saved my life when I lay frozen in that dark,
Greary passage.”

“Yes, I will go with you,” said Tiny ; and she seated herself on the bird’s
back, with her feet on his outstretched wings, and tied her girdle to one of
his strongest feathers.

_ Then the swallow rose in the air, and flew over forest and over sea, high
above the highest mountains, covered with eternal snow. Tiny would have
been frozen in the cold air, but she crept under the bird’s warm feathers,
keeping her little head uncovered, so that she might admire the beautiful
lands over which they passed. At length they reached the warm countries,
where the sun shines brightly, and the sky seems so much higher above the
earth. Here, on the hedges, and by the wayside, grew purple, green, and
white grapes ; lemons and oranges hung from trees in the woods; and the
air was fragrant with myrtles and orange blossoms. Beautiful children ran
along the country lanes, playing with large gay butterflies; and as the
swallow flew farther and farther, every place appeared still more lovely.

At last they came to a blue lake, and by the side of it, shaded by trees
of the deepest green, stood a palace of dazzling white marble, built in the
olden times. Vines clustered round its lofty pillars, and at the top were
many swallows’ nests, and one of these was the home of the swallow who
carried Tiny.

“ This is my house,” said the swallow; “ but it would not do for you to
live there—you would not be comfortable. You must choose for yourself
one of those lovely flowers, and I will put you down upon it, and then you
shall have everything that you can wish to make you happy.”

“That will be delightful,” she said, and clapped her little hands for
joy.

A large marble pillar Iay on the ground, which, in falling, had been
broken into three pieces. Between these pieces grew the most beautiful
large white flower ; so the swallow flew down with Tiny, and placed her on
one of the broad leaves. But how surprised she was to see, in the middle
of the flower, a tiny little man, as white and transparent as if he had been
made of crystal! He had a gold crown on his head, and delicate wings at
his shoulders, and was not much larger than Tiny herself. He was the
angel of the flower! for a tiny man and a tiny woman dwell in every
flower ; and this was the king of them all.

“Qh, how beautiful he is!” whispered Tiny to the swallow.

_ The little prince was at first quite frightened at the bird, who was like a
giant, compared to such a delicate little creature as himself; but when he
saw Tiny, he was delighted, and thought her the prettiest little maiden he
had ever seen. He took the gold crown from his head, and placed it on
hers, and asked her name, and if she would be his wife, and queen over all
the flowers.

This certainly was a very different sort of husband to the son of the toad,
or the mole, with his black velvet and fur; so she said, “Yes,” to the
handsome prince. Then all the flowers opened, and out of each came a
little lady or a tiny lord, all so pretty it was quite a pleasure to look at them.

2
18 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



Each of them brought Tiny a present; but the best gift was a pair of
beautiful wings, which had belonged to a large white fly, and they fastened
them to Tiny's shoulders, so that she might fly from flower to flower. Then
there was much rejoicing, and the little swallow, who sat above them, in his
nest, was asked to sing a wedding song, which he did as well as he could;
but in his heart he felt sad, for he was very fond of Tiny, and would have
liked never to part from her again.

“Vou must not be called Tiny any more,” said the spirit of the flowers
to her. “It is an ugly name, and you are so very pretty. We will call you
Maia.”

“ Farewell, farewell,” said the swallow, with a heavy heart, as he left the
warm countries, to fy back into Denmark. There he had a nest over the
window of a house in which dwelt the writer of fairy tales. The swallow
sang, “ Tweet, tweet,” and from his song came the whole story.



THE GOBLIN AND THE HUCKSTER.

THERE was once a regular student, who lived in a garret, and had no
possessions. And there was also a regular huckster, to whom the house
belonged, and who occupied the ground floor. A,goblin lived with the
huckster, because at Christmas he always had a large dish full of jam, with
a great piece of butter in the middle. The huckster could afford this; and
therefore the goblin remained with the huckster, which was very cunning
of him.

One evening the student came into the shop through the back door to
buy candles and cheese for himself; he had no one to send, and therefore
he came himself; he obtained what he wished, and then the huckster and
his wife nodded good evening to him, and she was a woman who could do
more than merely nod, for she had usually plenty to say for herself. The
student nodded in return as he turned to leave, then suddenly stopped, and
began reading the piece of paper in which the cheese was wrapped. It was
a leaf torn out of an old book—a book that ought not to have been torn
up, for it was full of poetry.

“Yonder lies some more of the same sort,” said the huckster: “I gave
an old woman a few coffee berries for it; you shall have the rest for six-
pence, if you will.”

“Indeed I will,” said the student ; “give me the book instead of the
cheese; J can eat my bread and butter without cheese. It would be a sin
to tear up a book like this. You are a clever man, and a practical man;
but you understand no more about poetry than that cask yonder.”
THE GOBLIN AND THE HUCKSTER. 19



. This was a very rude speech, especially against the cask ; but the huckster
and the student both laughed, for it was only said in fun. But the goblin
felt very angry that any man should venture to say such things to a huckster
who was a kouseholder and sold the best butter. As soon as it was night,
and the shop closed, and every one in bed except the student, the goblin
stepped softly into the bedroom where the huckster’s wife slept, and took
away her tongue, which, of course, she did not then want. Whatever object
in the room he placed his tongue upon immediately received voice and
speech, and was able to express its thoughts and feelings as readily as the
lady herself could do. It could only be used by one object at a time, which
was a good thing, as a number speaking at once would have caused great
confusion. ‘The goblin laid the tongue upon the cask, in which lay a quan-
tity of old newspapers.

Ts it really true,” he asked, “that you do not know what poetry is?”

*¢ Of course, I know,” replied the cask : ‘ poetry is something that always
stands in the corner of a newspaper, and is sometimes cut out; and I may
venture to affirm that I have more of it in me than the student has, and I
am only a poor tub of the huckster’s.”

Then the goblin placed the tongue on the coffee mill; and how it did go,
to be sure! Then he put it on the butter tub and the cash box, and they
all expressed the same opinion as the waste-paper tub; and a majority must
always be respected. .

“Now I shall go and tell the student,” said the goblin; and with these
words ke went quietly up the back stairs to the garret where the student
lived. He had a candle burning still, and the goblin peeped through the
keyhole and saw that he was reading in the torn book which he had bought
out of the shop. But how light the room was! From the book shot forth
aray of light which grew broad and full, like the stem of a tree, from which
bright rays spread upward and over the student’s head. Each leaf was
fresh, and each flower was like a beautiful female head; some with dark and
sparkling eyes, and others with eyes that were wonderfully blue and clear.
The fruit gleamed like stars, and the room was filled with sounds of beau-
tiful music. ‘The little goblin had never imagined, much less seen or heard
of, any sight so glorious as this. He stood still on tiptoe, peeping in, till
the light went out in the garret. The student no doubt had blown out his
candle and gone to bed; but the little goblin remained standing there
nevertheless, and listening to the music which still sounded on, soft and.
beautiful, a sweet cradle-song for the student, who had lain down to rest.

“This is a wonderful place,” said the goblin; “I never expected such a
thing. I should like to stay here with the student ;” and then the little man
thought it over, for he was a sensible little sprite. At last he sighed, “But
the student has no jam!” So he went downstairs again into the huckster’s
shop, and it was a good thing he got back when he did, for the cask had
almost worn out the lady’s tongue; he had given a description of all that
he contained on one side, and was just about to turn himself over to the
other side to describe what was there, when the goblin entered and restored

the tongue to the lady. But from that time forward, the whole shop, from
2*
20 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES,



the cash-box down to the pinewood logs, formed their opinions from that of
the cask ; and they all had such confidence in him, and treated him with
so much respect, that when the huckster read the criticisms on theatricals
and art of an evening, they fancied it must all come from the cask,

But after what he had seen, the goblin could no longer sit and listen
quietly to the wisdom and understanding downstairs; so, as soon as the
evening light glimmered in the garret, he took courage, for it seemed to him
as if the rays of light were strong cables, drawing him up, and obliging him
to go and peep through the keyhole; and, while there, a feeling of vastness
came over him such as we experienced by the ever-moving sea, when the
storm breaks forth; and it brought tears into his eyes. He did not himself
know why he wept, yet a kind of pleasant feeling mingled with his tears.
“ How wonderfully glorious it would be to sit with the student under such
a tree ;” but that was out of the question, he must be content to look through
the keyhole, and be thankful for even that.

There he stood on the cold Janding, with the autumn wind blowing down
upon him through the trap-door. It was very cold; but the little creature
did not really feel it, till the light in the garret went out, and the tones of
music died away. . Then how he shivered, and crept downstairs again to
his warm corner, where it felt home-like and comfortable. And when
Christmas came again, and brought the dish of jam and the great lump of
butter, he liked the huckster best of all.

Soon after, in the middle of the night, the goblin was awoke by a terrible
noise ‘and knocking against the window shutters and the house doors, and
by the sound of the watchman’s horn; for a great fire had broken out, and
the whole street appeared full of flames. Was it in their house, or a neigh-
bour’s? No one could tell, for terror had seized upon all. The huckster’s
wife was so bewildered that she took her gold ear-rings out of her ears and
put them in her pocket, that she might save something at least. The
huckster ran to get his business papers, and the servant resolved to save
her black silk mantle, which she had managed to buy. Each wished to
keep the best things they had. The goblin had the same wish; for, with
one spring, he was upstairs and in the student’s room, whom he found
standing by the open window, and looking quite calmly at the fire, which
was raging at the house of a neighbour opposite. The goblin caught up the
wonderful book which lay on the table, and popped it into his red cap,
which he held tightly with both hands. The greatest treasure in the house
was saved; and he ran away with it to the roof, and seated himself on the
chimney. The flames of the burning house opposite illuminated him as he
sat, both hands pressed tightly over his cap, in which the treasure lay; and -
then he found out what feelings really reigned in his heart, and knew exactly
which way they tended. And yet, when the fire was extinguished, and the
goblin again began to reflect, he hesitated, and said at last, “I must divide
mane between the two; I cannot quite give up the huckster, because of
the jam.”

And this is a representation of human nature. We are like the goblin;
we all go to visit the huckster “because of the jam.”-
Brdestodledtottartadlectedbettastodtes ‘otodbodfedtostatte stock
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ater



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Pos “serene as KS gr agree?) 7 pea geepepsjee 1 % EES K ee ayeeye

Be



A GREAT SORROW.

Tuis story has two parts. The first part might be left out ; but it explains
a few particulars, we will relate it.

I was staying once for a few days at a gentleman’s house in the country
while the master was absent. In the meantime, a lady called from the
next town to see him, as she wished, she said, to dispose of shares in her
tan-yard. She had her papers with her, and I advised her to put them in
an envelope, and address them to the “General Commissary of War,
Knight, etc.” She listened attentively, and then seized the pen ; hesitated,
and then begged me to repeat the address more slowly. I did so, and she
began to write, but when she got half through the words, she stopped and
sighed deeply, and said, “Iam only a woman.” She had a pug dog with
her, and while she wrote Puggie seated himself on the ground and growled.
She had brought him for his health and amusement, and it was not quite
polite to offer a visitor only the bare floor to sit upon. Puggie had a snub
nose, and he was very fat, ‘He doesn’t bite,” said the lady; “he has no
teeth ; he is like one of the family, very faithful, but sometimes glumpy.
That is the fault of my grandchildren, they teaze him so; when they play
at having a wedding, they want to make him the bride’s-maid, and he does
not like it, poor old fellow.” Then she finished her writing, gave up her
papers, and went away, taking Puggie on her arm. And this ends the first
part of the story.

Pucci prep, And that begins the second part.

I arrived at the town about a week afterwards, and put up at an inn.
The windows of the inn looked into a courtyard, which was divided into
two parts by a wooden partition ; in one half hung a quantity of skins and
hides, both raw and tanned. It was evidently a tan-yard, containing all the
materials required for tanning, and it belonged to the widow lady, Puggie’s
mistress. Puggie had died the morning I arrived there, and was to be buried
in the yard. The grandchildren of the widow, that is to say, the tanner’s
widow, for Puggie had never been married, filled up the grave. It was a
beautiful grave, and must have been quite pleasant to lie in. They bor-
dered the grave with pieces of flower-pots,-and strewed it over with sand.
In the centre they stuck half a beer bottle, with the neck uppermost, which
certainly was not allegorical. Then the children danced round the grave,


22 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



and the eldest of the boys among them, a practical youngster of seven
years, proposed that there should be an exhibition of Puggie’s burial place,
for all who lived in the lane. The price of admission was tc be a trouser
button, which every boy was sure to have, as well as one to spare for a little
girl, This proposal was agreed to with great exclamations of pleasure. All
the children from the street, and even from the narrow lane at the back,
came flocking to the place, and each gave a button, and many were seen
during the afternoon going about.with their trousers held up by only one
brace, but then they had seen Puggie’s grave, and that was a sight worth
much more. But in front of the tan-yard, close to the entrance, stood a
very pretty little girl clothed in rags, with curly hair, and eyes so blue and
clear it was a pleasure to look into them. The child spoke not a word, nor
did she cry; but each time the little door opened, she gave a long, lingering
look into the yard. She had not a button, she knew that too well, and
therefore she remained standing sorrowfally outside, till all the other children
had seen the grave, and were gone away; then she sat down, covered her
eyes with her little brown hands, and burst into tears. She was the only
one who had not seen Puggie’s grave. It was as great a grief to her as
any grown person could experience. J saw this from above; and how
many a grief of our own and others can make us smile, if looked at from
above?

This is the story : and whoever does not understand it may go and pur-
chase a share in the widow’s tan-yard.



THE SILVER SHILLING.

THERE was once’a shilling which came forth from the mint springing and
shouting, “ Hurrah ! now I am going out into the widé world.” And truly
it did go out into the wide world. The children held it with warm hands,
the miser with a cold and convulsive grasp, and the old people turned it
about, goodness knows how many times, while the young people soon allowed
it to roll away from them, The shilling was made of silver, it contained very
little copper, and considered itself quite out in the world when it had been
circulated for a year in the country in which it had been coined. One day,
it really did go out into the world, for it belonged to a gentleman who was
about to travel in foreign lands. This gentleman was not aware that the
shilling lay at the bottom of his purse when he started, till he one day found
it between his fingers. “Why,” cried he, “here is a shilling from home;
well, it must go on its travels with me now!” and the shilling jumped and
rattled for joy, when it was put back again into the purse.
THE SILVER SHILLING, 23





Here it lay amongst a number of foreign companions, who were always
coming and going, one taking the place of another; but the shilling from
home was always put back, and had to remain in the purse, which was cer-
tainly a mark of distinction. Many weeks passed, during which the shilling
had travelled a long distance in the purse, without in the least knowing
where he was. He had found out that the other coins were French and
Italian; and one coin said they were in this town, and another said they
were in that, but the shilling was unable to make out or imagine what they
meant. A man certainly cannot see much of the world if he is tied up in
a bag, and this was really the shilling’s fate. But one day, as he was lying
in the purse, he noticed that it was not quite closed, and so he slipped near
to the opening to have a little peep into society. He certainly had not the
least idea of what would follow, but he was curious, and curiosity often
brings its own punishment. In his eagerness, he came so near the edge of
the purse that he slipped out into the pocket of the trousers; and when, in
the evening, the purse was taken out, the shilling was left behind in the
corner to which it had fallen. As the clothes were being carried into the
hall, the shilling fell out on the floor, unheard and unnoticed by any one.
The next morning the clothes were taken back to the room; the gentleman
put them on, and started on his journey again; but the shilling remained
behind on the floor. After atime it was found, and being considered a good
coin, was placed with three other coins. “ Ah,” thought the shilllng, “ this
is pleasant; I shall now see the world, become acquainted with other people,
and learn other customs.”

“Do you call that a shilling ?” said some one the next moment. “That
is not a genuine coin of the country,—it is false ; it is good for nothing.”

Now begins the story as it was afterwards related by the shilling himself.
“ «False! good for nothing!’ said he. That remark went through and
through me like a dagger. JI knew that I had a true ring, and that mine
was a genuine stamp. ‘These people must at all events be wrong, or they
could not mean me. But yes, I was the one they called ‘false, and good
for nothing,’

“<«Then I must pay it away in the dark,’ said the man who had received
me. So Iwas to be got rid of in the darkness, and be again insulted in
broad daylight.

“False! good for nothing!” Oh, I must contrive to get lost, thought I.
And I trembled between the fingers of the people every time they tried to
pass me off slyly as a coin of the country. Ah! unhappy shilling that I
was! Of what use were my silver, my stamp, and my real value here,
where all these qualities were worthless. In the eyes of the world, a man
is valued just according to the opinion formed of him. It must be ashock-
ing thing to have a guilty conscience, and to be sneaking about on account
of wicked deeds. As for me, innocent as I was, I could not help shudder-
ing before their eyes whenever they brought me out, for I knew I should be
thrown back again upon the table as a false pretender. At length I was
paid away to a poor old woman, who received me as wages for a hard day’s
work, But she could not again get rid of me; no one would take me. I


24 IANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



was to the woman a most unlucky shilling. ‘Iam positively obliged to
pass this shilling to somebody,’ said she; ‘I cannot, with the best inten-
tions, lay by a bad shilling. ‘The rich baker shall have it,—he can bear the
loss better than I can. But, after all, it is not a right thing to do.’

“Ah 1? sighed I to myself, ‘am I also to be a burden on the conscience
of this poor woman? Am I then in my old days so completely changed?!
The woman offered me to the rich baker, but he knew the current money
too well, and as soon as he recetved me he threw me almost in the woman’s
face. She could get no bread for me, and I felt quite grieved to the heart
that I should be the cause of so much trouble to another, and be treated as
a cast-off coin. JI who, in my young days, felt so joyful in the certainty of
my own value, and knew so well that I bore a genuine stamp. I was as
sorrowful now as a poor shilling can be when nobody will have him. The
woman took me home again with her, and looking at me very earnestly,
she said, ‘No, I will not try to deceive any one with thee again. I will
bore a hole through thee, that every one may know that thou art a false and
worthless thing; and yet, why should I do that? Very likely thou art a
lucky shilling. A thought has just struck me that it is so, and I believe it.
Yes, I will make a hole in the shilling,’ said she, ‘and run a string through
it, and then give it to my neighbour’s little one to hang round her neck, as
a lucky shilling.’ So she drilled a hole through me.

“Tt is really not all pleasant to have a hole bored through one, but we
can submit to a great deal when it is done with agood intention. A string
was drawn through the hole, and I became a kind of medal. They hung
me round the neck of a little child, and the child laughed at me and kissed
me, and I rested for one whole night on the warm, innocent breast of a

child.

“Tn the morning the child’s mother took me between her fingers, and
had certain thoughts about me, which I very soon found out. First, she
looked for a pair of scissors, and cut the string.

“* Lucky shilling !’ said she, ‘certainly that is what I mean to try.’ Then
she laid me in vinegar till I became quite green, and after that she filled
up the hole with cement, rubbed me a little to brighten me up, and went
out in the twilight hour to the lottery collector, to buy herself a ticket, with
a shilling that should bring luck. How everything seemed to cause me
trouble. The lottery collector pressed me so hard that I thought that I
should crack. I had been called false, I had been thrown away,—that I
knew; and there were many shillings and coins with inscriptions and
stamps of all kinds lying about. I well knew how proud they were, so I
avoided them from very shame. With the collector were several men who
seemed to have a great deal to do, so I fell unnoticed into a chest among
several other coins,

“ Whether the lottery ticket gained a prize, I know not; but this T know,
that in a very few days after, I was recognised as a bad shilling, and laid
aside. Everything that happened seemed always to add to my sorrow.
Even if aman has a good character, it is no use for him to deny what is
said of him, for he is not considered an impartial judge of himself.


The ugly duckling.
THE UGLY DUCKLING. 25



“ A year passed, and in this way I had been changed from hand to hand;
always abused, always looked at it with displeasure, and trusted by no one ;
but I trusted in myself, and had no confidence in the world. Yes, that was
avery dark time,

“ At length one day I was passed to a traveller, a foreigner, the very
same who had brought me away from home ; and he was simple and true-
hearted enough to take me for current coin. But would he also attempt to
pass me? and should I again hear the outcry, ‘ False! good-for-nothing!’
The traveller examined me attentively, ‘I took thee for good coin,’ said he;
then suddenly a smile spread all over his face. I have never seen such a
smile on any other face as on his. ‘ Now this is singular,’ said he, ‘it is a
coin from my own county; a good, true shilling from home. Some one has
bored a hole through it, and people have no doubt called it false. How
curious that it should come into my hands. I will take it home with me to
my own house.’

“Joy thrilled through me when I heard this. I had been once more
called a good, honest shilling, and I was to go back to my own home,
where each and all would recognise me, and know that Iwas made of good
silver, and bore a true, genuine stamp. I should have been glad in my joy
to throw out sparks of fire, but it has never at any time been my nature to
sparkle. Steel can do so, but not silver. I was wrapped up in fine, white
paper, that I might not mix with the other coins and be lost ; and on special
. occasions, when people from my own country happened to be present, I
was brought forward and spoken of very kindly. They said I was very
interesting, and it was really quite worth while to notice that those who are’
interesting have often not a single word to say for themselves.

“At length I reached home. All my cares were at an end. Joy again
overwhelmed me ; for was I not good silver, and had I not a genuine stamp?
Thad no more insults or disappointments to endure ; although, indeed, there
was a whole through me, as if I were false ; but suspicions are nothing when
a man is really true, and every one should persevere in acting honestly, for
all will be made right in time. That is my firm belief,” said the shilling.

THE UGLY DUCKLING.

Tt was lovely summer weather in the country, and the golden corn, the
green oats, and the haystacks piled up in the meadows looked beautiful.
The stork walking about on his long red legs chattered in the Egyptian
language, which he had learnt from his mother. The cornfields and
meadows were surrounded by large forests, in the midst of which were deep
fools. It was, indeed, delightful to walk about in the country. In a sunny
26 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



spot stood a pleasant old farm-house close by a deep river, and from the
house down to the water side grew great burdock leaves, so high, that under
the tallest of them a little child could stand upright. The spot was as wild
as the centre of a thick wood. In this snug retreat sat a duck on her nest,
watching for her young brood to hatch ; she was beginning to get tired of
her task, for the little ones were a long time coming out of their shells, and
she seldom had any visitors. The other ducks liked much better to swim
about in the river than to climb the slippery banks, and sit under a burdock
leaf, to have a gossip with her. At length one shell cracked, and then
another, and from each egg came a living creature that lifted its head and
cried, “Peep, peep.” “ Quack, quack,” said the mother, and then they all
quacked as well as they could, and looked about them on every side at the
large green leaves. Their mother allowed them to look as much as they
liked, because green is good for the eyes. “ How large the world is,” said
the young ducks, when they found how much more room they now had than -
while they were inside the egg-shell. “Do you imagine this is the whole
world?” asked the mother ; ‘‘ Wait till you have seen the garden; it stretches
far beyond that to the parson’s field, but I have never ventured to such a
distance. Are you all out?” she continued, rising; “No, I declare, the
largest egg lies there still. I wonder how long this is to last, I am quite
tired of it ;” and she seated herself again on the nest.

“ Well, how are you getting on ?” asked an old duck, who paid her a visit.

“One egg is not hatched yet,” said the duck, “it will not break. But
just look at all the others, are they not the prettiest little ducklings you ever
saw? They are the image of their father, who is so unkind, he never comes
to see me.”

“ Let me see the egg that will not break,” said the old duck ; “I have no
doubt it is a turkey’s egg. I was persuaded to hatch some once, and after
all my care and trouble with the young ones, they were afraid of the water.
I quacked and clucked, but all to no purpose. I could not get them to
venture In. Let me look at the egg. Yes, that is a turkey’s egg; take my
advice, leave it where it is, and teach the other children to swim.”

“T think I will sit on ita little while longer,” said the duck; “as I have
sat so long already, a few days will be nothing.”

‘Please yourself,” said the old duck, and she went away.

At last the large egg broke, and a young one crept forth, crying, “ Peep,
peep.” It was very large and ugly. ‘The duck stared at it, and exclaimed,
“It is very large, and not at all like the others. I wonder if it really is a
turkey. We shall soon find it out, however, when we go to the water. It
must go in, if I have to push it in myself.”

On the next day the weather was delightful, and the sun shone brightly
on the green burdock leaves, so the mother duck took her young brood
down to the water and jumped in witha splash. “ Quack, quack,” cried
she, and one after another the little ducklings jumpedin. The water closed
over their heads, but they came up again in an instant, and swam about
quite prettily with their legs paddling under them as easily as possible, and
the ugly duckling was also in the water swimming with them.
THE UGLY DUCKLING. 27



“Oh,” said the mother, “that is not a turkey; how well he uses his legs,
and how upright he holds himself! He is my own child, and he is not so
very ugly after all if you look at him properly, Quack, quack ! ! come with
me now, I will take you into grand society, and introduce you to the farm-
yard, but you must keep close to me or you may be trodden upon; and,
above all, beware of the cat.”

When ‘they reached the farmyard, there was a ‘great disturbance, two
families were fighting for an eel’s head, which, after all, was carried off
by the cat. ‘See, children, that is the way of the world,” said the mother
duck, whetting her beak, for she would have liked the eel’s head herself,
a Come, now, use your legs, and let me see how well you can behave. You
must bow your heads prettily to that old duck yonder; she is the highest
born of them all, and has Spanish blood, therefore she is well of. Don’t
you see she has a red rag tied to her leg, which is something very grand,
and a great honour for a duck; it shows that every one is anxious not to
lose her, as she can be recognized both by man and beast. Come, now,
don’t turn in your toes, a well-bred duckling spreads his feet wide apart, just
like his father and mother, in this way; now bend your neck, and say ‘Quack.’”

The ducklings did as they were bid, but the other ducks star ed, and said,
“Took, here come another brood, as if there were not enough of us
already | and what a queer-looking object one of them is; we don’t want
him here,” and then one flew out and bit him in the neck.

“Let him alone,” said the mother; “he is not doing any harm.”

“Ves, but he is so big and ugly,” said the spiteful duck, “and therefore
he must be turned out.”

“The others are very pretty children,” said the old duck with the rag
on her leg, “all but that one; I wish his mother could improve him a little.”

“That is impossible, your grace,” replied the mother; “‘he is not pretty;
but he has a very good disposition, and swims as well or even better than
the others. I think he will grow up pretty, and perhaps be smaller; he has
remained too long in the egg, and therefore his figure is not properly
formed ;” and then she stroked his neck and smoothed the feathers, say-
ing, “ It is a drake, and therefore not of so much consequence. I think he
‘will grow up strong, and be able to take care of himself.”

“The other ducklings are graceftl enough,” said the old duck. “ Now
_ make yourself at home, and if you find an eel’s head, you can bring it to me.”

And so they made themselves comfortable; but the poor duckling, who
had crept out of his shell last of all, and looked so ugly, was bitten and pushed
and made fun of, not only by the “ducks, but by all the poultry. “ He is too
big,” they all said, and the turkey cock, who had been born into the world
with spurs, and fancied himself really an emperor, puffed himself out like
‘a vessel in full sail, and flew at the duckling, and became quite red in the
head with passion, so that: the poor little thing did not know where to go,
and was quite miserable because he was so ugly and laughed at by the
whole farmyard. So it went on from day to day till it got worse and worse.
The poor duckling was driven about by everyone; even his brothers and
sisters were unkind to him, and would say, “ Ah, you ugly creature, I wish





















THE UGLY DUCKLING. 29



the cat would get you,” and his mother said she wished he had never been
born. The ducks pecked him, the chickens beat him, and the girl who fed
the poultry kicked him with her feet. So at last he ran away, frightening
the little birds in the hedge as he flew over the palings.

“They are afraid of me, because I am so ugly,” he said. So he closed
his eyes, and flew still farther, until he came out on a large moor, inhabited
by wild ducks. Here he remained the whole night, feeling very tired and
sorrowful,

_ In the morning, when the wild ducks rose in the air, they stared at their
new comrade. “What sort of aduck are you?” they all said, coming round
him.

. He bowed to them, and was as polite as he could be, but he did not
yeply to their question. “You are exceedingly ugly,” said the wild ducks,
“but that will not matter if you do not want to marry one of our family.”

Poor thing! he had no thoughts of marriage; all he wanted was per-
mission to lie among the rushes, and drink some of the water on the moor.
After he had been on the moor two days, there came two wild geese, or
rather goslins, for they had not been out of the egg long, and were very
saucy. “Listen, friend,” said one of them to the duckling, “you are so
ugly, that we like you very well. Will you go with us, and become a bird
of passage? Not far from here is another moor, in which there are some
pretty wild geese, all unmarried. It is a chance for you to get a wife; you
may be lucky, ugly as you are.”

“Pop, pop,” sounded in the air, and the two wild geese fell dead among
the rushes, and the water was tinged with blood. “Pop, pop,” echoed far
and wide in the distance, and whole flocks of wild geese rose up from the
rushes. The sound continued from every direction, for the sportsmen
surrounded the moor, and some were even seated on branches of trees,
overlooking the rushes. The blue smoke from the guns rose like clouds
over the dark trees, and as it floated away across the water, a number of
sporting dogs bounded in among the rushes, which bent beneath them
wherever they went. How they terrified the poor duckling! He turned
away his head to hide it under his wing, and at the same moment a large
terrible dog passed quite near him. His jaws were open, his tongue hung
from his mouth, and his eyes glared fearfully. He thrust his nose close to
the duckling, showing his sharp teeth, and then “splash, splash,” he went
into the water without touching him. “Oh,” sighed the duckling, “how
thankful I am for being so ugly ; even a dog will not bite me.” And so he
lay quite still, while the shot rattled through the rushes, and gun after gun
was fired over him. It was late in the day before all became quiet, but
even then the poor young thing did not dareto move. He waited quietly for
several hours, and then, after looking carefully around him, hastened away
from the moor as fast as he could. He ran over field and meadow till a
storm arose, and he could hardly struggle against it. Towards evening he
reached a poor little cottage that seemed ready to fall, and only remained
standing because it could not decide on which side to fall first. The storm
continued so violent, that the duckling could go no farther; he sat down
30 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



by the cottage, and then he noticed that the door was not quite closed in
consequence of one of the hinges having given way. There was therefore
a narrow opening near the bottom large enough. for him to slip through,
which he did very quietly, and got a shelter for the night. A woman, a
tom cat, and a hen lived in this cottage. The tom cat, whom his mistress
called, é My little son,” was a great favourite; he could raise his back, and
purr, and could even throw out sparks from his fur if it were stroked the
wrong way. The hen had very short legs, so she was called, “Chickie
short legs.” She Jaid good eggs, and her mistress loved her as if she had
been her own child. In the morning, the strange visitor was discovered,
and the tom cat began to purr, and the hen to cluck.

“What is that noise about?” said the old woman, looking round the
room, but her sight was not very good; therefore, when she saw the
duckling she thought it must be a fat duck, that had strayed from home.
“ Oh, what a prize!” she exclaimed, “I hope it is not a drake, for then I
shall have some duck’s eges. I must wait and see.” So the duckling was
allowed to remain on trial for three weeks, but there were no eggs. Now
the tom cat was the master of the house, and the hen was mistress, and
they always said, “ We and the world,” for they believed themselves to be
half the world, and the better half too. The duckling thought that others
might hold a different opinion on the subject, but the hen would not listen
to such doubts. “Can you lay eggs?” she asked. “No.” “Then have
the goodness to hold your tongue.” “Can you raise your back, or purr, or
throw out sparks?” said the tom cat. “No.” “Then you have no right
to express an opinion when sensible people are speaking.” So the duckling
sat in a corner, feeling very low-spirited, till the sunshine and the fresh air
came into the room through the open door, and then he began to feel sucha
great longing for’a swim on the water, that he could not help telling the hen.

“What an absurd idea,” said the hen. ‘You have nothing else to do,
therefore you have foolish fancies. If you could purr or lay eggs, they
would pass away.”

“ But it is so delightful to swim about on the water,” said the duckling,
“and so refreshing to feel it close over your head, while you dive down to
the bottom.”

“ Delightful indeed!” said the hen, “why you must be crazy! Ask the
cat, he is the cleverest animal I know, ask him how he would like to swim
about on the water, or to dive under it, for I will not speak of my own
opinion ; ask our mistress, the old woman—there is no one in the world
more clever than she is. Do you think she would like to swim, or to let)
the water close over her head?”

“Vou don’t understand me,” said the duckling.

“We don’t understand you? Who can understand you, I wonder? Do
you consider yourself more clever than the cat, or the old woman? I will
say nothing of myself Don’t imagine such nonsense, child, and thank your
good fortune that you have been received here. Are you not in a warm
room, and in society from which you may learn something. But you are a
chatterer, and your company is not very agreeable. Believe me, I speak


THE UGLY DUCKLING. 31





only for your good. I may tell you unpleasant truths, but that is a proof
of my friendship. I advise you, therefore, to lay eggs, and learn to purr as
* quickly as possible.”

*T believe I must go out into the world again,” said the duckling.

“Ves, do,” said the hen. So the duckling left the cottage, and soon found
water on which it could swim and dive, but was avoided by all other animals,
because of its ugly appearance, Autumn came, and the leaves in the forest
tumed to orange and gold; then, as winter approached, the wind caught
them as they fell and whirled them in the cold air. The clouds, heavy with
hail and snow-flakes, hung low in the sky, and the raven stood on the ferns
crying, “Croak, croak.” It made one shiver with cold to look at him. All
this was very sad for the poor little ducklmg. One evening, just as the
sun set amid radiant clouds, there came a large flock of beautiful birds out
of the bushes, The duckling had never seen any like them before. They
were swans, and they curved their graceful necks, while their soft plumage
shone with dazzling whiteness, They uttered a singular cry, as they spread
their :glorious wings and flew away from those cold regions to warmer
countries across the sea, As they mounted higher and higher in the air,
the ugly little duckling felt quite a strange sensation as he watched them.
He whirled himself in the water like a wheel, stretched out his neck towards
them, and uttered a cry so strange that it frightened himself. Could he
ever forget those beautiful, happy birds; and when at last they were out of
his sight, he dived under the water, and rose again almost beside himself
with excitement. He knew-not the names of these birds, nor where they
had flown, but he felt towards them as he had never felt for any other bird in
the world. He was not envious of these beautiful creatures, but wished tobe,
as lovely as they. Poor ugly creature, how gladly he would have lived
even with the ducks had they only given him encouragement. The winter
grew colder and colder; he was obliged to swim about on the water to
keep it from freezing, but every night the space on which he swam became
smaller and smaller. At length it froze so hard that the ice in the water
crackled as he moved, and the duckling had to paddle with his legs as well
he could, to keep the space from closing up. He became exhausted at
last, and Jay still and helpless, frozen fast in the ice.

Early in the morning, a peasant, who was passing by, saw what had hap-
pened. He broke the ice in pieces with his wooden shoe, and carried the
duckling home to his wife. The warmth revived the poor little creature ;
but when the children wanted to play with him, the duckling thought they
would do him some harm; so he started up in terror, fluttered into the
milk-pan, and splashed the milk about in the room. Then the woman
clapped her hands, which frightened him still more. He flew first into the
butter-cask, then into the meal-tub, and out again. What a condition he
was in! The woman screamed, and struck at him with the tongs; the
children laughed and screamed, and tumbled over each other, in their efforts
to catch him; but luckily-he escaped. The door stood open; the poor
creature could just manage to slip out among the bushes, and lie down
quite exhausted in the newly fallen snow.
32 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.

It would be very sad, were I to relate all the misery and privations which
the poor little duckling endured during the hard winter; but when it had
passed, he found himself lying one morning in a moor, amongst the rushes.
He felt the warm stun shining, and heard the lark singing, and saw that all
around was beautiful spring. Then the younger bird felt that his wings
were strong, as he flapped them against his sides, and rose high into the
air. They bore him onwards, until he found himself in a large garden,
before he well knew how it had happened. The apple-trees were in full
blossom, and the fragrant elders bent their long green branches down to the
stream which wound round a smooth lawn. Everything looked beautiful,
in the freshness of early spring. From a thicket close by came three beau-
tiful white swans, rustling their feathers, and swimming lightly over the
smooth water. The duckling remembered the lovely birds, and felt more
strangely unhappy than ever.

‘7 will fly to these royal birds,” he exclaimed, “and they will kill me,
because I am so ugly, and dare to approach them ; but it does not matter ;
better be killed by them than pecked by the ducks, beaten by the hens,
pushed about by the maiden who feeds the poultry, or starved with hunger
in the winter.”

Then he flew to the water, and swam towards the beautiful swans. The
moment they espied the stranger, they rushed to meet him with outstretched
wings.

“Kill me,” said the poor bird; and he bent his head down to the surface
of the water, and awaited death. ~

But what did he see in the clear stream below? His own image; no
longer a dark, grey bird, ugly and disagreeable to look at, but a graceful and
beautiful swan. ‘To be born in a duck’s nest, in a farmyard, is of no con-
sequence to a bird, if it is hatched from a swan’s egg. He now felt glad at
having suffered sorrow and trouble, because it enabled him to enjoy so much
better all the pleasure and happiness around him; for the great swans swam
round the new comer, and stroked his neck with their beaks, as a welcome,

Into the garden presently came some little children, and threw bread and
cake into the water

“See,” cried the youngest, “there is a new one;” and the rest were de-
lighted, and ran to their father and mother, dancing and clapping their hands
and, shouting joyously, “There is another swan come; a new one has arrived.”

Then they threw more bread and cake into the water, and said, “The
new one is the most beautiful of all; he is so young and pretty.” And the
old swans bowed their heads before him.

Then he felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wing; for he did
not know what to do, he was so happy, and yet not at all proud. He had
been as persecuted and despised for his ugliness, and now he heard them
say he was the most beautiful of all the birds. Even the elder-tree bent
down its boughs into the water before him, and the sun shone warm and
bright. Then he rustled his feathers, curved his slender neck, and cried
joyfully, from the depths of his heart, “I never dreamed of such ha ppiness
as this, while I was an ugly duckling.”








THE ROSES AND THE SPARROWS.

Tr really appeared as if something very important was going on by the
duck pond ; but this was not the case. A few minutes before, all the ducks
had been resting on the water, or standing on their heads, for they can do
so, and then they all swam in a bustle to the shore ; the traces of their feet
could be seen on the wet earth, and far and wide could be heard their
‘quacking. ‘The water, so lately clear and bright as a mirror, became quite
in a commotion. A moment before, every tree and bush near the old farm-
house, and the house itself, with the holes in the roof, and the swallows’
nests, and above all, the beautiful rose-bush covered with roses, had been
clearly reflected in the water. The rose-bush on the wall hung over the
water, which resembled a picture, only every thing appeared upside down;

. but when the water was set in motion, it all vanished and the picture dis-

.appeared. Two feathers dropped by the fluttering ducks floated to and fro
on the water ; all at once they took a start, as if the wind were coming ; but
it did not come, so they were obliged to lie still, as the water became again
quiet and atrest. The roses could once more behold their own reflections;
they were very beautiful, but they knew it not, for no one had told them.
‘The sun shone between the delicate leaves, everywhere the sweet fragrance
spread itself, creating sensations of deep happiness.

“ Flow beautiful is our existence,” said one of the roses, “TI feel as if I
should like to kiss the sun, it isso bright and warm. I should like to kiss the
roses, too, our images in the water, and the pretty birds in theirnests. There

are some birds too in a nest above us, they stretch out their heads and cry,
“Tweet, tweet,’ very faintly, they have no feathers yet, as their father and
mother have ; they are good neighbours both above us and below us. How
beautiful is our life!” The young birds above, and the young ones below were
the same ; they were sparrows, and their nest was reflected in the water.
Their parents were sparrows also, and they had taken possession of an

3
34 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



empty swallow’s nest of the year before, and occupied it now as if it were
their own.

“ Are those ducks’ children that are swimming about?” asked the young
spatrows, as they spied the feathers on the water. ;

“Tf you must ask questions, pray ask sensible ones,” said the mother.
‘Can you not see that these are feathers, the living stuff for clothes, which
I wear and which you will wear soon; but ours is much finer. I should
like, however, to have them up here in the nest, they would make it so
warm. Iam rather curious to know why the ducks were so alarmed just
now, it could not be from fear of us, certainly, though I did say ‘tweet’
rather loudly. The thick-headed roses really ought to know, but they are

-very ignorant, they only look at one another and smell, I am heartily tired
of such neighbours.”

“ Listen to the sweet little birds above us,” said the roses; “they are
trying to sing; they cannot manage it yet, but it will be done in time ; what
a pleasure it will be, and how nice to have such lively neighbours,”

Suddenly two horses came prancing along to drink at the water; a pea-
sant boy rode on one of them; he had a broad-brimmed black hat on, but
had taken off most of his other clothes that he might ride into the deepest
part of the pond; he whistled like a bird, and while passing the rose-bush
he plucked a rose and placed it in his hat, and then rode on, thinking him-
self very fine. The other roses looked at their sister, and asked each other
where she could be going, but they did not know.

“T should like for once to go out into the world,” said one, “although
it is very lovely here in our home of green leaves. The sun shines warmly
by day, and in the night we can see that heaven is more beautiful still, as it
sparkles through the holes in the sky.”

She meant the stars, for she knew no better.

“We make the house very lively,” said the mother sparrow, “and people
say that a swallow’s nest brings luck, therefore they are pleased to see us;
but as to our neighbours, a rose-bush on the wall produces damp. It will
most likely be removed, and perhaps corn will grow here instead of it
Roses are good for nothing but to be looked at, and smelt, or, perhaps, one
may chance to be stuck in a hat. I have heard from my mother that they
fall off every year. The farmer’s wife preserves them by laying them in salt,
and then they receive a French name, which I neither can nor will pro-
nounce ; then they are sprinkled on the fire to produce a pleasant smell.
Such you see is their life. They are only formed to please the eye and the
nose. Now you know all about them.”

As evening approached, the gnats played about in the warm air be-
neath the rosy clouds, and the nightingale came and sang to the roses, that
the beautiful was like sunshine to the world, and that the deautiful lives for
ever. The roses thought that the nightingale was singing of herself, which
any one, indeed, could easily suppose ; they never imagined that her song
could refer to them. But it was a joy to them, and they wondered to them-
ae whether all the little sparrows in the nest would become nightin-
gales.




is



















































































THE PEASANT BOY PLUCKING A ROSE, ae
36 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



“We understand that bird’s song very well,” said the young sparrows;
“but one word was not clear. What is the beautiful 2?”

“Oh, nothing of any consequence,” replied the mother sparrow. “It is
something relating to appearances o’er yonder at the nobleman’s house.
The pigeons have a house of their own, and every day they have corn and
peas spread for them. I have dined there with them sometimes, and so
shall you by-and-by, for I believe the old maxim—‘ Tell me what company
you keep, and I will tell you what you are.’ Well, over at the noble house
there are two birds with green throats and crests on their heads. They can
spread out their tails like large wheels, and: they reflect so many beautiful
colours that it dazzles the eyes to look at them. These birds are called
peacocks, and they belong to the beautiful, but if only a few of their feathers
were plucked off they would not appear better than we do. I would my-
self have plucked some out had they not been so large.”

“T will pluck them,” squeaked the youngest sparrow, who had as yet no
feathers of his own.

In the cottage dwelt two young married people, who loved each other
very much, and were industrious and active, so that everything looked neat
and pretty around them. On Sunday mornings early the young wife came
out, gathered a handful of the most beautiful roses, and put them in a glass
of water, which she placed on a side-table.

“T see now that it is Sunday,” said the husband as he kissed his little
wife. Then they sat down and read in their hymn-books, holding each
other’s hands, while the sun shone down upon the young couple, and upon
the fresh roses in the glass.

“This sight is really too wearisome,” said the mother sparrow, who from
her nest could look into the room, and she flew away.

The same thing occurred the next Sunday, and indeed every Sunday,
fresh roses were gathered and placed in a glass, but the rose-tree continued
to bloom in all its beauty. After a while the young sparrows were fledged,
and wanted to fly, but the mother would not allow it, and so they were
obliged to remain in the nest for the present, while she flew away alone.
It so happened that some boys had fastened a snare, made of horsehair, to
the branch of a tree, and before she was aware, her leg became entangled in
the horsehair so tightly as almost to cut it through. What pain and terror
she felt! The boys ran up quickly and seized her, not in a very gentle
manner.

“It is only a sparrow,” they said. However, they did not let her fly, but
_ took her home with them, and every time she squeaked they knocked her
on the beak. .

In the farmyard they met an old man, who knew how to make soap for
shaving and washing, in cakes or in balls. When he saw the sparrow which
the boys had brought home, and which they said they did not know what to
flo with, he said, “ Shall we make it beautiful ?”

A cold shudder passed over the sparrow when she heard this. The old
man then took a shell containing a quantity of glittering gold leaf, from a
box full of beautiful colours, and told the youngsters to fetch the white of
THE ROSES AND THE SPARROWS. 37





an egg, with which he besmeared the sparrow all over, and then laid the
gold leaf upon it; so that the mother sparrow was now gilded from head to
tail, But she thought not of her appearance but trembled in every limb.
Then the soap-maker tore a little-piece out of the red lining of his jacket,
cut notches in it, so that it looked like a cock’s comb, and stuck it on the
bird’s head. ‘‘ Now you shall see gold-jacket fly,” said the old man, and he
released the sparrow, which flew away in deadly terror, with the sun-light
shining upon her. How she did glitter, all the sparrows, and even a crow,
who is a knowing old boy, were scared at the sight ; yet still they followed it
to discover what foreign bird it could be. Driven by anguish and terror
she flew homewards, almost ready to sink to the earth for want of strength.
The flock of birds that were following increased, and some even tried to
eck her.

ee Look at him! Look at him!” they all cried. ‘Look at him! Look
at him!” cried the young ones as their mother approached the nest, but
they did not know her. “That must be a young peacock, for he glitters in
all colours, it quite hurts one’s eyes to look at him, as mother told us;
‘tweet,’ this is Ae beautiful.” And then they pecked the bird with their
little beak, so that she was quite unable to get into the nest, and was too
much exhausted even to say “tweet,” much less to say “T am your mother.”
So the other birds fell upon the sparrow and pulled out feather after feather,
till she sunk bleeding into the rose-bush.

“You poor creature,” said the roses, “be at rest, we will hide you, lean
your little head against us.”

The sparrow spread out her wings once more, then drew them in close
to her, and lay dead amongst the roses, her fresh and lovely neighbours.

“Tweet,” sounded from the nest, “where can our mother be staying? it
is quite unaccountable. Can this be a trick of hers to show us that we are
now to take care of ourselves? She has left us the house as an inheritance,
but as it cannot belong to us all when we have families, who is to have it?”

“Tt won't do for you all to stay with me when I increase my household
with a wife and children,” remarked the youngest.:

“T shall have more wives and children than you,” said the second.

“But I am the eldest,” cried a third.

Then they all became angry, beat each other with their wings, pecked
with their beaks, till one after another bounced out of the nest. There they
lay in a rage, holding their heads on one side and twinkling the eye that
looked upwards. This was their way of looking sulky. They could all fly
a little, and by practice they soon learnt to do so much better. At length
they agreed upon a sign by which they might be able to recognise each
other, in case they should meet in the world after they had separated. This
sign was to be the cry of “tweet, tweet,” and a scratching on the ground
three times with the left foot. The youngster, who was left behind in the
nest, spread himself out as broad as ever he could, he was the householder
now. But his glory did not last long ; for during that night red flames of
fire burst through the windows of the cottage, they seized the thatched roof
and blazed up frightfully; the whole house was burned down and the
38 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



sparrow perished with it, while the young couple fortunately escaped with
their lives. When the sun rose again, and all nature looked refreshed as
after a quiet sleep, nothing remained of the cottage but a few blackened
charred beams, leaning against the chimney that now was the only master
of the place. Thick smoke still rose from the ruins, but outside on the
wall the rose-bush still remained unhurt, blooming and fresh as ever, while
each flower and each spray was mirrored in the clear water beneath.

“How beautifully the roses are blooming on the walls of that ruined
cottage,” said a passer-by. “A more lovely picture could scarcely be ima-
gined. I must have it.”

And the speaker took out of his pocket a little book, full of white leaves
of paper, for he was an artist, and with a pencil he took a sketch of the
smoking ruins, the blackened rafters, and the chimney that overhung them,
and which seemed more and more to totter ; and quite in the foreground
stood the large, blooming rose-bush, which added beauty to the picture,
and indeed, for the sake of the roses the sketch had been made. Later in
the day two of the sparrows who had been born there, came by.

‘Where is the house?” they asked. ‘Where is the nest? ‘tweet, tweet,’
all is burnt down, and our strong brother with it. That is all that he has
got by keeping the nest. The roses have escaped famously; they look as
well as ever, with their rosy cheeks: they do nct trouble themselves about
their neighbour’s misfortunes. I won’t speak to them: and really, in my
opinion, the place looks very ugly ;” so he flew away.

On a fine, bright sunny day in autumn, so bright that any one might
have supposed it was still the middle of summer, a number of pigeons were
hopping about in the nicely kept courtyard of the nobleman’s house, in
front of the great steps. Some were black, others white, and some of
various colours, and their plumage glittered in the sunshine. An old mother
pigeon said to her young ones, “Place yourselves in groups! place yourselves
in groups! it has a rauch better appearance.”

“ What are those little grey creatures which are running about behind
us?” asked an old pigeon, with red and green round her eyes. “ Little
grey ones, little grey ones,” she cried.

“ They are sparrows ; good little creatures enough. We have always had
the character of being very good-natured, so we allow them to pick up some
corn with us; and they do not interrupt our conversation, and they draw
back their left foot so prettily.”

Sure enough so they did, three times each, and with the left foot too, and
said “‘ tweet,” by which we recognise them as the sparrows that were brought
up in the nest on.the house that was burnt down.

“The food here is very good,” said the sparrows; while the pigeons
strutted round each other, puffed out their throats, and formed their own
opinions on what they observed.

“Do you see the pouter pigeon?” said one of another. “Do you see
how he swallows the peas? He takes too much, and always chooses the
best of everything. Coo-00, coo-oo. How the ugly, spiteful creature erects
his crest.” And all their eyes sparkled with malice. “ Place yourselves in
THE ROSES AND THE SPARROWS, 39



groups, place yourselves in groups. Little grey coats; little grey coats,
Coo-c0, Co0-00.”

So they went on, and it will be the same a thousand years hence. The
sparrows feasted bravely, and listened attentively ; they even stood in ranks
like the pigeons, but it did not suit them. So having satisfied their hunger,
they left the pigeons passing their own opinions upon them to each other,
and then slipped through the garden railings. The door of a room in the
house leading into the garden stood open, and one of them feeling brave
after his good dinner, hopped upon the threshold, crying, “Tweet; I can
venture so far.”

“Tweet,” said another ; “I can venture that and a great deal more,” and
into the room he hopped.

The first followed, and seeing no one there, the third became courageous,
and flew right across the room, saying, “‘ Venture everything, or do not
venture at all. This is a wonderful place, a man’s nest I suppose, and,
look !—what can this be?”

Just in front of the sparrows stood the ruins of the burnt cottage; roses
were blooming over it, and their reflection appeared in the water beneath,
and the black, charred beams rested against the tottering chimney. How
could it be? How came the cottage and the roses in a room in the noble-
man’s house? And then the sparrows tried to fly over the roses and the
chimney, but they only struck themselves against a flat wall. It was a
picture,—-a large beautiful picture, which the artist had painted from the
little sketch he had taken.

“Tweet,” said the sparrows, “it is really nothing after all; it only looks
like reality. Tweet, I suppose that is eke deautsfud. Can you understand
it? I cannot.”

Then some persons entered the room, and the sparrows flew away.
Years and years passed; the pigeons had often “coo-oo-d,” we must not
say quarrelled, though perhaps they did, naughty things. The sparrows
had sufferred from cold in the winter, and lived gloriously in summer. They
were all betrothed, or married, or whatever you like to callit. They had
little ones, and of course each considered his own brood the wisest and the
prettiest. One flew in this direction, and another in that, and when they
met, they recognised each other by saying “tweet,” and three times drawing
back the left foot. The eldest remained single, she had no nest, nor young
ones; her great wish was to see a large town, so she flew to Copenhagen.
Near to the castle that stood by the channel could be seen a large house,
which was richly decorated with various colours. Down the channel sailed
many ships, laden with apples and earthenware. The windows were broader
below than at the top, and when the sparrows peeped through, they saw a
room that looked to them like a tulip, with beautiful colours of every shade.
Within the tulip were white figures of human beings, made of marble, some
few of plaster, but this is the same thing to a sparrow. Upon the roof
stood a metal chariot and horses ; and the goddess of victory, also of metal,
was seated in the chariot driving the horses. It was Thorwalsden’s
Museum. “How it shines and giitters,” said the maiden sparrow, “this
40 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



must be the beautiful—tweet—only this is larger than a peacock.” She re-
membered what her mother had told them in her childhood, that the pea-
cock was one of the greatest examples of the beautiful. She flew down into
the courtyard, where everything also was very grand. The walls were painted
to represent palm branches, and in the midst of the court stood a large,
blooming rose tree, spreading its young, sweet, rose-covered branches over
agrave. Thither the maiden sparrow flew, for she saw many others of ©
her own kind.

“Tweet,” said she, drawing back her foot three times. She had, during
the years that had passed, often made the usual greeting to the sparrows
she met, but without receiving any acknowledgment, for friends who are
once separated do not meet every day. This manner of greeting was
becoming a habit to her, and to-day two old sparrows and a young one re-
turned the greeting,

“ Tweet,” they replied, and drew back the left foot three times. They
were two old sparrows out of the nest, and a young one belonging to the
family. “Ah, good-day; howdo youdo? ‘To think of our meeting here!
This is a very grand place, but there is not much to eat; this is the deauti-
ful. Tweet.”

A great many people now came out of the side rooms, in which the
marble statues stood, and approached the grave where slept the remains of
the great master who had carved these marble statues. Each face had a
reflected glory as they stood round Thorwalsden’s grave, and some few
gathered up the fallen rose-leaves to preserve them. They had all come
from afar. One from mighty England, others from Germany and France.
One very handsome lady plucked a rose, and concealed it .in her bosom.
Then the sparrows thought that the roses ruled in this place, and that the
whole house had been built for them, which seemed really too much
honour; but as all the people showed their love for the roses, the sparrows
thought they would not remain behind-hand in paying their respects.
“Tweet,” they said, and swept the ground with their tails, and glanced with
one eye at the roses. They had not looked at them very long, however,
before they felt convinced that they were old acquaintances, and so they
actually were. The artist who had sketched the rose-bush and the ruins of
the cottage, had since then received permission to transplant it, and had
given it to the architect, for more beautiful roses had never been seen.
The architect had planted it on the grave of Thorwalsden, where it con-
tinued to bloom, the image of the beautiful, scattering its fragrant rosy
leaves to be gathered and carried away into distant lands in memory of the
spot on which they fell.

“ Have you obtained a situation in town?” then asked the sparrows of
the roses.

The roses nodded; they recognised their little brown neighbours, and
were rejoiced to see them again.

“Tt is very delightful,” said the roses, “to live here and to blossom, to
meet old friends, and to see cheerful faces every day. It is as if each day
were a holiday.”
LITTLE TUK. , 4t



“Tweet,” said the sparrows to each other. “Yes, these really are our
old neighbours. We remember their origin near the pond. Tweet; how
they have risen, to be sure. Some people seem to get on while they are
asleep. Ah! there’s a withered leaf, I can see it quite plain.”

And they pecked at the leaf till it fell, But the rose-bush continued
fresher and greener than ever. The roses bloomed in the sunshine on
Thorwalsden’s grave, and thus became linked with his immortal name.

LITTLE TUK.

Yes, they called him Little Tuk, but it was not his real name; he had
called himself so before he could speak plainly, and he meant it for
Charles. It was all very well for those who knew him, but not for
strangers.

Little Tuk was left at home to take care of his little sister, Gustava, who
was much younger than himself, and he had to learn his lessons at the
same time, and the two things could not very well be performed together.
The poor boy sat there with his sister on his lap, and sung to her all the
songs he knew, and now and then he looked into his geography lesson that
lay open before him. By the next morning he had to learn by heart all the
towns in Zealand, and all that could be described of them.

His mother came home at last, and took Gustava in her arms. Then
Tuk ran to the window, and read so eargerly that he nearly read his eyes
out; for it became darker and darker every minute, and his mother had ne
money to buy a light.

“There goes the old washerwoman up the lane,” said the mother, as she
looked out of the window; “the poor woman can hardly drag herself
along, and now she has to drag a pail of water from the well. Be a good
boy, Tuk, and run across and help the old woman, won’t you P” ;

So Tuk ran across quickly, and helped her, but when he came back into
the room it was quite dark, and there was not a word said about a light, so
he was obliged to go to bed on his little truckle bedstead, and there he lay
and thought of his geography lesson, and of Zealand, and of all the master
had told him. He ought really to have read it over again, but he could not
for want of a light. So he put the geography book under his pillow, for he
had heard that this was a great help towards learning a lesson, but not
always to be depended upon. He still lay thinking and thinking, when all
at once it seemed as if some one kissed him on his eyes and mouth. He slept
42 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.





and yet he did not sleep; and it appeared as if the old washerwoman
looked at him with kind eyes, and said, “It would be a great pity if
you did not know your lesson to-morrow morning; you helped me, and
new I will help you, and Providence will always help those who help them-
selves ;" and at the same time the book under Tuk’s pillow began to move
about. “Clock, cluck, cluck,” cried a hen as she crept towards him. “TI
arm a hen from Kjdge,”* and then she told him how many inhabitants the
town contained, and about a battle that had been fought there, which really
was not worth speaking of

“Crack, crack,” down fell something. It was a wooden bird, the parrot
which is used as a target at Prdéstde.t He said there were as many inhabi-
tants in that town as he had nails in his body. He was very proud, and
said, “ Thorwalsden lived close to me,{ and here I am now, quite comfort-
able.” eS

But now little Tuk was no longer in bed; all in a moment he found him-
self on horseback. Gallop, gallop, away he went, seated in front of a
richly-atiired kmight, with a waving plume, who held him on the saddle,
amd so they rede through the wood by the old town of Wordingburg,
which was very large and busy. The king's castle was surrounded by lofty
towers, and radiant light streamed from all the windows. Within there
were songs and dancing; King Waldemar and the young gaily-dressed
ladies of the court were dancing together. Morning dawned, and as the
sum rose, the whole city and the king’s castle sank suddenly down together.

Ome tower after another fell, till at last only one remained standing on
the hill where the castle had formerly been.§

The town now appeared srnall and poor, and the school-boys read in
their books, which they carried under their arms, that it contained two
thousand inhabitants ; but this was a mere boast, for it did not contain so

And again lithe Tuk lay in his bed, scarcely knowing whether he was
dreaming or not, for some one stood by him.

* Tuk! little Tuk!” said a voice. It was a very little person who spoke.
He was dressed as a sailor, and looked small enough to be a middy, but he
wasnotone. “I bring you many greetings from Corsdr|| It is a rising
town, full of life. It has steamships and mail-coaches. In times past they
used to call it ugly, but that is no longer true. I lie on the sea-shore,”



© Hjege, a little town on Kjége Bay. Lifting up children by placing the hands on each
side of their heads, is called ‘‘showing them Kjoge hens.”
+ Prastie, a still smaller town.

} About a hundred paces from Prastde lies the estate of Nyste, where Thorwalsden
csided while in Denmark, and where he executed many memorable works.
dingburg under King Waldemar was a place of great importance; now it is a very
ificant town: only a lonely tower and the remains of a well show where the castle

once stood,

|| Corsi, on the Great Belt, used to be called the most tiresome town in Denmark
before the establishment of steamers. Travellers had to wait for a favourable wind. The
title of “tiresome” was ingeniously added to the Danish escutcheon by a witticism of
Vaudeville Heibergs, The poet Baggesen was born here,



LITTLE TUK, 43



said Corsér; “I have high-roads and pleasure-gardens ; I have given birth
to a poet who was witty and entertaining, which they are not all. 1 once
wanted to fit out a ship to sail round the world, but I did not accomplish
it, though most likely I might have done so. But I am fragrant with per-
fume, for close to my gates most lovely roses bloom.”

Then before the eyes of little Tuk appeared a confusion of colours, red
and green; but it cleared off, and he could distinguish a cliff close to the
bay, the slopes of which were quite overgrown with verdure, and on its
summit stood a fine old church with pointed towers. Springs of water
flowed out of the cliff in thick waterspouts, so that there was a continual
splashing. Close by sat an old king with a golden crown on his white head.
This was King Hroar of the Springs,* and near the springs stood the town
of Roeskilde, as it is called. Then all the kings and queens of Denmark
went up the ascent to the old church hand in hand, with golden crowns on
their heads, while the organ played and the fountains sent forth jets of
water,

- Little Tuk saw and heard it all. “Don’t forget the names of these
towns,” said King Hroar.

- All at once everything vanished; but where! It seemed to him like
turing over the leaves of a book. And now there stood before him an
old peasant woman, who had come from Sorde,t where the grass grows in
the market-place. She had a green linen apron thrown over her head and
shoulders, and it was quite wet, as if it had been raining heavily. “ Yes,
that is has,” said she, and then, just as she was going to tell him a great many
pretty stories from Holberg’s comedies, and about Waldemar and Absalom,
she suddenly shrunk up together, and wagged her head as if she were a
frog about to spring. ‘Croak,” she cried; “it is always wet, and as quiet
as death in Sorée.” Then lttle Tuk saw she was changed into a frog.
“ Croak,” and again she was an old woman. “One must dress according
to the weather,” said she. “It is wet, and my town is just like a bottle.
By the cork we must go in, and by the cork we must come out again. In
olden times I had beautiful fish, and now I have fresh, rosy-cheeked
boys in the bottom of the bottle, and they learn wisdom, Hebrew and
Greek.”

* Croak.” How it sounded like the cry of the frogs on the moor, or
like the creaking of great boots when some one is marching,—always the
same tone, so monotonous and wearing, that little Tuk at length fell fast
asleep, and then the sound could not annoy him. But even in this sleep
came a dream, or something like it. His little sister Gustava, with her
blue eyes, and fair curly hair, had grown up a beautiful maiden all at once,



* Roeskilde (from Roesquelle, rose-spring, falsely called Rothschild), once the capital
of Denmark. The town took its name from King Hroar, and from the numerous springs
in the neighbourhood. In its beautiful cathedral most of the kings and queens of Den-
mark are buried. In Roeskilde the Danish States used to assemble.

+ Sorée, a very quiet little town ina beautiful situation, surrounded by forests and lakes.
Holberg, the Moliére of Denmark, founded a noble academy here. The poets Hanck and
Jugeman were professors here. Letztern lives there still. :
44 HIANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



and without having wings she could fly. And they flew together over
Zealand, over green forests and blue lakes.

“Fark, do you hear the cock crow, little Tuk. ‘ Cock-a-doodle-doo.’
The fowls are flying out of Kjége. You shall have a large farm-yard. You
shall never suffer hunger or want. The bird of good omen shall be yours,
and you shall become a rich and happy man; your house shall rise up like
King Waldemar’s towers, and shall be richly adorned with marble statues,
like those at Prastée. Understand me well; your name shall travel with
fame round the world like the ship that was to sail from Corsdr, and at
Roeskilde,—Don’t forget the names of the towns, as King Hroar said,—
you shall speak well and clearly little Tuk, and when at last you lie in your
grave you shall sleep peacefully, as”

“As if I lay in Soroe,” said little Tuk awaking. It was bright daylight,
‘and he could not remember his dream, but that was not necessary, for we
are not to know what will happen to us in the future. Then he sprang out.
of bed quickly, and read over his lesson in the book, and knew it all at
once quite correctly. The old washerwoman put her head in at the door,
and nodded to him quite kindly, and said, “Many thanks, you good child,
for your help yesterday. I hope all your beautiful dreams will come
true.”

Little Tuk did not at all know what he had dreamt, but One above
did.





GRANDMOTHER.

GRANDMOTHER is very old, her face is wrinkled, and her hair is quite
white; but her eyes are like’ two stars, and they have a mild, gentle ex-
pression in them when they look at you, which does you good, She wears
a dress of heavy, rich silk, with large flowers worked on it; and it rustles
when she moves. And then she can tell the most wonderful stories.
Grandmother knows a great deal, for she was alive before father and
mother—that’s quite certain. She has a hymn-book, with large silver clasps,
in whith she often reads ; and in the book, between the leaves, lies a rose,
quite flat and dry ; it is not so pretty as the roses which are standing i in the
glass, and yet she smiles at it most pleasantly, and tears even come into her
eyes. “ I wonder why grandmother looks at the withered flower in the old
book in that way? Do you know?” Why, when grandmother’s tears fall upon
the rose, and she is looking at it, the rose revives, and fills the room with its
GRANDMOTHER. 4s
fragrance; the walls vanish as in a mist, and all around her is the glorious
green wood, where in summer the sunlight streams through thick foliage ;
and grandmother, why she is young again, a charming maiden, fresh as a
rose, with round, rosy cheeks, fair, bright, ringlets, and a figure pretty and
graceful ; but the eyes, those mild, saintly eyes, are the same,—they have
been left to grandmother. At her side sits a young man, tall and strong ;
he gives her a rose and she smiles. Grandmother cannot smile like that













GRANDMOTHER IN HER CHAIR.

now. Yes, she is smiling at the memory of that day, and many thoughts
and recollections of the past; but the handsome young man is gone, and
the rose has withered in the old book; and grandmother is sitting there,
again an old woman, looking down upon the withered rose in the book.
Grandmother is dead now. She had been sitting in her arm-chair, telling
us a long, beautiful tale ; and when it was finished, she said she was tired,
and leaned her head back to sleep awhile. We could hear her gentle
breathing as she slept ; gradually it became quieter and calmer, and on her
countenance beamed happiness and peace. It was as if lighted up with a
ray of sunshine. Shesmiled once more, and then people said she was dead.
She was laid in a black coffin, looking mild and beautiful in the white folds
46 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



of the shrouded linen, though her eyes were closed ; but every wrinkle had
vanished, her hair looked white and silvery, and around her mouth lingered
a sweet smile. We did not feel at all afraid to look at the corpse of her
who had been such a dear, good grandmother. The hymn-book, in which
the rose still lay, was placed under her head, for so she had wished it; and
then they buried grandmother.

On the grave, close by the churchyard wall, they planted a rose-tree ; it
was soon full of roses, and the nightingale sat among the flowers, and sang
over the grave. From the organ in the church sounded the music and the
words of the beautiful psalms, which were written in the old book under the
head of the dead one.

The moon shone down upon the grave, but the dead was not there; every
child could go safely, even at night, and pluck a rose from the tree by the
churchyard wall. The dead know more than we do who are living. They
know what a terror would come upon us if such a strange thing were to
happen, as the appearance of a dead person among us. They are better off
than we are; the dead return no more. The earth has been heaped on the
coffin, and it is earth only that lies within it, The leaves of the hymn-book
are dust; and the rose, with all its recollections, has crumbled to dust also.
But over the grave fresh roses bloom, the nightingale sings, and the organ
sounds; and there still lives a remembrance of the old grandmother, with
the loving, gentle eyes that always looked young. Eyes cam never die. Ours
will once again behold dear grandmother, young and beautiful as when, for
the first time, she kissed the fresh, red rose, that is now dust in the grave.



THE OLD GRAVE-STONE.

In a house, with a large courtyard, in a provincial town, at that time of
the year in which people say the evenings are growing longer, a family circle
were gathered together at their old home. A lamp burned on the table,
although the weather was mild and warm, and the long curtains hung down
before the open windows, and without the moon shone brightly in the dark-
blue sky.

But they were not talking of the moon, but of a large, old stone that lay
below in the courtyard not very far from the kitchen door. The maids often
laid the clean copper saucepans and kitchen vessels on this stone, that they
might dry in the sun, and the children were fond of playing on it. It was,
in fact, an old grave-stone.
TRE OLD GRAVE-STONE. 47



“Ves,” said the master of the house, “I believe the stone came from the
graveyard of the old church of the convent which was pulled down, and
the pulpit, the monuments, and the grave-stones sold. My father bought
the latter; most of them were cut in two and used for paving-stones, but
that one stone was preserved whole, and laid in the courtyard.”

“ Any one can see that it isa grave-stone,” said the eldest of the children;
“the representation of an hour-glass and part of the figure of an angel can
still be traced, but the inscription beneath is quite worn out, excepting the
name ‘Preben, and a large ‘S’ close by it, and a little farther down the
‘name of ‘Martha’ can be easily read. But nothing more, and even that
cannot be seen unless it has been raining, or when we have washed the
stone.”

“Dear me! how singular. Why that must be the grave-stone of Preben
Schwane and his wife.”

The old man who said this looked old enough to be the grandfather of
all present in the room.

“Yes,” he continued, “these people were among the last who were buried
in the churchyard of the old convent. They were a very worthy old couple,
I can remember them well in the days of my boyhood. Every one knew
them, and they were esteemed by all. They were the oldest residents in
the town, and people said they possessed a ton of gold, yet they were
always very plainly dressed, in the coarsest stuff, but with linen of the purest
whiteness. Preben and Martha were a fine old couple, and when they both
sat on the bench, at the top of the steep stone steps, in front of their house,
with the branches of the linden-tree waving above them, and nodded in a
gentle, friendly way to passers by, it really made one feel quite happy.
They were very good to the poor; they fed them and clothed them, and in
their benevolence there was judgment as well as true Christianity. The old
woman died first; that day is still quite vividly before my eyes. Iwasa
lttle boy, and had accompanied my father to the old man’s house. Martha
had fallen into the sleep of death just as we arrived there. The corpse lay
in a bedroom, near to the one in which we sat, and the old man was in
great distress, and weeping like a child. He spoke to my father, andtsa
few neighbours who were there, of how lonely he should feel now she was
gone, and how good and true she, his dead wife, had been during the num-
ber of years that they had passed through life together, and how they had
become acquainted, and learnt to love each other. I was, as I have said,
a boy, and only stood by and listened to what the others said; but it filled
me with a strange emotion to listen to the old man, and to watch how the
colour rose in his cheeks as he spoke of the days of their courtship, of how
beautiful she was, and how many little tricks he had been guilty of, that he
might meet her. And then he talked of his wedding-day; and his eyes
brightened, and he seemed to be carried back, by his words, to that joyful
time. And yet there she was, lying in the next room, dead—an old woman,
and he was an old man, speaking of the days of hope, long passed away.
Ah, well, so it is; then I was but a child, and now I am old, as old as Preben
Schwane then was. Time passes away, and all things change. I can re-


48 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



member quite well the day on which she was buried, and how Old Preben
walked close behind the coffin.

“ A few years before this time the old couple had had their grave-stone
prepared, with an inscription and their names, but not the date. In the
















/ WON see fede @ a LS
TAMMIE (LE SCE

OLD PREBEN AND HIS WIFE.

evening the stone was taken to the churchyard, and laid on the grave. A
year later it was taken up, that Old Preben might be laid by the side of his
wife. They did not leave behind them wealth, they left behind them far
‘less than people had believed they possessed; what there was went to
families distantly related to them, of whom, till then, no one had ever heard.
The old house, with its balcony of wickerwork, and the bench at the top of
THE OLD GRAVE-STONE. 4D



the high steps, under the lime-tree, was considered, by the road-inspectors,
too old and rotten to be left standing. Afterwards, when the same fate
befel the convent church, and the graveyard was destroyed, the grave-stone
of Preben and Martha, like everything else, was sold to whoever would buy
it. And so it happened that this stone was not cut in two as many others
had been, but now lies in the courtyard below, a scouring block for the
maids, and a playground for the children, The paved street now passes
over the resting-place of Old Preben and his wife; no one thinks of them
any more now.”

And the old man who had spoken of all this shook his head mournfully,
and said, “Forgotten! Ah, yes, everything will be forgotten!” And then
the conversation turned on other matters.

But the youngest child in the room, a boy, with large, earnest eyes,
mounted upon a chair behind the window curtains, and looked out into the
yard, where the moon was pouring a flood of light on the old grave-stone,—
the stone that had always appeared to him so dull and flat, but which lay
there now like a green leaf out of a book of history.. All that the boy had
heard of Old Preben and his wife seemed clearly defined on the stone, and
as he gazed on it, and glanced at the clear, bright moon shining in the
pure air, it was as if the light of God’s countenance beamed over His
beautiful world.

“Forgotten! Everything will be forgotten!” still echoed through the
room, and in the same moment an invisible spirit whispered to the heart of
the boy, “ Preserve carefully the seed that has been entrusted to thee, that
it may grow and thrive. Guard it well, Through thee, my child, shall the
obliterated inscription on the oid, weather-beaten grave-stone go forth to
future generations in clear golden characters. The old pair shall again
wander through the streets arm-in-arm, or sit with their fresh, healthy cheeks
on the bench under the lime-tree, and smile and nod at rich and poor. The
seed of this hour shall ripen in the course of years into a beautiful poem,
The beautiful and the good are never forgotten, they live always in story or
in song.”




THE BELL-DEEP.

“Ding dong, ding dong,” how the sound rises up from the Bell-deep, in
the little river by the Odense on the island of Funen. “ Do you call the
Au ariver?” “Yes; every child in the town knows the Au, which streams
round the gardens, and flows under the wooden bridges, and turns the
watermill wheel.”

In this river grow yellow water-lilies and brown feathery reeds, the velvet
leaves of the flag droop over the stream, tall and thickly, near the monastery
meadow, and where the linen is washed and bleached by rubbing and
dipping.

But on the slopes of the town are gardens upon gardens, some of them
filled with all sorts of pretty flowers and shrubs, forming tiny bowers and
pleasure-grounds, while others have only cabbage and vegetables.

Sometimes these gardens cannot be seen at all from a distance, for the
large elder trees that grow near them spread out their branches and hang
over the flowing waters, which here are so deep that even an oar cannot
touch the bottonn.

Opposite the old nunnery is the deepest spot, and there dwells what is
called the “ Bell-deep,” and people say it is a “Water Spirit,” who sleeps
the whole day while the sun shines on the water; but when night comes,
and the moon shines, or the stars twinkle, his deep voice is heard.

He is very old; grandmamma says she has heard her own grandmother
speak of him. He dwells there mostly alone, although in years gone by he
had a friend in the old church bell, which then hung in the tower; but the
old church and the bell, even the tower itself, are gone now, and no traces
of where the building once stood can be found. It was named the Church
of the Holy St. Albans.

“ Ding dong, ding dong,” said the bell one evening, while the church and
the tower were still standing ; and while the sun was setting, and the bell
swinging, it suddenly broke loose and came flying down through the air,
the brilkant metal glistening in the rays of the setting sun. “Ding dong,
THE BELL-DEEP. ; SI



ding dong,” said the bell, “now I can have a long sleep,” as he went
plump into the river at its deepest part, which on that account is called the
“ Bell-deep.”

But there was neither sleep nor rest for the bell. It is still heard by the
watermen, ringing and sounding at all hours, and the tones sometimes come
up through the water. When they do, men say it is a sign that someone
is going to die; but that is a mistake. It is only the bell talking to the
water-sprite, so that now he is not alone.

“And what is the bell talking about?” Why he is as old as Methuselah.
Long, long before grandmamma was born he was there, and yet the bell
is a young thing compared to the water sprite, who is quite an old man.
Yet he has a strange appearance with his stockings made of the skins
of eels, his seal-skin coat with yellow lilies for buttons, a wreath of reeds in
his hair, and seaweed twisted in his beard. How funny he looks we need
not say. :

“What else does the bell say?” Why it would take years and years to
repeat all the stories the bell can tell. Sometimes they are short and
at other times long, just as it suits him; but they are all about old days
and dark days, and hard times.

One of his stories was about St. Alban’s church, when the patron saint
was a monk, and once mounted up into the tower where the bell hung. He
was young and handsome then, and uncommonly thoughtful. The bed of
the river was at that time very broad, and the monastery meadow still
alake. He could see it all through a loop-hole of the tower, but presently
he went and looked at the prospect from the green wall, which people called
the Nuns’-hill. It was near the convent, in which there was not a single
light burning excepting from the cell of a nun with whom he had been
a long time acquainted, and at the thought of her his heart beat rapidly—
“Ding dong, ding dong.”

“Vou must wait,” said the bell. Then the half-witted man-servant of the
bishop came up into the tower, and new the bell must tell his own tale: —

“Tam made of metal,” said the bell, “and as I swung to and fro I might
have beaten out his brains. ‘The man seated himself right under me, and
began playing with two sticks, as if they were musical instruments, and sung
to the Imaginary music.

“Now I may ring out sounds which at another time I could not even
whisper,” said the bell. “I can tell of things that are locked up behind
bolts and bars. The rats are eating fer up alive! No one knows of it.
No one hears of it. Not even while the bell is booming and ringing ‘Ding
dong, ding dong,’

“Tn those days there lived a king whom they called Canute. He bowed
low before a bishop and a monk, but when he imposed heavy taxes on the
peasants and gave them hard words, they seized their weapons and hunted
him like a wild deer. He sought refuge in the church, and closed the doors
behind him, but the enraged peasants surrounded the church, and there he
had to stay. ‘I was there,’ said the bell, ‘and I heard it all”

“ The crows, the ravens, and the rnagpies flew about in terror when they

4%
52 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



heard the yelling and shouting outside. They flew into the tower, and out
again when they saw the crowd below, and glared into the church windows,
making the most hideous cries and caws.

“ King Canute was kneeling and praying before the altar, His brothers,
Eric and Benedict stood by him with drawn swords, but the King’s servant,
the false-hearted Blake, betrayed his master. He showed the wild crowd
outside, the window through which a stone could reach his master. The
stone was aimed at the King, and in a few moments he fell dead!

“ The cries and yells of the incensed peasants and of the frightened birds
were heard by me, and I joined in the din by singing ‘Ding dong, ding
dong.’

“The church bell hangs high, and can see far and near. The language
of the birds is understood by the bell, and the wind, which knows every-
thing, roars round the tower and through the windows and loop-holes, and
gets all its knowledge from the air, and the bell understands, and rings it out
to the whole world, ‘ Ding dong, ding dong.’

“But at last,” said the bell, “the work became too heavy for me. I
could no longer ring out for the whole world to hear. ~I became so heavy
that the beam broke, and I flew out through the air to the place where the
river is deepest, and where the water sprite dwells, solitary and alone, and
year by vear I tell him all I have heard and what I know. Ding dong, ding
dong.”

All this is what my grandmother told me, but the bell’s deep tones have
a melancholy sound when they are heard from the river by Odense.

But our mother says there is zo bell in the water that can ring of itself,
and that the water sprite does not live in the water, because there is
no such thing as a water sprite, and when cther church bells sound so
sweetly, it is the air that makes them sound and not the bells alone, even
when they ring loudly.

Grancmother says the bell itself told her it was the air that made it
sound. So they are both agreed. Therefore take care and think before
you say or do anything, and be sure it is right, for the air knows everything
—lt is over Us,—it is In us,—and around us.

Jt tells of our thoughts and actions, and speaks more distinctly of them
than the bell in the depths of any river could do, for it rings out in
the vault of heaven, and will do so far and near, for ever and ever, even
after the bells of heaven are sounding “ Ding dong, ding dong.”

LDQ
SoS Be eS
6)



SOCUSEroUT:
SEU RTL





OTL





LUO O OLE





eoeaenest ye





THE BEETLE WHO WENT ON HIS TRAVELS.

THERE was once an Emperor who had a horse shod with gold. He had
a golden shoe on each foot, and why was this? He was a beautiful crea-
ture, with slender legs, bright, intelligent eyes, and a mane that hung down
over his neck likeaveil. He had carried his master through fire and smoke
in the battle field, with the bullets whistling round him; he had kicked
and bitten, and taken part in the fight when the enemy advanced; and,
with his master on his back, he had dashed over the fallen foe, and saved
the golden crown and the Emperor’s life, which was of more value than the
brightest gold. This is the reason of the Fmperor’s horse wearing golden
shoes.

A beetle came creeping forth from the stable, where the farrier had been
shoeing the horse. ‘Great ones first, of course,” said he, “and then the
little ones ; but size is not always a proof of greatness,” He stretched out
his thin leg as he spoke.

“And pray what do you want?” asked the farrier.

“Golden shoes,” replied the beetle.

“Why, you must be out of your senses,” cried the farrier. “Golden
shoes for you, indeed |”

“Yes, certainly ; golden shoes,” replied the beetle. ‘Am I not just as
good as that great creature yonder, who is waited upon and brushed, and
has food and drink placed before him? And don’t I belong to the royal
stables ?”

“But why does the horse have golden shoes?” asked the farrier ; “ of
course, you understand the reason?”

“Understand! Well, I understand that it is a personal slight to me,”
cried the beetle. ‘It is done to annoy me, so I intend to go out into the
world and seek my fortune.”

“Go along with you,” said the farrier.

“Youre a tude fellow,” cried the beetle, as he walked out of the stable;
and then he flew for a short distance, till he found himself in a beautiful
34 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.
flower-garden, all fragrant with roses and lavender. The lady-birds, with
red and black shells on their backs, and delicate wings, were flying about,
and one of them said, “Is it not sweet and lovely here? Oh, how beau-
tiful everything is!”

“J am accustomed to better things,” said the beetle. “Do you call this
beautiful? Why, there is not even a dung-heap.” Then he went on, and
under the shadow of a large haystack he found a caterpillar crawling along.
“How beautiful this world is!” said the caterpillar. “The sun is so warm,
I quite enjoy it. And soon I shall go to sleep, and die as they call it; but
I shall wake up with beautiful wings to fly with, like a butterfly.”

“ How conceited you are!” exclaimed the beetle. “ Fly about as a but-
terfly, indeed! what of that. I have come out of the Emperor’s stable, and
no one there, not even the Emperor’s horse, who in fact wears my cast-off
golden shoes, has any idea of flying, excepting myself. ‘To have wings and
fiy! why, I can do that already ;” and so saying, he spread his wings and
flew away. “I don’t want to be disgusted,” he said to himself, “and yet I
can’t help it.” Soon after, he fell down upon an extensive lawn, and fora
time pretended to sleep, but at last fell asleep in earnest. Suddenly a heavy
shower of rain came falling from the clouds. The beetle woke up with the
noise, and would have been glad to creep into the earth for shelter, but he
could not. He was tumbled over and over with the rain, sometimes swim-
ming on his stomach and sometimes on his back ; and as for flying, that was
out of the question. He began to doubt whether he should escape with his
life, so he remained, quietly lying where he was. After a while the weather
cleared up a little, and the beetle was able to rub the water from his eyes,
and look about him. He saw something gleaming, and he managed to
make his way up to it, It was linen which had been laid to bleach on the
grass. He crept into a fold of the damp linen, which certainly was not so
comfortable a place to lie in as the warm stable, but there was nothing
better, so he remained lying there for a whole day and night, and the rain
kept on all the time. Towards morning he crept out of his hiding place,
feeling in a very bad temper with the climate. Two frogs were sitting on
the linen, and their bright eyes actually glistened with pleasure.

“Wonderful weather this,” cried one of them, “and so refreshing. This
linen holds the water together so beautifully, that my hind legs quiver as if
I were going to swim.”

“*T should like to know,” said another, “if the swallow who flies so far in
her many journeys to foreign lands, ever met with a better climate than
this. What delicious moisture! It is as pleasant as lying in a wet
ditch. I am sure any one who does not enjoy this has no love for his
fatherland.

“ Have you ever been in the emperor’s stable?” asked the beetle. “There
the moisture is warm and refreshing ; that’s the climate for me, but I could
not take it with me on my travels. Is there not even a dunghill here in
this garden, where a person of rank, like myself, could take up his abode
and feel at home?” But the frogs either did not or would not under-
stand him,
THE BEETLE. BS





“T never ask a question twice,” said the beetle, after he had asked this
one three times, and received no answer. Then he went on a little farther
and stumbled against a piece of broken crockery-ware, which certainly ought
not to have been lying there. But, as it was there, it formed a good shelter
against wind and weather to several families of earwigs who dwelt in it.
Their requirements were not many; they were very sociable, and full of
affection for their children, so much so that each mother considered her
own child the most beautiful and clever of them all.

“Our son has engaged himself,” said one mother; “dear innocent boy;
his greatest ambition is that he may one day creep into a clergyman’s ear.
That is a very artless and lovable wish; and being engaged will keep him
steady. What happiness for a mother!”

“Our son,” said another, “had scarcely crept out of the egg, when he
was off on his travels. He is all life and spirits ; I expect he will wear out
his horns with running. How charming this is for a mother, is it not, Mr
Beetle?” for she knew the stranger by his horny coat.

“ You are both quite right,” said he; so they begged him to walk in, that
is to come as far as he could under the broken piece of earthenware.

“Now you shall also see my little earwigs,” said a third and a fourth
mother; “they are lovely little things, and highly amusing. They are never
ill behaved, excepting when they are uncomfortable in their insides, which
unfortunately often happens at their age.”

Thus each mother spoke of her baby, and their babies talked after their
own fashion, and made use of the little nippers they have in their tails to
nip the beard of the beetle.

“They are always busy about something, the little rogues,” said the mother,
beaming with maternal pride; but the beetle felt it a bore, and he therefore
inquired the way to the nearest dung-heap.

“ That is quite out in the great world, on the other side of the ditch,”
answered an ¢arwig. “I hope none of my children will ever go so far, it
would be the death of me.”

“But I shall try to get so far,” said the beetle, and he walked off without
taking any formal leave, which is considered a polite thing to do.

When he arrived at the ditch, he met several friends, all of them beetles,
“We live here,” they said, “and we are very comfortable. May we ask
you to step down into this rich mud; you must be fatigued after your
journey.”

“Certainly,” said the beetle, “I shall be most happy. I have been ex-
posed to the rain, and have had to lie upon linen, and cleanliness is a thing
that greatly exhausts me; I have also pains in one of my wings from stand-
ing in the draught under a piece of broken crockery. It is really quite
refreshing to be with one’s own kindred again.”

“Perhaps you came from a dung-heap,” observed the oldest of them.

“No, indeed, I came from a much grander place,” replied the beetle;
“T came from the emperor’s stable, where I was born, with golden shoes on
my feet, I am travelling on a secret embassy, but you must not ask me
any questions, for 1 cannot betray my secret.”
56 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



Then the beetle stepped down into the rich mud, where sat three young:
lady beetles, who tittered, because they did not know what to say.

“None of them are engaged yet,” said their mother, and the beetle
maidens tittered again, this time quite in confusion.

“T have never seen greater beauties, even in the royal stables,” exclaimed
the beetle, who was now resting himself.

“ Don’t spoil my girls,” said the mother; “and don’t talk to them, pray,
unless you have serious intentions.”

But of course the beetle’s intentions were serious, and after a while our
friend was engaged. The mother gave them her blessing, and all the other
beetles cried “ Hurrah !”

Immediately after the betrothal came the marriage, for there was no reason
to delay. The following day passed very pleasantly, and the next was tole-
rably comfortable; but on the third it became necessary for him to think of
getting food for his wife, and perhaps for children.

“T have allowed myself to be taken in,” said our beetle to himself, “ and
now there ’s nothing to be done but to take them in, in return.”

No sooner said than done. Away he went, and stayed away all day and
all night, and his wife remained a forsaken widow.

“Oh,” said the other beetles, “this fellow that we have received into our
family is nothing but a complete vagabond. He has gone away and left his
wife a burden upon our hands.”

“Well, she can be unmarried again, and remain here with my other
daughters,” said the mother. “Fie on the villain that forsook her!”

In the meantime the beetle, who had sailed across the ditch on a cabbage
leaf, had been journeying on the other side. In the morming two persons
came up to the ditch. When they saw him they took him up and turned
him over and over, looking very learned all: the time, especially one, who
wasaboy. “Allah sees the black beetle in the black stone, and the black
rock. Is not that written in the Koran?” he asked.

Then he translated the beetle’s name into Latin, and said a great deal
upon the creature’s nature and history. The second person, who was older
and a scholar, proposed to carry the beetle home, as they wanted just such
good specimens as this. Our beetle considered this speech a great insult,
so he flew suddenly out of the speaker’s hand. His wings were dry now,
so they carried him to a great distance, till at last he reached a hothouse,
where a sash of the glass roof was partly open, so he quietly slipped in and
buried himself in the warm earth. “It is very comfortable here,” he said
to himself, and soon after fell asleep. Then he dreamed that the emperor’s
horse was dying, and had left him his golden shoes, and also promised that
he should have two more. All this was very delightful, and when the beetle
woke up he crept forth and looked around him. What a splendid place
the hothouse was! At the back, large palm-trees were growing, and the
sunlight made the leaves look quite glossy; and beneath them what a pro-
fusion of luxuriant green, and of flowers red like flame, yellow as amber,
or white as new-fallen snow! “What a wonderful quantity of plants,” cried
the beetle; “how good they will taste when they are decayed! This isa
THE BEETLE, 57







capital store-room. ‘There must certainly be some relations of mine living
here; I will just see if I can find any one with whom I can associate. I’m
proud, certainly ; but I’m also proud of being so.” Then he prowled aboutin
the earth, and thought what a pleasant dream that was about the dying horse,
and the golden shoes he had inherited. Suddenly a hand seized the beetle,
and squeezed him, and turned him round and round. The gardener’s little
son and his playfellow had come into the hothouse, and, seeing the beetle,
wanted to have some fun with him. First, he was wrapped in a vine-leaf,
and put into a warm trousers’ pocket. He twisted and turned about with
all bis might, but he got a good squeeze from the boy’s hand, as a hint for
him to keep quiet. Then the boy went quickly towards a lake that lay at
the end of the garden. Here the beetle was put into an old broken wooden
shoe, in which a little stick had been fastened upright for a mast, and to
this mast the beetle was bound with a piece of worsted. Now he was a
sailor, and had to sail away. The lake was not very large, but to the beetle
it seemed an ocean, and he was so astonished at its size that he fell over on
his back, and kicked out his legs. Then the little ship sailed away; some-
times the current of the water seized it, but whenever it went too far from
the shore one of the boys turned up his trousers, and went in after it, and
brought it back to land. But at jast, just as it went merrily out again, the
two boys were called, and so angrily, that they hastened to obey, and ran
away as fast as they could from the pond, so that the little ship was left to
its fate. It was carried away farther and farther from the shore, till it reached
the open sea. This was a terrible prospect for the beetle, for he could not
escape in consequence of being bound to the mast. Then a fly came and
paid hima visit. ‘“ What beautiful weather,” said the fly; ‘‘I shall rest here
and sun myself. You must have a pleasant time of it.”

“You speak without knowing the facts,” replied the beetle ; “don’t you
see that I am a prisoner?”

“ Ah, but I’m not a prisoner,” remarked the fly, and away he flew.

“Well, now I know the world,” said the beetle to himself; “it’s an
abominable world; I’m the only respectable person in it. First, they refuse
me my golden shoes; then I have to lie on damp linen, and to stand ina
draught; and to crown all, they fasten a wife upon me. Then, when I have
made a step forward in the world, and found out a comfortable position,
just as I could wish it to be, one of these human boys comes and ties me up,
and leaves me to the mercy of the wild waves, while the emperor’s favourite
horse goes prancing about proudly on his golden shoes. This vexes me
more than anything. But it is useless to look for sympathy in this world.
My career has been very interesting, but what’s the use of that if nobody
knows anything about it? The world does not deserve to be made ac-
quainted with my adventures, for it ought to have given me golden shoes
when the emperor’s horse was shod, and I stretched out my feet to be shod,
too. If I had received golden shoes I should have been an ornament to
the stable; now I am lost to the stable and to the world. It is all over
with me.” :

But all was not yet over. A boat, in which were a few young girls, came
58 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



rowing up. “Look, yonder is an old wooden shoe sailing along,” said one
of the young girls,

“ And there’s a poor little creature bound fast in it,” said another.

The boat now came close to our beetle’s ship, and the young girls fished
it out of the water. One of them drew a small pair of scissors from her
pocket, and cut the worsted without hurting the beetle, and when she stepped
on shore she placed him on the grass. “There,” she said, “creep away, or
fly, if thou canst. It is a splendid thing to have thy liberty.” Away flew
the beetle, straight through the open window of a large building; there he
sank down, tired and exhausted, exactly on the mane of the emperoyr’s
favourite horse, who was standing in his stable; and the heetle found him-
self at home again. For some time he clung to the mane, that he might
recover himself. “Well,” he said, “here I am, seated on the emperor's
favourite horse,—-sitting upon him as if I were the emperor himself. But
what was it the farrier asked me? Ah, I remember now—that’s a good
thought—he asked me why the golden shoes were given to the horse. The
answer is quite clear to me, now. They were given to the horse on my
account.” And this reflection put the beetle into a good temper. The
sun’s rays also came streaming into the stable, and shone upon him, and
made the place lively and bright. ‘Travelling expands the mind very
rouch,” said the beetle. “The world is not so bad after all, if you know
how to take things as they come.”

ELDER-TREE MOTHER.

THERE was once a little boy who had taken cold by going out and getting
his feet wet. No one could think how he had managed to do so, for the
weather was quite dry. His mother undressed him and put him to bed,
and then she brought in the teapot to make him a good cup of elder-tea,
which is so warming. At the same time, the friendly old man, who lived all
alone at the top of the house, came in at the door. He had neither wife
nor child, but he was very fond of children, and knew so many fairy tales
and stories that it was a pleasure to hear him talk. “Now, if you drink
your tea,” said the mother, “very likely you will have a story in the mean-
time.”

“Yes, if 1 could think of a new one to tell,” said the old man, ‘“ But
how did the little fellow get his feet wet ?” asked he.
ELDER-TREE MOTHER. 59



* Ah,” said the mother, “that is what we cannot find out.”

“Will you tell mea story?” asked the boy.

“Yes, if you can tell me exactly how deep the gutter is in the little street
through which you go to school.”

“Just half way up to my knee,” said the boy, “that is, if I stand in the
deepest part.”

“Tt is easy to see how we got our feet wet,” said the old man. “ Well,
now I suppose I ought to tell a story, but I don’t know any more.”

“You can make up one, I know,” said the boy. “ Mother says that you
can turn everything you look at into a story, and everything, even, that you
touch.”

“ Ah, but those sort of tales and stories are worth nothing. The real
ones come of themselves; they knock at my forehead, and say, ‘ Here we
are.”

“Won't there be a knock soon?” said the boy. And his mother laughed,
while she put elder-flowers in the teapot, and poured boiling water over
them.. “Oh, do tell me a story.”

“Ves, if a story comes of itself; but tales and stories are very grand,
they only come when it pleases them. Stop,” he cried all at once, “here
we have it; look! there is a story in the teapot now.”

The little boy looked at the teapot, and saw the lid raise itself gradually,
and long branches sprouted out, even from the spout, in all directions, till
they became larger and larger, and there appeared a large elder-tree, covered
with flowers white and fresh. It spread itself even to the bed, and pushed
the curtains aside, and oh, how fragrant the blossoms smelt.. In the midst
of the tree, sat a pleasant-looking old woman, in a very strange dress. The
dress was green, like the leaves of the elder-tree, and was decorated with
large white elder-blossoms. It was not easy to tell whether the border was
made of some kind of stuff, or of real flowers.

“What is that woman’s name?” asked the boy.

“The Romans and Greeks called her a dryad,” said the old man, “but
we do not understand that name; we have a better one for her in the
quarter of the town where the sailors live. They call her Elder-flower
mother, and you must pay attention to her now, and listen while you look
at the beautiful tree.”

“Just such a large blooming tree as this stands outside in the corner of
a poor little yard ; and under this tree, one bright sunny afternoon sat two
old people, a sailor and his wife. They had great-grandchildren, and would
soon celebrate the golden wedding, which is the fiftieth anniversary of the
wedding-day in many continental countries, and the Elder-mother sat in the
tree and looked as pleased as she does now. ‘I know when the golden
wedding is to be,’ said she, but they did not hear her, they were talking of
olden times. ‘Do you remember,’ said the old sailor, ‘when we were quite
little, and used to run about and play in the very same yard where we are
now sitting, and how we planted little twigs in one corner, and made a
garden?’ ‘Yes,’ said the old women, ‘I remember it quite well, and how
we watered the twigs, and one of them was a sprig of elder that took root,
60 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRV TALES.



and put forth green shoots, until it became in time the great tree under
which we old people are now seated.’ ‘To be sure, he replied; ‘ and in
that corner yonder, stands the water-butt in which I ‘used to swim my boat
that I had cut out all myself, and it sailed well, too; but since then I have
learnt a very different kind of sailing” ‘Yes, ‘but before that, we went to
school,’ said she, and then we were prepared for confirmation,—how we
both cried on that day! but in the afternoon we went, hand in hand, up to
the round tower, and saw the view over Copenhagen, and across the water ;

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THE OLD MAN TELLING HIS STORY,

then we went to Fredericksburg, where the king and queen were sailing in
their beautiful boat on the river.’ ‘But I had to sail on a very different
voyage elsewhere, and be away from home for years on long voyages,’ said
the old sailor, ‘Ah yes, and I used to cry about you,’ said she ‘for I thought
you must be dead, and lying drowned at the bottom of the sea, with the
waves Sweeping over you. And many a time have I got up in the night to
see if the weathercock had turned ; it turned often enough, but you came
not. How well I remember one day, the ram pouring down from the skies,
ELDER-TREE MOTHER. 61



and the man came to the house where I was in service, to fetch away the
dust. I went down to him with the dust box, and stood for a moment at
the door,—what shocking weather it was!—-and while I stood there, the
postman came up and brought me a letter from you. How that letter had
travelled about! I tore it open and read it. I laughed and wept at the
same time, I was so happy. It said that you were in warm countries, where
the coffee berries grew, and what a beautiful country it was, and described
many other wonderful things; and so I stood reading by the dust-bin, with
the rain pouring down, when, all at once, somebody came, and clasped me
round the waist.’ ‘Yes; and you gave him such a box on the ears, that
they tingled, said the old man. ‘I did not know that it was you,’ she
replied, ‘but you had arrived as quickly as your letter, and you looked so
handsome, and, indeed, so you are still. You had a large yellow silk hand-
kerchief in your pocket, and a shiny hat on your head. You looked quite
fine. And, all the time, what weather it was! and how dismal the street
looked!’ ‘And then do you remember,’ said he, ‘when we were married,
and our first boy came, and then Marie, and Niels, and Peter, and Hans
Christian?’ ‘Indeed I do,’ she replied; ‘and they are all grown up respect-
able men and women, whom every one likes,” ‘And now their children
have little ones,’ said the old sailor. ‘There are great-grandchildren for us,
strong and healthy too.’ ‘Was it not about this time of the year that we
were married?’ ‘Yes; and to-day is the golden wedding-day,’ said the
Elder-tree mother, popping her head out just between the two old people;
and they thought it was a neighbour nodding to them. Then they looked
at each other, and clasped their hands together. Presently came their
children and grandchildren, who knew very well that it was the golden
wedding-day. They had already wished them joy on that very morning ;
but the old people had forgotten it, although they remembered so well all
that had happened many years before. And the elder-tree smelt sweetly,
and the setting sun shone upon the faces of the old people till they looked
quite ruddy ; and the youngest of their grandchildren danced round them
joyfully, and said they were going to have a feast in the evening, and there
were to be hot potatoes. Then the Elder-mother nodded in the tree, and
cried ‘ Hurrah,’ with all the rest.”

“ But that is not a story,” said the little boy, who had been listening.

“Not till you understand it,” said the old man; “but let us ask the
Elder-mother to explain it.”

“Tt was not exactly a story,” said the Elder-mother; “but the story is
coming now, and it is a true one, For out of truth grow the most wonder-
ful stories, just as my beautiful elder-bush has sprung out of the tea-pot.”
And then she took the little boy out of bed, and laid him on her bosom ;
and the blooming branches of elder closed over them, so that they sat as it
were in a leafy bower; and the bower flew with them through the air in the
most delightful manner. Then the Elder-mother all at once changed to a
beautiful young maiden; but her dress was still of the same green stuff,
ornamented with a border of white elder-blossoms, such as the Elder-mother
had worn, In her bosom she wore a real elder-flower, and a wreath of the
62 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



same was entwined in her golden ringlets. Her large blue eyes were very
beautiful to look at. She was the same age as the boy; and they kissed
each other, and felt very happy. They left the arbour together, hand in
hand, and found themselves in a beautiful flower-garden, which belonged
to their home. On the green lawn their father’s stick was tied up. There
was life in this stick for the little ones; for no sooner did they place them-
selves upon it than the white knob changed into a pretty neighing head,
with a black flowing mane, and four long slim legs sprung forth. The crea-
ture was strong and spirited, and galloped with them round the grass-plot.
“Hurrah! now we will ride many miles away,” said the boy; “we'll ride
to the nobleman’s estate, where we went last year.” Then they rode round
the grass-plot again; and the little maiden, who, we know, was Elder-tree
mother, kept crying out, “ Now we are in the country. Do you see the
farmhouse, with a great baking-oven, which sticks out from the wall by the
roadside like a gigantic egg? There is an elder spreading its branches over
it, and a cock is marching about, and scratching for the chickens. See
how he struts! Now we are near the church. There it stands on the hill,
shaded by the great oak-trees, one of which is half dead. See, here we
are at the blacksmith’s forge. How the fire burns! And the halt-clad
men are striking the hot iron with the hammer, so that the sparks fly about.
Now then, away to the nobleman’s beautiful estate.” And the boy saw all
that the little girl spoke of as she sat behind him on the stick; for it passed
before him, although they were only galloping round the grass-plot. Then
they played together in a side-walk, and raked up the earth, to make a little
garden. Then she took elder-flowers out of her hair, and planted them ;
and they grew just like those which he had heard the old people talking
about, and which they had planted in their young days. They walked
about hand-in-hand, too, just as the old people had done when they were
children; but they did not go up the round tower, nor to Fredericksburg
garden. No; but the little girl seized the boy round the waist, and they rode
all over the whole country,—sometimes it was spring, then summer, then
autumn, and winter followed,—while thousands of images were presented
to the boy’s eyes and heart, and the little girl constantly sung to him, “You
must never forget all this.” And, through their whole flight, the elder-tree
sent forth the sweetest fragrance.

They passed roses and fresh beech-trees, but the perfume of the elder-
tree was stronger than all, for its flowers hung round the little maiden’s
heart, against which the boy so often leaned his head during their flight.

“Tt is beautiful here in the spring,” said the maiden, as they stood in a
grove of beech-trees covered with fresh green leaves, while at their feet the
sweet-scented thyme and blushing anemone lay spread amid the green
grass in delicate bloom. “Oh, that it were always spring in the fragrant
beech-groves.”

“ Here it is delightful in summer,” said the maiden, as they passed old
knights’ castles, telling of days gone by, and saw the high walls and pointed
gables mirrored in the rivers beneath, where swans were sailing about and
peeping into the cool green avenues. In the fields the corn waved to and fro
ELDER-TREE MOTHER, 63



like the sea, Red and yellow flowers grew amongst the ruins, and the hedges
were covered with wild hops and blooming convolvulus. In the evening
the moon rose round and full, and the hay stacks in the meadows filled the
air with their sweet scent. ‘These were scenes never to be forgotten. “ It
is lovely here also in autumn,” said the little maiden; and then the scene
changed. The sky appeared higher and more beautifully blue, while the
forest glowed with colours of red, green, and gold. The hounds were off
to the chase, large flocks of wild birds flew screaming over the Huns’
graves, where the blackberry bushes twined round the old ruins. The dark-
blue sea was dotted with white sails, and in the barns sat old women,
maidens, and children, picking hops into a large tub. The young ones
sang songs, and the old ones told Fairy tales of wizards and witches.
There could be nothing more pleasant than all this. ‘ Again,” said the
maiden, “it is beautiful ‘bere in winter.” Then in a moment all the trees
were covered with hoar-frost, so that they looked like white coral. The
snow crackled beneath the feet as if every one had on new boots, and oné
shooting star after another fell from the sky. In warm rooms there could
be seen the Christmas trees decked out with presents, and lighted up amid
festivities and joy. In the country farm-houses could be heard the sound
of the violin, and there were games for apples, so that even the poorest
child could say, “ It is beautiful in winter.” And beautiful indeed were all
the scenes which the maiden showed to the little boy, and always around
them floated the fragrance of the elder-blossom, and ever above them
waved the red flag with the white cross under which the old seaman had
sailed. The boy who had become a youth, and who had gone as a sailor
out into the wide world, and sailed to warm countries where the coffee
grew, and to whom the little girl had given an elder-blossom from her
bosom for a keepsake, when she took leave of him, placed the flower in his
hymn-book, and when he opened it in foreign lands, he always turned to
the spot where this flower of remembrance lay, and the more he looked at
it, the fresher it appeared. He could, as it were, breathe the homelike
fragrance of the woods, and see the little girl looking at him from between
the petals of the flower with her clear blue eyes, and hear her whispering,
“Tt is beautiful here at home in spring and summer, in autumn and in
winter,” while hundreds of these home scenes passed through his memory.
Many years had passed, and he was now an old man seated with his old
wife under an elder-tree in full blossom. They were holding each other’s
hands just as the great-grandfather and grandmother had done, and spoke,
as they did, of olden times and the golden wedding. The little maiden
with the blue eyes and with the elder-blossoms in her hair sat in the tree
and nodded to them and said, “ To-day isthe golden wedding.” And then
she took two flowers out of her wreath and kissed them, and they shone
first like silver and then like gold; and as she placed them on the heads
of the old people each flower became a golden crown. And there they sat
like a king and queen under the sweetly-scented tree, which still looked
like an elder-bush. Then he related to his old wife the story of the Elder-
tree mother, just as he had heard it told when he was a little boy, and they
64 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



both fancied it very much hke their own story, especially in some parts
which they liked the best.

“Well, and so it is,” said the little maiden in .ne tree. “Some call me
Elder-mother, others a dryad, but my real name is ‘Memory.’ It is I who
sit in the tree as it grows and grows, and I can think of the past and relate
many things. Let me see if you have still preserved the flower.”

Then the old man opened his hymn-book, and there lay the elder-flower
as fresh as if it had only just been placed there, and “ Memory” nodded,
and the two old people with the golden crowns on their heads sat in the red
glow of the evening sunlight, and closed their eyes, and—and—the story
was ended.

The little boy lay in his bed anc did not quite know whether he had been
dreaming or listening to a story. The teapot stood on the table, but no
elder-bush grew out of it, and the old man who had really told the tale was
on the threshold, and just going out at the door.

“ How beautiful it was,” said the little boy. ‘“ Mother, I have been to
‘warm countries.”

“T can quite believe it,” said his mother. | When any one drinks two
full cups of elder-flower tea, he may well get into warm countries ;” and
then she covered him up that he should not take cold. “You have slept
well while I have been disputing with the old man as to whether it was a
real story or a fairy legend.”

“ And where is the Elder-tree mother?” asked the boy.

“She is in the teapot,” said the mother, “and there she may stay.”


















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































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THE NIGHTINGALE.

In China, you know, the emperor is a Chinese, and all those about him
are Chinamen also. The story I am going to tell you happened a great
many years ago, so it is well to hear it now before it is forgotten. The em-
peror’s palace was the most beautiful in the world. It was built entirely of
porcelain, and very costly, but so delicate and brittle that whoever touched
it was obliged to be careful. In the garden could be seen the most singular
flowers, with pretty silver bells tied to them, which tinkled so that every one
that passed could not help noticing the flowers. Indeed, everything in the
emperor's garden was remarkable, and it extended so far that the gardener
himself did not know where it ended. Those who travelled beyond its limits
knew that there was a noble forest, with lofty trees, sloping down to the
deep blue sea, and the great ships sailed under the shadow of its branches.
In one of these trees lived a nightingale, who sang so beautifully that even
the poor fishermen, who had so many other things to do, would stop and
listen. Sometimes, when they went at night to spread their nets, they would
hear her sing, and say, “Oh, is not that beautiful?” But when they re-
turned to their fishing, they forgot the bird until the next night. Then they
would hear it again, and exclaim, “Oh, how. beautiful is the nightingale’s
song !”

Travellers from every country in the world came to the city of the em-
peror, which they admired very much, as well as the palace and gardens;
but when they heard the nightingale, they all declared it to be the best of
all. And the travellers, on their return home, related what they had seen;
and learned men wrote books, containing descriptions of the town, the
palace, and the gardens; but they did not forget the nightingale, which was
really the greatest wonder. And those who could write poetry composed
beautiful verses about the nightingale, who lived in a forest near the deep
sea, The books travelled all over the world, and some of them came into
the hands of the emperor; and he sat in his golden chair, and, as he read,
he nodded his approval every moment, for it pleased him to find such a
beautiful description of his city, his palace, and his gardens. But when
he came to the words, “the nightingale is the most beautiful of all,” he ex-
claimed, “ What is this? I know nothing of any nightingale. Is there such

5
66 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



a bird in my empire? and even in my garden? I have never heard of it.
Something, it appears, may be learnt from books.”

Then he called one of his lordsin-waiting, who was so high-bred, that
when any in an inferior rank to himself spoke to him, or asked him a
question, he would answer, “ Pooh,” which means nothing.

“There is a very wonderful bird mentioned here, called a nightingale,”
said the emperor ; ‘they say it is the best thing in my large kingdom. Why
have I not been told of it?”

“T have never heard the name,” replied the cavalier ; ‘‘ she has not been
presented at court.”

“Tt ig my pleasure that she shall appear this evening,” said the emperor;
“the whole world knows what I possess better than I do myself.”

“J have never heard of her,” said the cavalier; “yet I will endeavour
to find her.”

But where was the nightingale to be found? The nobleman went up-
stairs and down, through halls and passages; yet none of those whom he
met had heard of the bird. So he returned to the emperor, and said that
it must be a fable, invented by those who had written the book. “ Your
imperial majesty,” said he, “ cannot believe everything contained in books ;
sometimes they are only fiction, or what is called the black art.”

“But the book in which I have read this account,” said the emperor,
“was sent to me by the great and mighty emperor of Japan, and therefore
it cannot contain a falsehood. I will hear the nightingale, she must be here
this evening; she has my highest favour; and if she does not come the
whole court shall be trampled upon after supper is ended.” |

“Tsing-pe!” cried the lord-in-waiting, and again he ran up and down
stairs, through all the halls and corridors; and half the court ran with him,
for they did not like the idea of being trampled upon. There was a great
inquiry about this wonderful nightingale, whom all the world knew, but who
was unknown to the court.

At last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said, “ Oh, yes
I know the nightingale quite well; indeed, she can sing. Every evening I
have permission to take home to my poor sick mother the scraps from the
table; she lives down by the seashore, and as I come back I feel tired,
and I sit down in the wood to rest, and listen to the nightingale’s song.
Then the tears come into my eyes, and it is just as if my mother kissed
me.”

“Little maiden,” said the lord-in-waiting, “I will obtain for you constant
employment in the kitchen, and you shall have permission to see the em-
peror dine, if you will lead us to the nightingale ; for she is invited for this
evening to the palace.” So she went into the wood where the nightingale
sang, and half the court followed her. As they went along, a cow began
lowing.

“ Oh,” said a young courtier, “now we have found her; what wonderful
power for such a small creature ; I have certainly heard it before.”

“No, that is only a cow lowing,” said the little girl; “we are a long way
from the place yet.”
THE NIGHTINGALE. 67



ores a

Then some frogs began to croak in the marsh.

“ Beautiful,” said the young courtier again. “Now I hear it, tinkling
like little church bells.”

“No, those are frogs,” said the little maiden ; “but I think we shall soon
hear her now :” and presently the nightingale began to sing.

“ Hark, hark ! there she is,” said the girl, “and there she sits,” she added,
pointing to a little grey bird who was perched on a bough. |

“Ts it possible ?” said the lord-in-waiting, “I never imagined it would be
a little, plain, simple thing like that. She has certainly changed colour at
seeing so many grand people around her.”

“Little nightingale,” cried the girl, raising her voice, “our most gracious
emperor wishes you to sing before him.”

“With the greatest pleasure,” said the nightingale, and began to sing most
delightfully.

“Tt sounds like tiny glass bells,” said the lord-in-waiting, “and see how
her little throat works. It is surprising that we have never heard this before ;
she will be a great success at court.”

Shall I sing once more Lefore the emperor?” asked the nightingale, whe
thought he was present.

“My excellent little nightingale,” said the courtier, ‘I have the great
pleasure of inviting you to a court festival this evening, where you will
gain imperial favour by your charming song.”

“ My song sounds best in the green wood,” said the bird; but still she
came willingly when she heard the emperor’s wish.

The palace was elegantly decorated for the occasion. The walls and
floors of porcelain glittered in the light of a thousand lamps. Beautiful
flowers, round which little bells were tied, stood in the corridors: what with
the running to and fro and the draught, these bells tinkled so loudly that
no one could speak to be heard. In the centre of the great hall, a golden
perch had been fixed for the nightingale to sit on. The whole court was
present, and the little kitchen-maid had received permission to stand by the
door. She was now installed as a real court cook. All were in full dress,
and every eye was turned to the little grey bird when the emperor nodded
to her to begin. The nightingale sang so sweetly that the tears came into
the emperor’s eyes, and then rolled down his cheeks, as her song became
still more touching and went to every one’s heart. The emperor was so
delighted that he declared the nightingale should have his gold slipper to
wear round her neck, but she declined the honour with thanks: she had
been sufficiently rewarded already. “I have seen tears in an emperor's
eyes,” she said, “that is my richest reward. An emperor's tears have won-
derful power, and are quite sufficient honour for me;” and then she sang
again more enchantingly than ever.

“That singing is a lovely gift,” said the ladies of the court to each other ;
and then they took water in their mouths to make them utter the gurgling
sounds of the nightingale when they spoke to any one, so that they might
fancy themselves nightingales. And the footmen and chambermaids also
expressed their satisfaction, which is saying a great deal, for they are very

ge
68 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



difficult to please. In fact the nightingale’s visit was most successful. She
was now to remain at court, to have her own cage, with liberty to go out
twice a day, and once during the night. Twelve servants were appointed
to attend her on these occasions, whe each held her by a silken string
fastened to her leg. There was certainly not much pleasure in this kind
of flying.

The whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and when two people met,
one said “nightin,” and the other said “gale,” and they understood what
was meant, for nothing else was talked of Eleven pedlers’ children were
named after her, but not one of them could sing a note.

One day the emperor received a large packet on which was written “The
Nightingale.” “Here is no doubt a new book about our celebrated bird,”
said the emperor. But instead of a book, it was a work of art contained in
a casket, an artificial nightingale made to look like a living one, and covered
all over with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. As soon as the artificial bird
was wound up, it could sing like the real one, and could move its tail up and
down, which sparkled with silver and gold. Round its neck hung a piece
of ribbon, on which was written “The Emperor of China’s nightingale
is poor compared with that of the Emperor of Japan’s.”

“This is very beautiful,” exclaimed all who saw it, and he who had
brought the artificial bird received the title of “ Imperial nightingale-
bringer-in-chief.”

“ Now they must sing together,” said the court, “and what a duet it will
be.” But they did not get on well, for the real nightingale sang in its own
natural way, but the artificial bird sang only waltzes.

“That is no fault,” said the music-master, “it is perfect to my taste,” so
then it had to sing alone, and was as successful as the real bird; besides, it
was so much prettier to look at, for it sparkled like bracelets and breast-
pins. Three and thirty times did it sing the same tunes without being tired:
the people would gladly have heard it again, but the emperor said the
living nightingale ought to sing something. But where was she? No one
had noticed her when she flew out at the open window, back to her own green
woods.

“What strange conduct,” said the emperor, when her flight had been dis-
covered; and all the courtiers blamed her, and said she was a very ungrate-
ful creature.

“ But we have the best bird after all,” said one, and then they would have
the bird sing again, although it was the thirty-fourth time they had
listened to the same piece, and even then they had not learnt it, for it was
rather difficult. But the music-master praised the bird in the highest
degree, and even asserted that it was better than a real nightingale, not
only in its dress and the beautiful diamonds, but also in its musical power.
“For you must perceive, my chief lord and emperor, that with a real night-
ingale we can never tell what is going to be sung, but with this bird every-
thing is settled. It can be opened and explained, so that people may
understand how the waltzes are formed, and why one note follows upon
another.”
THE NIGHTINGALE. 69



“ That is exactly what we think,” they all replied, and then the music-
master received permission to exhibit the bird to the people on the following
Sunday, and the emperor commanded that they should be present to hear it
sing. When they heard it they were like people intoxicated; however it
must have been with drinking tea, which is quite a Chinese custom. They
all said “Oh!” and held up their forefingers and nodded, but a poor fisher-
man, who had heard the real nightingale, said, “It sounds prettily enough,
and the melodies are all alike; yet there seems something wanting, I can-
not exactly tell what.” :

And after this the real nightingale was banished from the empire, and
the artificial bird placed on a silk cushion close to the emperor’s bed. The
presents of gold and precious stones which had been received with it were
round the bird, and it was now advanced to the title of “ Little Imperial
Toilet Singer,” and to the rank of No. 1 on the left hand; for the emperor
considered the left side, on which the heart lies, as the most noble, and the
heart of an emperor is in the same place as that of other people.

The music-master wrote a work, in twenty-five volumes, about the artifi-
cial bird, which was very learned and very long, and full of the most diffi-
cult Chinese words; yet all the people said they had read it, and understood
it, for fear of being thought stupid and having their bodies trampled upon.

So a year passed, and the emperor, the court, and all the other Chinese
knew every little turn in the artificial bird’s song; and for that same reason
it pleased them better. ‘They could sing with the bird, which they often
did. The street-boys sang, “ Zi-zi-zi, cluck, cluck, cluck,” and the emperor -
himself could sing it also. It was really most amusing.

One evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the em-
peror lay in bed listening to it, something inside the bird sounded “ whizz.”
Then a spring cracked. ‘‘ Whir-rr-r” went all the wheels, running round,
and then the music stopped. The emperor immediately sprang out of bed,
and called for his physician; but what could he do? ‘Then they sent for a
watchmaker ; and, after a great deal of talking and examination, the bird
was put into something like order; but he said that it must be used very
carefully, as the barrels were worn, and it would be impossible to put in
new ones without injuring the music. Now there was great sorrow, as the
bird could only be allowed to play once a year; and even that was dan-
gerous for the works inside it. Then the music-master made a little speech,
full of hard words, and declared that the bird was as gcod as ever ; and, of
course, no one contradicted him,

Five years passed, and then a real grief came upon the land. The
Chinese really were fond of their emperor, and he now lay so ill that he
was not expected to live. Already a new emperor had been chosen, and
the people who stood in the street asked -the lord-in-waiting how the old
emperor was; but he only said, “ Pooh!” and shook his head.

Cold and pale, lay the emperor in his royal bed ; the whole court thought
he was dead, and every one ran away to pay homage to his successor. The
chamberlains went out to have a talk on the matter, and the ladies’-maids
invited company to take coffee. Cloth had been laid down on the halls
70 HANS ANDERSEN'S PAIRY TALES.



and passages, so that not a footstep should be heard, and all was silent and |
still. But the emperor was not yet dead, although he lay white and stiff
on his gorgeous bed, with the long velvet curtains and heavy gold tassels.
A. window stood open, and the moon shone in upon the emperor and the
artificial bird. The poor emperor, finding he could scarcely breathe with a
strange weight on his chest, opened his eyes, and saw Death sitting there.
He had put on the emperor’s golden crown, and held in one hand his sword
of state, and in the other his beautiful banner. All around the bed, and
peeping through the long velvet curtains, were a number of strange heads,
some very ugly, and others lovely and gentle-looking. These were the
emperor's good and bad deeds, which stared him in the face now Death
sat at his heart.

“Do you remember this?” “Do you recollect that?” they asked one
after another, thus bringing to his remembrance circumstances that made
the perspiration stand on his brow.

“IT know nothing about it,” said the emperor. “ Music! music!” he
cried; “the large Chinese drum! that I may not hear what they say.” But
they still went on, and Death nodded like a Chinamen to all they said.
“Music ! music!” shouted the emperor, .“ You little precious golden bird,
sing, pray sing! I have given you gold and costly presents; I have even.
hung my golden slipper round your neck. Sing! sing!” But the bird
remained silent. There was no one to wind it up, and therefore it could
not sing a note.

Death continued to stare at the emperor with his cold, hollow eyes, and
the room was fearfully still, Suddenly there came through the open window
the sound of sweet music. Outside, on the bough of a tree, sat the living -
nightingale. She had heard of the emperor's illness, and was therefore
come to sing to him of hope and trust. And as she sung, the shadows
grew paler and paler ; the blood in the emperor’s veins flowed more rapildly,
and gave life to his weak limbs ; and even Death himself listened, and said,
“ Go on, little nightingale, go on.”

“Then will you give me the beautiful golden sword and that rich banner ?
and will you give me the emperor’s crown?” said the bird.

So Death gave up each of these treasures for a song ; and the nightingale
continued her singing. She sung of the quiet churchyard, where the white
roses grow, where the elder-tree wafts its perfume on the breeze, and the
fresh, sweet grass is moistened by the mourners’ tears. Then Death longed
to go and see his garden, and floated out through the window in the form of
a cold, white mist.

“ Thanks, thanks, you heavenly little bird. I know you well. I banished
you from my kingdom once, and yet you have charmed away the evil faces
from my bed, and banished Death from my heart, with your sweet song.
How can I-reward you ?”

‘You have already rewarded me,” said the nightingale. “I shall never
forget that I drew tears from your eyes the first time I sang to you. These
are the jewels that rejoice a singer’s heart. But now sleep, and grow strong
and weil again. I will sing to you again.”


Ole Luk-Oie.
OLE-LUK-OI1E, THE DREAM-GOD. 71



And as she sung, the emperor fell into a sweet sleep; and how mild and
refreshing that slumber was! When he awoke, strengthened and restored,
the sun shone brightly through the window ; but not one of his servants had
returned—they all believed he was dead ; only the nightingale still sat beside
him, and sang.

“Vou must always remain with me,” said the emperor. “You shail
sing only when it pleases you; and J will break the artificial bird into a
thousand pieces.”

“No; do not do that,” replied the nightingale; ‘the bird did very well
as long as it could. Keep it here still. J cannot live in the palace, and
build my nest; but let me come when I like. I will sit on a bough outside
your window, in the evening, and sing to you, so that you may be happy,
and have thoughts full of joy. I will sing to you of those who are happy,
and those who suffer; of the good and the evil, who are hidden around you.
The little singing bird files far from you and your court to the home of the
fisherman and the peasant’s cot. I love your heart better than your crown ;
and yet something holy lingers round that also. I will come, I will sing to
you , but you must promise me one thing.”

“ Everything,” said the emperor, who, having dressed himself in his
imperial robes, stood with the hand that held the heavy golden sword pressed
to his heart.

“T only ask one thing,” she replied; “let no one know that you have a
little bird who tells you everything. It will be best to conceal it.” Se
saying, the nightingale flew away.

The servants now cime in to look after the dead emperor; when Io!
there he stood, and, te their astonishment, said, “Good morning.”



OLE-LUK-OIE, THE DREAM-GOD.

THERE is nobody in the world who knows so many stories as Ole-Luk-
Oie, or who can relate them so nicely. In the evening, while the children
are seated at the table or in their little chairs, he comes up the stairs very
softly, for he walks in his socks, then he opens the doors without the
slightest noise, and throws a small quantity of very fine dust in their eyes,

"just enough ‘to prevent them from keeping them open, and so they do not
see him. Then he creeps behind them, and blows softly upon their necks,
till their heads begin to droop. But Ole-Luk-Oie does not wish to hurt:
them, for he is very fond of children, and only wants them to be quiet that
he may relate to them pretty stories, and they never are quiet until they are
in bed and asleep. As soon as they are asleep, Ole-Luk-Oie seats himself
upon the bed. He is nicely dressed; his coat is made of silken stuff; it
72 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



is Impossible to say of what colour, for it changes from green to red, and
from red to blue as he turns from side to side. Under each arm he carries
an umbrella; one of them, with pictures on the inside, he spreads over the
good children, and then they dream the most beautiful stories the whole
night. But the other umbrella has no pictures, and this he holds over the
naughty children, so that they sleep heavily, and wake in the morning with-
out having dreamed at all,



THE JOURNEY.

Now we shall hear how Ole-Luk-Oie came every night during a whole
week to a little boy named Hjalmar, and what he told him. There were
seven stories, as there are seven days in the week.

MONDAY.

“ Now pay attention,” said Ole-Luk-Oie, in the evening, when Hjalmar
was in bed, “and I will decorate the room.”

Immediately all the flowers in the flower-pots became large trees, with
long branches reaching to the ceiling, and stretching along the walls, so that
the whole room was like a greenhouse. All the branches were loaded with
tlowers, each flower as beautiful and as fragrant as a rose ; and, had any one
OLE-LUK-OIE, THE DREAM-GOD. 73



tasted them, he would have found them sweeter even than jam. The fruit
glittered like gold, and there were cakes so full of plums that they were
nearly bursting. It was incomparably beautiful. At the same time sounded
dismal moans from the table-drawer in which lay Hjalmar’s school books.

“What can that be now?” said Ole-Luk-Oie, going to the table and

~pulling out the drawer.

It was a slate, in such distress because of a false number in the sum, that
it had almost broken itself to pieces. The pencil pulled and tugged at its
string as if it were a little dog that wanted to help, but could not.

And then came a moan from Hjalmar’s copy-book. Oh, it was quite

‘terrible to hear! On each leaf stood a row of capital letters, every one
having a small letter by its side. This formed a copy! under these were
other letters, which Hjalmar had written: they fancied they looked like the
copy, but they were mistaken; for they were leaning on one side as if they
intended to fall over the pencil-lines.

“See, this is the way you should hold yourselves,” said the copy. “ Look
here, you should slope thus, with a graceful curve.

“Oh, we are very willing to do so, but we cannot,” said Hjalmar’s
letters; “we are so wretchedly made.”

“ Vou must be scratched out, then,” said Ole-Luk-Oie.

“Oh, no!” they cried, and then they stood up so gracefully it was quite
a pleasure to look at them.

“ Now we must give up our stories, and exercise these letters,” said Ole-
Luk-Oie; “One, two—one, two—”’ So he drilled them till they stood up -
gracefully, and looked as beautiful as a copy could look. But after Ole-Luk-
Oie was gone, and Hjalmar looked at them in the morning, they were as
wretched and as awkward as ever.

TUESDAY.

As soon as Hjalmar was in bed, Ole-Luk-Oie touched, with his little
magic wand, all the furniture in the room, which immediately began to
chatter, and each article only talked of itself.

Over the chest of drawers hung a large picture in a gilt frame, represent-
ing a landscape, with fine old trees, flowers in the grass, and a broad stream,
which flowed through the wood, past several castles, far out into the wild
ocean, Ole-Luk-Oie touched the picture with his magic wand, and imme-
diately the birds commenced singing, the branches of the trees rustled, and
the clouds moved across the sky, casting their shadows on the landscape
beneath them. Then Ole-Luk-Oie lifted little Hjalmar up to the frame, and
placed his feet in the picture, just on the high grass, and there he stood
with the sun shining down upon him through the branches of the trees.
He ran to the water, and seated himself in a little boat which lay there,
and which was painted red and white. The sails glittered like silver, and
six swans, each with a golden circlet round its neck, and a bright blue star
on its forehead, drew the boat past the green wood, where the trees talked
of robbers and witches, and the flowers of beautiful little elves and fairies,
whose histories the butterflies had related to them. Brilliant fish, with scales
74 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



like silver and gold, swam after the boat, sometimes making a spring and
splashing the water round them, while birds, red and blue, small and great,
flew after him in two long lines. The gnats danced round them, and the
cockchafers cried ‘Buz, buz.” They all wanted to follow Hjalmar, and all
had some story to tell him. It was a most pleasant sail. Sometimes the
forests were thick and dark, sométimes like a beautiful garden, gay with
sunshine and flowers ; then he passed great palaces of glass and of marble,
and on the balconies stood princesses, whose faces were those of little girls
whom Hjalmar knew well, and had often played with. One of them held
out her hand, in which was a heart made of sugar, more beautiful than any
confectioner ever sold. As Hjalmar sailed by he caught hold of one side
of the sugar heart, and held it fast, and the princess held fast also, so that
it broke in two pieces. Hjalmar had one piece, and the princess the other,
but Hjalmar’s was the largest. At each castle stood little princes acting as
sentinels. They presented arms, and had golden swords, and made it rain
plums and tin soldiers, so that they must have been real princes.

Hjalmar continued to sail, sometimes through woods, sometimes as it
were through large halls, and then by large cities. At last he came to the
town where his nurse lived, who had carried him in her arms when he was
a very little boy, and had always been kind to him. She nodded and
beckoned to him, and then sang the little verses she had herself composed
and sent to him,—

* How oft my memory turns to thee,
My own Hyjalmar, ever dear !
‘When I could watch thy infant glee,
Or kiss away a pearly tear.
°T was in my arms thy lisping tongue
First spoke the half-remembered word,
While o’er thy tottering steps I hung,
My fond protection to afford.
Farewell! I pray the Heavenly Power
To keep thee till thy dying hour.”

And all the birds sang the same tune, the flowers danced on their stems, and
the old trees nodded as if Ole-Luk-Oie had been telling them stories as well.
WEDNESDAY.

How the rain did pour down! WHijalmar could hear it in his sleep ; and
when Ole-Luk-Oie opened the window, the water flowed quite up {o the
window-sill. It had the appearance of a large lake outside, and a beautiful
ship lay close to the house.

“Wilt thou sail with me to-night, little Hjalmar?” said Ole-Luk-Oie ;
“then we shall see foreign countries, and thou shalt return here in the
morning.”

All in a moment, there stood Hjalmar, in his best clothes, on the deck of
the noble ship; and inmmediately the weather became fine. They sailed
through the streets, round by the church, and on every side rolled the wide,
great sea. ‘They sailed till the and disappeared, and then they saw a flock
of storks, who had left their own country, and were travelling to warmer
climates. The storks flew one behind the other, and had already been a
OLE-LUK-OTE, THE DREAJM-GOD. 75



long, long time on the wing. One of them seemed so tired that his wings
could scarcely carry him. He was the last of the row, and was soon
left very far behind. At length he sunk lower and lower, with out.
stretched wings, flapping them in vain, till his feet touched the rigging of
the ship, and he slided from the sails to the deck, and stood before them.
Then a sailor-boy caught him, and put him in the hen-house, with the fowls,
the ducks, and the turkeys, while the poor stork stood quite bewildered
amongst them.

“Just look at that fellow,” said the chickens.

Then the turkey-cock puffed himself out as large as he could, and
inquired who he was; and the ducks waddled backwarks, crying, “ Quack,
quack.”

Then the stork told them all about warm Africa, of the pyramids, and of
the ostrich, which, like a wild horse, runs across the desert. But the ducks
did not understand what he said, and quacked amongst themselves, “ We
are all of the same opinion ; namely, that he is stupid.” :

“Ves, to be sure, he is stupid,” said the turkey-cock; and gobbled.

Then the stork remained quite silent, and thought of his home in Africa.

“Those are handsome thin legs of yours,” said the turkey-cock. “ What
do they cost a yard?”

* Quack, quack, quack,
to hear.

“Vou may as well laugh,” said the turkey; “for that remark was rather
witty, or perhaps it was above you. Ah, ah, is he not clever? He will be
a great amusement to us while he remains here.” An then he gobbled, and
the ducks quacked, “ Gobble, gobble; Quack, quack.”

What a terrible uproar they made, while they were having such fun among
themselves !

Then Hjalmar went to the hen-house; and, opening the door, called to
the stork. Then he hopped out onthe deck. He had rested himself now,
and he looked happy, and seemed as if he nodded to Hjalmar, as if to
thank him. Then he spread his wings, and flew away to warmer countries,
while the hens clucked, the ducks quacked, and the turkey-cock turned quite
scarlet in the head.

“To-morrow you shall be made into soup,” said Hjalmar to the fowls;
and then he awoke, and found himself lying in his little bed.

It was a wonderful journey which Ole-Luk-Oie had made him take this
night.

Pe

grinned the ducks; but the stork pretended not

THURSDAY.

“What do you think I have got here?” said Ole-Luk-Oie. “Do not be
frightened, and you shall see a little mouse.” And then he held out his
hand to him, in which lay a lovely little creature. “It has come to invite
you toawedding. Two little mice are going to enter into the marriage state
to-night. They reside under the floor of your mother’s store-room, and that
must be a fine dwelling-place.”

“ But how can I get through the little mouse-hole in the floor?” asked
Hjalmar.
75 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



“ Leave me to manage that,” said Ole-Luk-Oie. “TI will soon make you
small enough.” And then he touched Hjalmar with his magic wand, where-
upon he became less and less, until at last he was not longer than a little
finger. ‘“ Now you can borrow the dress of the tin soldier. I think it will
just fit you. It looks well to wear a uniform when you go into company.”

“Ves, certainly,” said Hjalmar; and in a moment he was dressed as
neatly as the neatest of all tin soldiers.

** Will you be so goad as to seat yourself in your mamma’s thimble,” said the
little mouse, “ that I may have the pleasure of drawing you to the wedding.”

“ Will you really take so much trouble, young lady?” said Hjalmar, And
so in this way he rode to the mouse’s wedding.

First they went under the floor, and then passed through a long passage,
which was scarcely high enough to allow the thimble to drive under, and the
whole passage was lit wp with the phosphorescent light of rotten wood.

“ Does it not smell delicious?” asked the mouse, as she drew him along.
“The wall and the floor have been smeared with bacon-rind; nothing can
be nicer.”

Very soon they arrived at the bridal hall. On the right stood all the
little lady-mice, whispering and giggling, as if they were making game of
each other. To the left were the gentlemen-mice, stroking their whiskers
with their fore-paws ; and in the centre of the hall could be seen the bridal
pair, standing side by side, in a hollow cheese-rind, and kissing each other,
while all eyes were upon them ; for they had already been betrothed, and
were soon to be married. More and more friends kept arriving, till the mice
were nearly treading each other to death ; for the bridal pair now stood in
the doorway, and none could pass in or out.

The room had been rubbed over with bacon-rind, like the passage, which
was all the refreshment offered to the guests, But for dessert they produced
a pea, on which a mouse belonging to the bridal pair had bitten the first
letters of their names. This was something quite uncommon. All the mice
said it was a very beautiful wedding, and that they had been very agreeably
entertained.

After this, Hjalmar returned home. He had certainly been in grand
society; but he had been obliged to creep under a room, and to make him-
self small enough to wear the uniform of a tin soldier,

FRIDAY.

“Tt is incredible how many old people there are who would be glad to
have me at night,” said Ole-Luk-Oie, “especially those who have done
something wrong. ‘ Good little Ole,’ say they to me, ‘we cannot close our
eyes, and we lie awake the whole night and see all our evil deeds sitting on
our beds like little imps, and sprinkling us with hot water. Will you come
and drive them away, that we may have a good night’s rest?’ and then they
sigh so deeply and say, ‘We would gladly pay you for it. Good night,
Ole-Luk, the money lies in the window.’ But I never do anything for gold.”
“What shall we do to-night?” asked Hjalmar. “I do not know whether
you would care to go to another wedding,” he replied, “although it is quite
OLE-LUK-OIE, THE DREAM-GOD, 77



a different affair to the one we saw last night. Your sister’s large doll, that
is dressed like a man, and is called Herman, intends to marry the doll
Bertha. It is also the doll’s birthday, and they will receive many presents.”

“ Yes, I know that already,” said Hjalmar, “my sister always allows her
dolls to keep their birthdays or to have a wedding when they require new
clothes ; that has happened already a hundred times, I am quite sure.”

sf Yes, so it may; but to-night is the hundred and first wedding, and when
that has taken place it must be the last, therefore this is to be extremely
beautiful. Only look.”

Hjalmar looked at the table, and there stood the little card-board doll’s-
house, with lights in all the windows, and drawn up before it were the tin
soldiers presenting arms. The bridal pair were seated on the floor, leaning
against the leg of the table, looking very thoughtful, and with good reason,
Then Ole-Luk-Oie dressed up in grandmother’s black gown married them.
As soon as the ceremony was concluded, all the furniture in the room joined
in singing a beautiful song, which had been composed by the lead pencil,
and which went to the melody of a military tattoo.

‘¢ What merry sounds are on the wind,
As marriage rites together bind
A quiet and a loving pair,
Though formed of kid, yet smooth and fair !
Hurrah ! If they are deaf and blind,
We'll sing, though weather prove unkind,”

And now came the presents ; but the bridal pair had nothing to eat, for
love was to be their food.

“Shall we go to a country house, or travel?” asked the bridegroom.

Then they consulted the swallow who had travelled so far, and the old
hen in the yard, who had brought up five broods of chickens.

And the swallow talked to them of warm countries, where the grapes
hang in large clusters on the vines, and the air is soft and mild, and about
the mountains glowing with colours more beautiful than we can think of.

“But they have no red cabbage like we have,” said the hen; “I was
once in the country with my chickens for a whole summer, there was a large
sand-pit, in which we could walk about and scratch as we liked. Then we
got into a garden in which grew red cabbage ; oh, how nice it was, I cannot

think of anything more delicious.”

“But one cabbage stalk is exactly like another,” said the swallow; “and
here we have often bad weather.”

“Ves, but we are accustomed to it,” said the hen.

* But it is so cold here, and freezes sometimes.”

“Cold weather is good for cabbages,” said the hen; ‘‘ besides, we do
have it warm here sometimes. Four years ago, we had a summer that
lasted more than five weeks, and it was so hot one could scarcely breathe.
And then in this country we have no poisonous animals, and we are free
from robbers. He must be wicked who does not consider our country the
finest of all lands. He ought not to be allowed to live here.” And then
78 HANS ANDERSEN’ S FAIRY TALES,
the hen wept very much and said, “I have also travelled. I once went
twelve miles in a coop, and it was not pieasant travelling at all.”

“The hen is a sensible woman,” said the doll Bertha. ‘I don’t care for
travelling over mountains, just to go up and come down again. No, let us go to
the sand-pit in front of the gate, and then take a walk in the cabbage garden.”

And so they settled it

SATURDAY.

“Am I to hear any more stories?” asked uttle Hjaimar, as soon as Ole-
Luk-Oie had sent him to sleep.

“We shall have no time this evening,” said he, spreading out his prettiest
umbrella over the child. “Look at these Chinese,” and then the whole
umbrella appeared like a large china-bowl, with blue trees and pointed
bridges, upon which stood little Chinamen nodding their heads. “We
must make all the world beautiful for to-morrow morning,” said Ole-
Luk-Oie, “for it will be a holiday, it is Sunday. I must now go to the
church steeple and see if the little sprites who live there have polished the
bells, so that they may sound sweetly, ‘Then I must go into the fields and
see if the wind has blown the dust from the grass and the leaves, and the
most difficult task of all which I have to do, is to take down all the stars
and brighten them up. I have to number them first before I put them in
my apron, and also to number the places from which I take them, so that
they may go back into the right holes, or else they would not remain, and
we should have a number of falling stars, for they would all tumble down
one after the other.”

“ Hark ye! Mr. Luk-Oie,” said an old portrait which hung on the wall
of Hjalmar’s bedroom. “Do you know me? I am Hijalmar’s great grand-
father. I thank you for telling the boy stories, but you must not confuse
his ideas. The stars cannot be taken down from the sky and polished;
they are spheres like our earth, which is a good thing for them.”

“Thank you, old great-grandfather,” said Ole-Luk-Oie. “I thank you;
you may be the head of the family, as no doubt you are, but I am older
than you. I am an ancient heathen. ‘The old Romans and Greeks named
me the Dream-god. I have visited the noblest houses, and continue to do
so; still I know how to conduct myself both to high and low, and now you
may tell the stories yourself ;” and so Ole-Luk-Oie walked off, taking ‘his
umbrellas with him.

“Well, well, one is never to give an opinion, I suppose,” grumbled the
portrait, And it woke Hjalmar.

SUNDAY,

* Good evening,” said Ole-Luk-Oie.

Hjalmar nodded, and then sprang out of bed, and turned his great-grand-
father’s portrait to the wall, so that it might not interrupt them as it had
done yesterday. “Now,” said he, ‘‘ you must tell me some stories about
five green peas that lived in one pod; or of the chickseed that courted the
chickweed ; or of the darning needle, who acted so proudly because she
fancied herself an embroidery needle.”
THE OLD BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP. 70

“You may have too much of a good thing,” said Ole-Luk-Oie.

“You know that I like best to show you something, so I will show you
ay brother. He is called Ole-Luk-Oie, but he never visits any one but
once, and when he does come, he takes him away on his horse, and tells
him stories as they ride along. He knows only two stories. One of these
is so wonderfully beautiful, that no one in the world can imagine anything
at all like it; but the other is just as ugly and frightful, so that it would be
impossible to describe it.”’ Then Ole-Luk-Oie lifted Hjalmar up to the
window. “There now, you can see my brother, the other Ole-Luk-Oie ;
he is also called Death. You perceive he is not so bad as they represent
him in the picture books; there he is a skeleton, but now his coat is em-
broidered with silver, and he wears the splendid uniform of a hussar, and a
mantle of black velvet flies behind him, over the horse. Look,-how he
gallops along.” Hjalmar saw, that as this Ole-Luk-Oie rode on, he lifted
up old and young, and carried them away on his horse, Some he seated in
front of him, and some behind, but always inquired first, ‘‘ How stands the
mark-book ?”

“Good,” they all answered.

“Ves, but let me see for myself,” he replied; and they were obliged to
give him the books. Then all those who had “ Very good,” or “ Exceed-
ingly good,” came in front of the horse, and heard the beautiful story; while
those who had “ Middling,” or “Tolerably good,” in their books, were
obliged to sit behind, and listen to the frightful tale. They trembled and
cried, and wanted to jump down from the horse, but they could not
get free, for they seemed fastened to the seat.

“Why, Death is a most splendid Luk-Oie,” said Hjalmar. “Iam not in
the least afraid of him.”

“You need have no fear of him,” said Ole-Luk-Oie, “if you take care
and keep a good conduct book.”

“Now I call that very instructive,” murmured the great-grandfather’s
portrait. “Tt is useful sometimes to express an opinion ;” so he was quite
satisfied, :

These are some of the doings and sayings of Ole-Luk-Oie. I hope he
may visit you himself this evening, and relate some more.

THE OLD BACHELOR’S NIGHTCAP.

Ture is a street in Copenhagen with a very strange name. It is called
“ Hysken” street. Where the name came from, and what it means 1s very
uncertain. It is said to be German, but this is unjust to the Germans, for
it would then be called “ Hauschen,” and not “ Hysken.” “ Hauschen,”
means a little house; and for many years it consisted only of a few small
houses, which were scarcely larger than the wooden booths we see in the
market places at a fair time. They were perhaps a little higher, and had
80 FHIANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.
windows ; but the panes consisted of horn or bladder-skins, for glass was
then too dear to have glazed windows in every house. This was a long
time ago, so long indeed that our grandfathers, and even great-grandfathers,
would speak of those days as “olden times;” indeed, many centuries have
passed since then.

The rich merchants in Bremen and Lubeck, who carried on trade in:
Copenhagen, did not reside in the town themselves, but sent their clerks,
who dwelt in the wooden booths in the Hauschen Street, and sold beer and
spices. The German beer was very good, and there were many sorts—from
Bremen, Prussia, and Brunswick—and quantities of all sorts of spices,
saffron, aniseed, ginger, and especially pepper; indeed pepper was almost
the chief article sold here ; soit happened at last that the German clerks in
Denmark got their nickname of “ pepper gentry.” It had been made a
condition with these clerks that they should not marry; so that those who
lived to be old had to take care of themselves, to attend to their own com-
foris, and even to light their own fires, when they had any to light. Many
of them were very aged; lonely old boys, with strange thoughts and
eccentric habits. From this, all unmarried men, who have attained a
certain age, are called, in Denmark, “ pepper gentry ;” and this must be re-
membered, by all those who wish to understand the story. These “pepper
gentlemen,” or, as they are called in England, “old bachelors,” are often
made a butt for ridicule; they are told to put on their nightcaps, draw
them over their eyes, and go to sleep. The boys in Denmark make a song
of it, thus :—

‘© Poor old bachelor, cut your wood,
Such a nightcap was never seen ;

Who would think it was ever clean?
Go to sleep, it will do you good.”

So they sing about the “ pepper gentlemen ;” so do they make sport of the -
poor old bachelor and his nightcap, and all because they really know nothing
of either. It is a cap that no one need wish for, or laugh at. And why not?
Well, we shall hear in the story.

Tn olden times, Hauschen Street was not paved, and passengers would
stumble out of oné hole into another, as they generally do in unfrequented
highways; and the street was so narrow, and the booths leaning against
each other were so close together, that in the summer time a sail would be
stretched across the street from one booth to another opposite. At these
times the odour of the pepper, saffron, and ginger became more powerful
than ever. Behind the counter, as a rule, there were no young men. The
clerks were almost all old boys; but they did not dress as we are ac-
customed to see old men represented wearing wigs, nightcaps, and knee-
breeches, and with coat and waistcoat buttoned up to the chin, We have
seen the portraits of our great-grandfathers dressed in this way; but the
“pepper gentlemen ” had no money to spare to have their portraits taken,
though one of them would have made a very interesting picture for us now,
if taken as he appeared standing behind the counter, or going to church, or
on holidays. On these occasions they wore high-crowned, broad-brimmed .
THE OLD BACHELORS NIGHTCAP. 81



hats, and sometimes a younger clerk would stick a feather in his. The
woollen shirt was concealed by a broad, linen collar; the close jacket was
buttoned up to the chin, and the cloak hung loosely over it; the trousers
were tucked into the broad, tipped shoes, for the clerks wore no stockings,
They generally stuck a table-knife and spoon into their girdles, as well as
a larger knife, as a protection to themselves; and such a weapon was often
very necessary.
After this fashion was Anthony dressed on holidays and festivals, excepting
that, instead of a high-crowned hat, he wore a kind of bonnet, and under it
a knitted cap, a regular nightcap, to which he was so accustomed that it was
always on his head; he had two, nightcaps I mean, not heads. Anthony
was one of the oldest of the clerks, and just the subject for a painter. He
was as thin as a lath, wrinkled round the mouth and eyes, had long, bony
fingers, bushy, grey eyebrows, and over his left eye hung a thick tuft of hair,
which did not look handsome, but made his appearance very remarkable,
People knew that he came from Bremen; it was not exactly his home,
although his master resided there. His ancestors were from Thuringia, and
had lived in the town of Eisenach, close by Wartburg. Old Anthony
seldom spoke of this place, but he thought of it all the more.
_ The old clerks of Hauschen Street very seldom met together ; each one
remained in his own booth, which was closed early enough in the evening,
and then it looked dark and dismal out in the street. Only a faint glimmer
of light struggled through the horn panes in the little window on the roof,
while within sat the old clerk, generally on his bed, singing his evening
hymn in a low voice; or he would be moving about in his booth till late
in the night, busily employed in many things. It certainly was not a very
lively existence. To be a stranger in a strange land is a bitter lot; no one
notices you unless you happen to stand in their way. Often, when it was
dark night outside, with rain or snow falling, the place looked quite deserted
and gloomy. There were no lamps in the street, excepting a very small one,
which hung at one end of the street, before a picture of the Virgin, which
had been painted on the wall. The dashing of the water against the bul-
warks of a neighbouring castle could plainly be heard. Such evenings are
long and dreary, unless people can find something to do; and so Anthony
found it. There were not always things to be packed or unpacked, nor
paper bags to be made, nor the scales to be polished. So Anthony invented
employment ; he mended his clothes and patched his boots, and when he
at last went to bed, his nightcap, which he had worn from habit, still re-
mained on his head; he had only to pull it down a little farther over his
forehead. Very soon, however, it would be pushed up again to see if the
light was properly put out; he would touch it, press the wick together, and
at last. pull his nightcap over his eyes and lie down again on the other side.
But often there would arise in his mind a doubt as to whether every coal
had been quite put out in the little fre-pan in the shop below. If even a tiny
spark had remained it might set fire to something, and cause great damage.
Then he would rise from his bed, creep down the ladder—for it could
scarcely be called a flight of stairs—and when he reached the fire-pan not
6
82 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



a spark could be seen; so he had just to go back again to bed. But often,
when he had got half way back, he would fancy the iron shutters of the
door were not properly fastened, and bis thin legs would carry him down
again. And when at last he crept into bed, he would be so cold that his
teeth chattered m his head. He would draw the coverlet closer round him,
pull his nightcap over his eyes, and try to turn his thoughts from trade, and
from the labours of the day, to olden times. But this was scarcely an
agreeable entertainment ; for thoughts of olden memories raise the curtains
from the past, and sometimes pierce the heart with painful recollections till
the agony brings tears to the waking eyes. And so it was with Anthony ;
often the scalding tears, like pearly drops, would fall from his eyes to the
coverlet and roll on the floor with a sound as if one of his heartstrings had
broken. Sometimes, with a lurid flame, memory would light up a picture
of life which had never faded from his heart. If he dried his eyes with his
nightcap, then the tear and the picture would be crushed; but the source
of the tears remained and welled up again in his heart. The pictures did
not follow one another in order, as the circumstances they represented had
occurred ; very often the most painful would come together, and when those
came which were most full of joy, they had always the deepest shadow
thrown upon them.

.The beech-woods of Denmark are acknowledged by every one to be very
beautiful, but more beautiful still in the eyes of old Anthony were the beech-
woods in the neighbourhood of Wartburg. More grand and venerable to him
seemed the old oaks around the proud baronial castle, where the creeping
plants hung over the stony summits of the rocks; sweeter was the perfume
there of the apple-blossom than in all the land of Denmark. How vividly
were represented to him, ina glittering tear that rolled down his cheek, two
children at play—a boy and a girl. ‘The boy had rosy cheeks, golden ringlets,
and clear, blue eyes; he was the son of Anthony, a rich merchant; it was him-
self. The little girl had brown eyes and black hair, and was clever and
courageous; she was the mayor’s daughter, Molly. The children were
playing with an apple; they shook the apple, and heard the pips rattling in
it. Then they cut it in two, and each of them took half They also
divided the pips and ate all but one, which the little girl proposed should
be placed in the ground.

“You will see what will come out,” she said; “ something you don’t
expect. A whole apple-tree will come out, but not directly.” Then they
got a flower-pot, filled it with earth, and were soon both very busy and
eager about it. The boy made a hole in the earth with his finger, and the
little girl placed the pip in the hole, and then they both covered it over
with earth.

“Now you must not take it out to-morrow to see if it has taken
root,” said Molly ; “no one ever should do that. I did so with my flowers,
but only twice ; I wanted to see if they were growing. I didn’t know any
better then, and the flowers all died.”

Little Anthony kept the flower-pot, and every morning during the whole
winter he looked at it, but there was nothing to be seen but black earth.
THE OLD BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP. 83



At last, however, the spring came, and the sun shone warm again, and then
two little green leaves sprouted forth in the pot.

“They are Molly and me,” said the boy. ‘ How wonderful they are,
and so beautiful.”

Very soon a third leaf made its appearance.

“Who does that stand for?” thought he, and then came another and
another. Day after day, and week after week, till the plant became quitea
tree. And all this about the two children was mirrored to old Anthony in
a single tear, which could soon be wiped away and disappear, but might
come again from its source in the heart of the old man.

In the neighbourhood of Eisenach stretches a ridge of stony mountains,
one of which has a rounded outline, and shows itself above the rest with-
out tree, bush, or grass on its barren summits. It is called the “ Venus
mountain,” and the story goes that the “ Lady Venus,” one of the heathen
goddesses, keeps house there. She is also called “Lady Halle,” as every
child round Eisenach well knows. She it was who enticed the noble knight,
Tannhauser, the minstrel, from the circle of singers at Wartburg into her.
mountain.

Little Molly and Anthony often stood by this mountain, and one day
Molly said, “Do you dare to knock and say, ‘Lady Halle, Lady Halle,
open the door: Tannhauser ishere!” But Anthony did not dare. Molly,
however, did, though she only said the words, ‘‘ Lady Halle, Lady Halle,”
loudly and distinctly ; the rest she muttered so much under her breath that
Anthony felt certain she had really said nothing; and yet she looked quite
bold and saucy, just as she did sometimes when she was in the garden with
a number of other little girls; they would all stand round him together,
and want to kiss him, because he did not like to be kissed, and pushed
them away. Then Molly was the only one who dared to resist him, “JZ
may kiss him,” she would say proudly, as she threw her arms round his
neck; she was vain of her power over Anthony, for he would submit
quietly and think nothing of it. Molly was very charming, but rather bold ;
and how she did tease !

They said Lady Halle was beautiful, but her beauty was that of a tempt-
ing fiend. Saint Elizabeth, the tutelar saint of the land, the pious Princess
of Thuringia, whose good deeds have been immortalized in so many places
through stories and legends, had greater beauty and more real grace. Her
picture hung in the chapel, surrounded by silver lamps; but it did not in
the least resemble Molly.

The apple-tree, which the two children had planted, grew year after year,
till it became so large that it had to be transplanted into the garden, where
the dew fell and the sun shone warmly. And there it increased in strength
so much as to be able to withstand the cold of winter; and after passing
through the severe weather, it seemed to put forth its blossoms in spring for
very joy that the cold season had gone. In autumn it produced two apples,
one for Molly and one for Anthony; it could not well do less. ‘The tree
after this grew very rapidly, and Molly grew with the tree. She was as
fresh as an apple-blossom, but Anthony was not to behold this ae for
84 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRV TALES.



long. All things change; Molly’s father left his old home, and Molly went
with him far away. In our time, it would be only a journey of a few hours,
but then it took more than a day and a night to travel so far eastward from
Eisenach to a town still called Weimar, on the borders of Thuringia. And
Molly and Anthony both wept, but these tears all flowed together into one
tear which had the rosy shimmer of joy. Molly had told him that she
loved him—loved him more than all the splendours of Weimar.

One, two, three years went by, and during the whole time he received
only two letters. One came by the carrier, and the other a traveller
brought. The way was very long and difficult, with many turnings and
windings through towns and villages. How often had Anthony and Molly
heard the story of Tristan and Isolda, and Anthony had thought the story
applied to him, although Tristan means born in sorrow, which Anthony
certainly was not; nor was it likely he would ever say of Molly as Tristan
said of Isolda, ‘‘ She has forgotten me.” But, in truth, Isolda had not for-
gotten him, her faithful friend ; and when both were laid in their graves, one
on each side of the church, the linden-trees that grew by each grave spread
over the roof, and, bending towards each other, mingled their blossoms to-
gether. Anthony thought it a very beautiful, but mournful story; yet he
never feared anything so sad would happen to him and Molly, as he passed
the spot, whistling the air of a song, composed by the minstrel Walter,
called the “ Willow bird,” beginning—

‘© Under the linden-trees,
Out on the heath.”

One stanza pleased him exceedingly—

“Through the forest, and in the vale,
Sweetly warbles the nightingale.”

This song was often in his mouth, and he sung or whistled it on a moon-
light night, when he rode on horseback along the deep, hollow way, on his road
to Weimar, to visit Molly. He wished to arrive unexpectedly, and so indeed
he did. He was received with a hearty welcome, and introduced to plenty
of grand and pleasant company, where overflowing winecups were passed
about. A pretty room and a good bed were provided for him, and yet his
reception was not what he had expected and dreamed it would be. He
could not comprehend his own feelings nor the feelings of others; but it is
easily understood how a person can be admitted into a house or a family
without becoming one of them. We converse in company with those we
meet, as we converse with our fellow-travellers in a stage-coach, on a jour-
ney; we know nothing of them, and perhaps all the while we are incom-
moding one another, and each is wishing himself or his neighbour away.
Something of this kind Anthony felt when Molly talked to him of old times.

“JT am a straightforward girl,” she said, “and 1 will tell you myself how it
is. There have been great changes since we were children together ; every-
thing is different, both inwardly and outwardly. We cannot control our
wills, nor the feelings of our hearts, by the force of custom. Anthony, I
would not, for the world, make an enemy of you when I am far away.
Believe me, I entertain for you the kindest wishes in my heart; but to feel
THE BACHELORS NIGHTCAP. 85



for you what I know can be felt for another man, can never be. Vou must
try and reconcile yourself to this. Farewell, Anthony.”

Anthony also said, “ Farewell.” Not a tear came into his eye; he felt he
was no longer Molly’s friend. Hot iron and cold iron alike take the skin
from our lips, and we feel the same sensation if we kiss either; and
Anthony’s kiss was now the kiss of hatred, as it had once been the kiss of
love. Within four-and-twenty hours Anthony was back again to Hisenach,
though the horse that he rode was entirely ruined.

“What matters it?” said he; “Iam ruined also. I will destroy every-
thing that can remind me of her, or of Lady Halle, or Lady Venus, the
heathen woman. [I will break down the apple-tree, and tear it up by the
roots ; never more shall it blossom or bear fruit.”

The apple-tree was not broken down; for Anthony himself was struck
with a fever, which caused him to break down, and confined him to his
bed. But something occurred to raise him up again. What was it? A
medicine was offered to him, which he was obliged to take: a bitter remedy,
at which the sick body and the oppressed spirit alike shuddered. Anthony’s
father lost all his property, and, from being known as one of the richest
merchants, he became very poor. Dark days, heavy trials, with poverty at
the door, came rolling into the house upon them like the waves of the sea.
Sorrow and suffering deprived Anthony's father of his strength, so that
he had something else to think of besides nursing his love-sorrows and
his anger against Molly. He had to take his father’s place, to give
orders, to act with energy, to help, and, at Jast, to go out into the world
and earn his bread.. Anthony went to Bremen, and there he learnt what
poverty and hard living really were. These things often harden the character,
but sometimes soften the heart, even too much.

How different the world, and the people in it, appeared te Anthony now,
to what he had thought in his childhood! What to him were the minstrel’s
songs? An echo of the past, sounds long vanished. At times he would
think in this way; yet again and again the songs would sound in his soul,
and his heart became gentle and pious.

*God’s will is the best,” he would then say. “It was well that I was not
allowed to keep my power over Molly’s heart, and that she did not remain
true to me. How I should have felt it now, when fortune has deserted me!
She left me before she knew of the change in my circumstances, or had a
thought of what was before me. That is a merciful providence for me. All
has happened for the best. She could not help it, and yet I have been so
bitter, and in such enmity against her.”

Years passed by: Anthony’s father died, and strangers lived in the old
house. He had seen it once again since then. His rich master sent him
journeys on business, and on one occasion his way led him to his native
town of Eisenach. The old Wartburg castle stood unchanged on the rock
where the monk and the nun where hewn out of the stone. The great oaks
formed an outline to the scene which he so well remembered in his child-
hood. The Venus mountain stood out grey and bare, overshadowing the
valley beneath. He would hare been glad to call out “Lady Halle, Lady
86 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.





Haile, unlock the mountain. I would fain remain here always in my native
soil.” That was a sinful thought, and he offered a prayer to drive it away.
Then a little bird in the thicket sang out clearly, and old Anthony
thought of the minstrel’s song. How much came back to his remembrance
as he looked through the tears once more on his native town! The old
house was still standing as in olden times, but the garden had been greatly
altered; a pathway led through a portion of the ground, and outside the
garden, and beyond the path, stood the old apple-tree, which he had not
broken down, although he talked of doing so in his trouble. The sun still
threw its rays upon the tree, and the refreshing dew fell upon it as of old;
and it was so overloaded with fruit that the branches bent towards the earth
with the weight. ‘That flourishes still,” said he, as he gazed. One of the
branches of the tree had, however, been broken: mischievous hands must
have done this in passing, for the tree now stood in a public thoroughfare.
“The blossoms are often plucked,” said Anthony; “the fruit is stolen and
the branches broken without a thankful thought of their profusion and
beauty. It might be said of a tree, as it has been said of some men—it
was not predicted at his cradle that he should come to this. How brightly
began the history of this tree, and what is itnow? Forsaken and forgotten,
ina garden by a hedge ina field, and close to a public road. There it
stands; unsheltered, plundered, and broken. It certainly has not yet
withered ; but in the course of years the number of blossoms from time to
time will grow less, and at last it will cease altogether to bear fruit ; and then
its history will be over.

Such were Anthony’s thoughts as he stood under the tree, and during
many a long night as he lay in his lonely chamber in the wooden house in
Hauschen Street, Copenhagen, in the foreign land to which the rich merchant
of Bremen, his employer, had sent him on condition that he should never
marry. ‘“ Marry! ha, ha!” and he laughed bitterly to himself at the thought.

Winter one year set in early, and it was freezing hard, Without, a snow-
storm made every one remain at home who could do so. Thus it happened
that Anthony’s neighbours, who lived opposite to him, did not notice that
his house remained unopened for two days, and that he had not shown
himself during that time, for who would go out in such weather unless he
were obliged to do so. They were grey, gloomy days, and in the house
whose windows were not glass, twilight and dark nights reigned in tums.
During these two days old Anthony had not left his bed, he had not the
strength to do so. The bitter weather had for some time affected his limbs.
There lay the old bachelor, forsaken by all, and unable to help himself.
He could scarcely reach the water-jug that he had placed by his bed, and
the last drop was gone. It was not fever, nor sickness, but old age, that
had laid him low. In the little corner, where his bed lay, he was over-
shadowed as it were by perpetual night. A little spider, which he could
however not see, busily and cheerfully spun its web above him, so that
there should be a kind of little banner waving over the old man, when his
eyes closed. ‘The time passed slowly and painfully. He had no tears to
shed, and he felt no pain: no thought of Molly came into his mind. He
THE OLD BACHELORS NIGHTCAP. o





felt as if the world was now nothing to him, as if he were lying beyond it,
with no-one to think of him, Now and then he felt slight sensations of
hunger and thirst; but no one came to him, no one tended him. He
thought of all those who had once suffered from starvation, of Saint Eliza-
beth, who once wandered on the earth, the saint of his home and his child-
hood, the noble Duchess of Thuringia, that highly esteemed lady who
visited the poorest villages, bringing hope and relief to the sick inmates.
The recollection of her pious deeds was as light to the soul of poor Anthony.
He thought of her as she went about speaking words of comfort, binding up
the wounds of the afflicted and feeding the hungry, although often blamed
for it by her stern husband. He remembered a story told of her, that on
one occasion, when she was carrying a basket full of wine and provisions,
her husband, who had watched her footsteps, stepped forward and asked
angrily what she carried in her basket, whereupon with fear and trembling,
she answered, “ Roses which I have plucked from the garden.” Then he
tore away the cloth which covered the basket, and. what could equal the
surprise of the pious woman, to find that by a miracle, everything in her
basket—the wine, the bread—had all been changed into roses.

In this way the memory of the kind lady dwelt in the calm mind of
Anthony. She was as a living reality in his little dwelling in the Danish
land. He uncovered his face that he might look into her gentle eyes, while
everything around him changed from its look of poverty and want, to
a bright rose tint. The fragrance of roses spread through the room,
mingled with the sweet smell of apples. He saw the branches of an apple-
tree spreading above him. It was the tree which he and Molly had planted
together. The fragrant leaves of the tree fell upon him and cooled his
burning brow; upon his parched lips they seemed like refreshing bread
and wine; and as they rested on his breast, a peaceful calm stole over
him, and he felt inclined to sleep. “I shall sleep now,” he whispered to
himself. Sleep will do me good. Inthe morning I shall be upon my feet
again, strong and well. Glorious! Wonderful! That apple-tree, planted
in love, now appears before me in heavenly beauty.” And he slept.

The following day, the third day during which his house had been closed,
the snow-storm ceased. Then his opposite neighbour stepped over to the
house in which old Anthony lived, for he had not yet showed himself.
There he lay stretched on his bed, dead, with his old nightcap tightly
clasped in his two hands. The nightcap, however, was not placed on his
head in his coffin; he had a clean white one on then. Where now were
the tears he had shed? What had become of those wonderful pearls?
They were in the nightcap still, Such tears as these cannot be washed out,
even when the nightcap is forgotten. The only thoughts and dreams of a
bachelor’s nightcap still remain. Never wish for sucha nightcap. It would
make your forehead hot, cause your pulse to beat with agitation, and con-
jure up dreams which would appear realities.

The first who wore old Anthony’s cap felt the truth of this, though it was
half a century afterwards. That man was the mayor himself, who had
already made a comfortable home for his wife and eleven children, by his
&8 FIANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRV TALES.



industry. The moment he put the cap on he dreamed of unfortunate love,
of bankruptcy, and of dark days. “Hallo! how the nightcap burns:” he
exclaimed, as he tore it from his head. Then a pearl rolled out, and then
another and another, and they glittered and sounded as they fell. ‘ What
can this be? Is it paralysis, or something dazzling my eyes?” They were
the tears which old Anthony had shed half a century before.

To every one who afterwards put this cap on his head, came visions and
dreams which agitated him not a little. His own history was changed into
that of Anthony until it became quite a story, and many stories might be
made by others, so we will leave them to relate their own. We have told
the first, and our last word is, don’t wish for a “ bachelor’s nightcap.”



THE ELE OF THE. ROSE.

In the midst of a garden grew a rose tree, in full blossom, and in the
prettiest of all the roses lived an elf He was such a little wee thing, that
no human eye could see him. Behind each leaf of the rose he had a sleep-
ing chamber. He was as well formed and as beautiful as a little child could
be, and had wings that reached from his shoulders to his feet. Oh, what
sweet fragrance there was in his chambers! and how clean and beautiful
were the walls! for they were the blushing leaves of the rose.

During the whole day he enjoyed himself in the warm sunshine, flew
from flower to flower, and danced on the wings of the flying butterflies.
Then he took it into his head to measure how many steps he would have
to go through the roads and cross-roads that are on the leaf of a linden-
tree. What we call the veins ona leaf, he took for roads; ay, and very
long roads they were for him ; for before he had half finished his task, the
sun went down: he had commenced his work too late. It became very
cold, the dew fell, and the wind blew; so he thought the best thing he could
de would be to return home. He hurried himself as much as he could;
but he found the roses all closed up, and he could not get in; not a single
rose stood open. ‘The poor little elf was very much frightened. He had
never before been out at night, but had always slumbered secretly be-
hind the warm rose-leaves. Oh, this would certainly be his death. At the
other end of the garden, he knew there was an arbour, overgrown with beau-
tiful honeysuckles. The blossoms Jooked like large painted horns; and
he thought to himself, he would go and sleep in one of these till the morn-
ing. He flew thither; but “hush!” two people were in the arbour,—a
handsome young man and a beautiful lady. They sat side by side, and
wished that they might never be obliged to part. They loved each other
much more than the best child can love its father and mother.

“But we must part,” said the young man; “your brother does not like
THE ELF OF THE ROSE 89
our engagement, and therefore he sends me so far away on business, over
mountains and seas. Farewell, my sweet bride; for so you are to me.”

And then they kissed each other, and the girl wept, and gave him a rose;
but before she did so, she pressed a kiss upon it so fervently that the flower
opened. Then the little elf flew in, and leaned his head on the delicate,
fragrant walls. Here he could plainly hear them say, “ Farewell, farewell,”
and he felt that the rose had been placed on the young man’s breast. Oh,
how his heart did beat! The little elf could not go to sleep, it thumped so
loudly, But not for long did the rose rest undisturbed on that breast. The
young man took it out as he walked through the dark wood alone, and kissed
the flower so often and so violently, that the little elf was almost crushed.
He could feel through the leaf how hot the lips of the young man were, and
the rose had opened, as if from the heat of the noonday sun.

There came another man, who looked gloomy and wicked. He was the
wicked brother of the beautiful maiden. He drew out a sharp knife, and
while the other was kissing the rose, the wicked man stabbed him to death;
then he cut off his head, and buried it with the body in the soft earth under
the linden-tree.

“ Now he is gone, and will soon be quite forgotten,” thought the wicked
brother ; “he will never come back again. He was going on a long journey
over mountains and seas: it is easy for a man to lose his life in such a
journey. My sister will suppose he is dead; for he cannot come back, and
she will not dare to question me about him.”

Then he scattered the dry leaves over the light earth with his foot, and
went home through the darkness; but he went not alone, as he thought, —~
the little elf accompanied him. He sat in a dry rolled-up linden-leaf, which
had fallen from the tree on to the wicked man’s head, as he was digging the
grave. The hat was on the head now, which made it very dark, and the
little elf shuddered with fright and indignation at the wicked deed.

It was the dawn of morning before the wicked man reached home; he
took off his hat, and-went into his sister’s room. There lay the beautiful,
blooming girl, dreaming of him whom she loved so, and who was now, she
supposed, travelling far away over mountain and sea. Her wicked brother
stooped over her, and laughed hideously, as fiends only can laugh. The
dry leaf fell out of his hair upon the counterpane; but he did not notice it,
and went to get a little sleep during the early morning jours. But the elf
slipped out of the withered leaf, placed himself by the ear of the sleeping
girl, and told her, as in a dream, of the horrid murder ; described the place
where her brother had slain her lover, and buried his body; and told her
of the linden-tree, in full blossom, that stood close by.

“That you may not think this is only a dream that I have told you,” he
sald, “ you will find on your bed a withered leaf.”

Then she awoke, and found it there. Oh, what bitter tears she shed !
and she could not open her heart to any one for relief. :

The window stood open the whole day, and the little elf could easily have
reached the roses, or any of the flowers; but he could not find it in his
heart to leave one so afflicted. In the window stood a bush bearing monthly
go . BANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



roses. He seated himself in one of the flowers, and gazed on the poor
girl. Her brother often came into the room, and would be quite cheerful,
in spite of his base conduct; so she dared not say a word to him of her
heart’s grief.

As soon as night came on, she slipped out of the house, and went into
the wood, to the spot where the linden-tree stood ; and after removing the
leaves from the earth, she turned it up, and there found him who had been
murdered. Oh, how she wept and prayed that she also might die! Gladly
would she have taken the body home with her; but that was impossible ;
so she took up the poor head with the closed eyes, kissed the cold lips, and
shook the mould out of the beautiful hair.

“Twill keep this,” said she; and as soon as she had covered the body
again with the earth and the leaves, she took the head and a little sprig of
jasmine that bloomed in the wood, near the spot where he was buried, and
carried them home with her. As soon as she was in her room, she took

the largest flower-pot she could find, and in this she placed the head of the
dead man, covered it up with earth, and planted the twig of jasmine in it.

“Farewell, farewell,” whispered the little elf He could not any longer
endure to witness all this agony of grief; he therefore flew away to his own
rose in the garden. But the rose was faded; only a few dry leaves still
clung to the green hedge behind it.

“ Alas! how soon all that is good and beautiful passes away,” sighed the
elf.

After a while he found another rose, which became his home, for among
its delicate fragrant leaves he could dwell in safety. Every morning he
flew to the window of the poor girl, and always found her weeping by the
flower-pot. The bitter tears fell upon the jasmine twig, and each day, as
she became paler and paler, the sprig appeared to grow greener and
fresher. One shoot after another sprouted forth, and little white buds
blossomed, which the poor girl fondly kissed. But her wicked brother
scolded her, and asked her if she was going mad. He could not imagine
wny she was always weeping over that flower-pot, andit annoyed him. He
did not know whose closed eyes were there, nor what red lips were fading
beneath the earth. And one day she sat and leaned her head against the
flower-pot, and the little elf of the rose found her asleep. Then he seated
himself by her ear, talked to her of that evening in the arbour, of the sweet .
perfume of the rose, and the loves of the elves. Sweetly she dreamed,
and while she dreamt, her life passed away calmly and gently, and her
spirit was with him, whom she loved, in heaven. And the jasmine opened
its large white bells, and spread forth its sweet fragrance ; it had no other
way of showing its grief for the dead. But the wicked brother considered
the beautiful blooming plant as his own property, left to him by his sister,
and he placed it in his sleeping room, close by his bed,.for it was very lovely
in appearance, and the fragrance sweet and delightful. ‘The little elf of the
rose followed it, and flew from flower to flower, telling each little sprite that
dwelt in them the story of the murdered young man, whose head now
formed part of the earth beneath them, and of the wicked brother and the
THE ELF OF THE ROSE. gi



poor sister. “ We know it,” said each little spirit in the flowers, “we know
it, for have we not sprung from the lips of the murdered one. We know
it, we know it,” and the flowers nodded with their heads in a peculiar
manner. ‘The elf of the rose could not understand how they could rest so
quietly in the matter, so he flew to the bees, who were gathering honey,
and told them of the wicked brother. And the bees told it to their queen,
who commanded that the next morning they should go and kill the
murderer. But during the night, the first after the sister’s death, while the
brother was sleeping in his bed, close to where he had placed the fragrant
jasmine, every flower cup opened, and invisibly the little spirits stole out,
armed with poisonous spears. They placed themselvss by the ear of the
sleeper, told him dreadful dreams, and then flew across his lips, and pricked
his tongue with their poisoned spears. “ Now have we revenged the dead,”
said they, and flew back into the white bells of the jasmine flowers. When
the morning came, and as soon as the window was opened, the rose elf,
with the queen bee, and the whole swarm of bees, rushed in to kill him.
But he was already dead. People were standing round the bed, and saying
that the scent of the jasmine had killed him. Then the elf of the rose
understood the revenge of the flowers, and explained it to the queen bee,
and she, with the whole swarm, buzzed about the flower-pot. The bees
could not be driven away, Then a man took it up to remove it, and one
of the bees stung him in the hand, so that he let the flower-pot fall, and it
was broken to pieces. Then every one saw the whitened skull, and they
knew the dead man in the bed wasa murderer. And the queen bee hummed
in the air, and sang of the revenge of the flowers, and of the elf of the
rose, and said that behind the smallest leaf dwells Ove, who can discover
evil deeds, and punish them also.


















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































THE ANGEL.

“WHENEVER a good child dies, an angel of God comes down from
heaven, takes the dead child in his arms, spreads out his great white wings,
and flies with him over all the places which the child has loved during his
life. Then he gathers a large handful of flowers, which he carries up to the
Almighty, that they may bloom more brightly in heaven than they do on
earth. And the Almighty presses the flowers to His heart, but He kisses
the flower that pleases Him best, and it receives a voice, and is able to join
the song of the chorus of bliss.”

These words were spoken by an angel of God, as he Carried a dead child
up to heaven, and the child listened as if ina dream. ‘Then they passed
over well-known spots, where the little one had often played, and through
beautiful gardens full of lovely flowers.

“Which of these shall we take with us to heaven to be transplanted ? 27
asked the angel.

Close by grew a slender, beautiful rose-bush, but some wicked hand had
broken the stem, and the half-opened rose-buds hung faded and withered
on the trailing branches.

“ Poor rose-bush !” said the child, “let us take it with us to heaven, that
it may bloom above in God’s garden.”


The Angel.
THE ANGEL. 93



The angel took up the rose-bush; then he kissed the child, and the little
one halfopened his eyes. ‘The angel gathered also some beautiful flowers,
‘as well as a few humble buttercups and heart’s-ease.

“Now we have flowers enough,” said the child; “but the angel only
nodded, he did not fly upward to heaven.

It was night, and quite still in the great town. Here they remained, and
the angel hovered over a small, narrow street, in which lay a large heap of
straw, ashes, and sweepings from the houses of people who had removed.
There lay fragments of plates, pieces of plaster, rags, old hats, and other
rubbish not pleasant to see. Amidst all this confusion, the angel pointed
to the pieces Of a broken flower-pot, and to a lump. of earth which had
fallen out of it. The earth had been kept from falling to pieces by the roots
of a withered field-flower, which had been thrown amongst the rubbish.

“ We will take this with us,” said the angel, ‘I will tell you why as we
fly along.”

And as they flew the angel related the history.

“Down in that narrow lane, in a low cellar, lived a poor sick boy; he
had been afflicted from his childhood, and even in his best days he could
just manage to walk up and down the room on crutches one or twice, but
no more. During some days in summer, the sunbeams would lie on the
floor of the cellar for about half an hour. In this spot the poor sick boy
would sit warming himself in the sunshine, and watching the red blood
through his delicate fingers as he held them before his face. Then he
would say he had been out, yet he knew nothing of the green forest in its.
spring verdure, till a neighbour’s son brought him a green bough from &
beech-tree. This he would place over his head, and fancy that he was in
the beech-wood while the sun shone, and the birds carolled gaily. One
spring day the neighbout’s boy brought him some field-flowers, and among
them was one to which the root still adhered. This he carefully planted in
a flower-pot, and placed in a window-seat near his bed. And the flower
had been planted by a fortunate hand, for it grew, put forth fresh shoots,
and blossomed every year. It became a splendid flower-garden to the sick
boy, and his little treasure upon earth. He watered it, and cherished it,
and took care it should have the benefit of every sunbeam that found its
way into the cellar, from the earliest morning ray to the evening sunset.
The flower entwined itself even in his dreams—for him it bloomed, for hitn
spread its perfume. And it gladdened his eyes, and to the flower he turned,
even in death, when the Lord called him. He has been one year with God.
During that time the flower has stood in the window, withered and for-
gotten, till at length cast out among the sweepings into the street, on the
day of the lodgers’ removal. And this poor flower, withered and faded as
it is, we have added to our nosegay, because it gave more real joy than the
most beautiful flower in the garden of a queen.

“ But how do you know all this?” asked the child whom the angel was
carrying to heaven.

“T know it,” said the angel, “ because I myself was the poor sick boy
who walked upon crutches, and I know my own flower well.”
94 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



Then the child opened his eyes and looked into the glorious happy face
of the angel, and at the same moment they found themselves. in that
heavenly home where all is happiness and joy. And God pressed the dead
child to His heart, and wings were given him so that he could fly with the
angel, hand in hand. Then the Almighty pressed all the flowers to His
heart: but He kissed the withered field-flower, and it received a voice.
Then it joined in the song of the angels, who surrounded the throne, some
near, and others in a distant circle, but all equally happy. They all joined
in the chorus of praise, both great and small,—the good, happy child, and
the poor field-flower, that once lay withered and cast away on a heap of
rubbish in a narrow, dark street.

THE PEA BLOSSOM.

THERE were once five peas in one shell, they were green, the shell was
green, and so they believed that the whole world must be green also, which
was a very natural conclusion. The shell grew, and the peas grew, they
accommodated themselves to their position, and sat allin a row. The sun
shone without and warmed the shell, and the rain made it clear and trans-
parent; it was mild and agreeable in broad daylight, and dark at night, as
it generally is; and the peas as they sat there grew bigger and bigger, and
more though tfal as they mused, for they felt there must be something for
them to do.

“Are we to sit here for ever?” asked one; “shall we not become hard
by sitting so long? It seer to me there must be something outside, and I
feel sure of it.”

And as wecks passed by, the peas became yellow, and the shell became
yellow. :

‘All the world is turning yellow, I suppose,’ ’ said they,—and perhaps
they were right.

Suddenly they felt a pull at the shell; it was torn off, and held in human
hands, and then slipped into the pocket of a jacket in company with other
full pods.

“ Now we shall soon be opened,” said one,——just what they all wanted.

“T should like to know which of us will travel farthest,” said the smallest
of the five; ‘we shall soon see now.”

“What is to happen will happen,” said the largest pea.

“ Crack ” went the shell as it burst, and the five peas rolled out into the
bright sunshine, There they Jay in 2 child’s hand. A little boy was holding
them tightly, and said they were fine peas for his pea-shooter. And im-
mediately he put one in and shot it out.
THE PEA BLOSSOM. 05



“Now I am flying out into the wide world,” said he; “catch me if you
can ;” and he was gone in a moment.

“T,” said the second, “intend to fly straight to the sun,” that is a shell
that lets itself be seen, and it will suit me exactly;” and away he went.

“We will go to sleep wherever we find ourselves,” said the two next,
“we shall still be rolling onwards;” and they did certainly fall on the floor,
and roll about before they got into the pea-shooter; but they were put in for
all that, “We shall go farther than the others,” said they.

“ What is to happen will happen,” exclaimed the last, as he was shot out
of the pea-shooter ; and as he spoke he flew up against an old board under
a gaxret window, and fell into a little crevice, which was almost filled up
with moss and soft earth. The moss closed itself round him, and there he
lay, a captive indeed, but not unnoticed by God.

“What is to happen will happen,” said he to himself.

Within the garret lived a poor woman, who went out to clean stoves, chop
wood into small pieces, and perform such-like hard work, for she was
strong and industrious. Yet she remained always poor, and at home in
the garret lay her only daughter, not quite grown up, and very delicate and
weak, For awhole year she kept her bed, and it seemed as if she could
neither live nor die.

“ She is going to her little sister,” said the woman; “I had but the two
children, and it was not an easy thing to support both of them ; but the
good God helped me in my work, and took one of them to Himself and pro-
vided for her. Now I would gladly keep the other that was left to me, but
I suppose they are not to be separated, and my sick girl will very soon go
to her sister above.” But the sick girl still remained where she was, quietly
and patiently she lay all the day long, while her mother was away from home
at her work.

Spring came, and one morning early the sun shone brightly through the
little window, and threw his rays over the floor of the room. Just as the
mother was going to her work, the sick girl fixed her gaze on the lowest
pane of the window—* Mother,” she exclaimed, “what can that little
green thing be that peeps in at the window? It is moving in the wind.”

The mother stepped to the window and half opened it. “ Oh!” she said,
“there is actually a little pea which has taken root and is putting out its
green leaves. How could it have got into this crack. Well now, here is a
little garden for you to amuse yourself with.” So the bed of the sick girl
was drawn nearer to the window, that she might see the budding plant; and
the mother went out to her work.

“ Mother, I believe I shall get well,” said the sick child in the evening,
“the sun has shone in here so brightly and warmly to-day and the little pea
is thriving so well; I shall get on better, too, and go out into the warm sun-
shine again.”

“God grant it!” said the mother, but she did not believe it would be so.
But she propped up with a little stick the green plant which had given
her child such pleasant hopes of life, so that 1t might not be broken by the
winds ; she tied the piece of string to the window-sill and to the upper part
96 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.





of the frame, so that the pea-tendrils might twine round it when it shot up.
And it did shoot up, indeed it might almost be seen to grow from day to
day.

Now really here is a flower coming,” said the old woman one morning,
and now at last she began to encourage the hope that her little sick daughter
might really recover. She remembered that for some time the child had
spoken more cheerfully, and during the last few days had raised herself in
bed in the morning to look with sparkling eyes at her little garden which
contained only a single pea-plant. A week after, the invalid sat up for the
first time a whole hour, feeling quite happy by the open window in the
warm sunshine, while outside grew the little plant, and on it a pink pea-

lossom in full bloom, The little maiden bent down and gently kissed the
delicate leaves. This day was to her like a festival.

“Our heavenly Father Himself has planted that pea, and made it grow
and fiourish, to bring joy to you and hope to me, my blessed child,” said
the happy mother, and she smiled at the flower, as if it had been an angel
from God.

But what became of the other peas? Why the one who flew out into
the wide world, and said, “ Catch me if you can,” fell into a gutter on the
roof of a house and ended his travels in the crop of a pigeon. The two
lazy ones were carried quite as far, for they also were eaten by pigeons, so
they were at least of some use; but the fourth, who wanted to reach the
sun, fell into a sink, and lay there in the dirty water for days and weeks, till
he had swelled to a great size.

“Tam getting beautiftilly fat,” said the pea, “I expect I shall burst at
last; no pea could do more than that, I think; I am the most remarkable
of all the five which were in the shell.” And the sink confirmed the
opinion.

But the young maiden stood at the open garret window, with sparkling
eyes and the rosy hue of health on her cheeks, she folded her thin hands
over the pea-blossom, and thanked God for what He had done.

“YT,” said the sink, “shall stand up for my pea.” |


Ib and

little



Christina.










IB AND LITTLE CHRISTINA.

Tw the forest that extends from the banks of the Gudenau, in North Jut-
land, a long way into the country, and not far from the clear stream, rises
a great ridge of land, which stretches through the wood like a wall. West-
ward of this ridge, and not far from the river, stands a farmhouse, sur-
rounded by such poor land that the sandy soil shows itself between the
scanty ears of rye and wheat which grow in it. Some years have passed
since the people who lived here cultivated these fields; they kept three
sheep, a pig, and two oxen; in fact they maintained themselves very well,
they had quite enough to live upon, as people generally have who are con-
tent with their lot. They even could have afforded to keep two horses, but
it was a saying among the farmers in those parts, “ The horse eats himself
up ;” that is to say, he eats as much as he earns. Jeppe Jans cultivated
his fields in summer, and in the winter he made wooden shoes. He also had
an assistant, a lad who understood as well as he himself did how to make
wooden shoes strong, but light, and in the fashion. They carved shoes and
spoons, which paid well; therefore no one could justly call Jeppe Jans and
his family poor people. Little Ib, a boy of seven years old and the only
child, would sit by, watching the workmen, or cutting a stick, and sometimes
his finger instead of the stick. But one day Ib succeeded so well in
his carving that he made two pieces of wood look really like two little
weoden shoes, and he determined to give them as a present to Little
Christina.

“And who was Little Christina?” She was the boatman’s daughter,
graceful and delicate as the child of a gentleman; had she been dressed
differently, no one would have believed that she lived in a hut on the neigh-
bouring heath with her father. He was a widower, and earned his living by
carrying firewood in his large boat from the forest to the eel-pond and eel-
weir, on the estate of Silkborg, and sometimes even to the distant town of
Randers. There was no one under whose care he could leave Little
Christina ; so she was almost always with him in his boat, or playing in the

7
98 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



wood among the blossoming heath, or picking the ripe wild berries. Some.
times, when her father had to go as far as the town, he would take Little
Christina, who was a year younger than Ib, across the heath to the cottage
of Jeppe Jans, and leave her there. Ib and Christina agreed together
in everything: they divided their bread and berries when they were hungry;
they were partners in digging their little gardens; they ran, and crept, and
played about everywhere. Once they wandered a long way into the forest,
and even ventured together to climb the high ridge. Another time they
found a few snipes’ eggs in the wood, which was a great event. Ib had never
been on the heath where Christina’s father lived, nor on the river; but at
last came an opportunity. Christina’s father invited him to go for a sail in
his boat; and the evening before, he accompanied the boatman across the
heath to his house. The next morning early, the two children were placed
on the top of a high pile of firewood in the boat, and sat eating bread and
wild strawberries, while Christina’s father and his man drove the boat for-
ward with poles. They floated on swiftly, for the tide was in their favour,
passing over lakes, formed by the stream in its course; sometimes they
seemed quite enclosed by reeds and water-plants, yet there was always
room for them to pass out, although the old trees overhung the water and
the old oaks stretched out their bare branches, as if they had turned up
their sleeves and wished to show their knotty, naked arms. Old alder-trees,
whose roots were loosened from the banks, clung with their fibres to the
bottom of the stream, and the tops of the branches above the water looked
like little woody islands. The water-lilies waved themselves to and fro on
the river, everything made the excursion beautiful, and at last they came to
the great eel-weir, where the water rushed through the flood-gates ; and the
children thought this a beautiful sight. In those days there was no factory
nor any town house, nothing but the great farm, with its scanty-bearing
fields, in which could be seen a few head of cattle, and one or two farm
labourers, The rushing of the water through the sluices, and the scream of
the wild ducks, were almost the only signs of active life at Silkborg. After
the firewood had been unloaded, Christina’s father bought a whole bundle
of eels and a sucking-pig, which were all placed in a basket in the stern of
the boat. Then they returned again up the stream; and as the wind was
favourable, two sails were hoisted, which carried the boat on as well as if
two horses had been harnessed to it. As they sailed on, they came
by chance to the place where the boatman’s assistant lived, at a little
distance from the bank of the mver. The boat was moored; and the two
men, after desiring the children to sit still, both went on shore. They
obeyed this order for a very short time, and then forgot it altogether. First
they peeped into the basket containing the eels and the sucking-pig ; then
they must needs pull out the pig and take it in their hands, and feel it, and
touch it; and as they both wanted to hold it at the same time, the conse-
quence was that they let it fall into the water, and the pig sailed away with
the stream.

Here was a terrible disaster. Ib jumped ashore, and ran a little distance
from the boat.
fB AND LITTLE CHRISTINA. 99





© Oh, take me with you,” cried Christina; and she sprang after him. In
a, few minutes they found themselves deep in a thicket, and could no longer
see the boat or the shore. They ran on a little farther, and then Christina
fell down, and began to cry.

Tb helped her up, and said, “ Never mind; follow me. Yonder is the
house.” But the house was not yonder; and they wandered still farther,
over the dry rustling leaves of the last year, and treading on fallen branches
that crackled under their little feet; then they heard a loud, piercing cry,
and they stood still to listen. Presently the scream of an eagle sounded
through the wood; it was an ugly cry, and it frightened the children ; but
before them, in the thickest part of the forest, grew the most beautiful
blackberries, in wonderful quantities. They looked so inviting that the
children could not help stopping; and they remained there so long eating,
that their mouths and cheeks became quite black with the juice.

Presently they heard the frightful scream again, and Christina said, “ We
shall get into trouble about that pig.”

“Oh, never mind,” said Ib; “we will go home to my father’s house. It
is here in the wood.” So they went on, but the road led them out of the
way; no house could be seen, it grew dark, and the children were afraid.
The solemn stillness that reigned around them was now and then broken
by the shrill cries of the great horned owl and other birds that they knew
nothing of. At last they both lost themselves in the thicket; Christina
began to cry, and then Ib cried too; and, after weeping and lamenting for
some time, they stretched themselves down on the dry leaves and fell
asleep.

The sun was high in the heavens when the two chilaren woke. They
felt cold; but not far from their resting-place, on a hill, the sun was shining
through the trees. They thought if they went there they should be warm,
and Ib fancied he should be able to see his father’s house from such a high
spot. But they were far away from home now, in quite another part of the
forest. They clambered to the top of the rising ground, and found them-
selves on the edge of a declivity, which sloped down to a clear transparent
lake. Great quantities of fish could be seen through the clear water, spark-
ling in the sun’s rays; they were quite surprised when they came so suddenly
upon such an unexpected sight.

Close to where they stood grew a hazel-bush, covered with beautiful nuts.
They soon gathered some, cracked them, and ate the fine young kernels,
which were only just ripe. But there was another surprise and fright in
store for them. Out of the thicket stepped a tall old woman, her face
quite brown, and her hair of a deep shining black; the whites of her eyes
glittered hike a Moor’s; on her back she carried a bundle, and in her hand a
knotted stick. She was a gipsy. The children did not at first understand
what she said. She drew out of her pocket three large nuts, in which she
told them were hidden the most beautiful and lovely things in the world, for
they were wishing nuts. Ib looked at her, and as she spoke so kindly,
he took courage, and asked her if she would give him the nuts; and the
woman gave them to him, and then gathered some more from the bushes

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SES |
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Sey
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OUT OF THE THICKET STEPPED A TALL OLD WOMAN,
4B AND LITTLE CHRISTINA. oI



for herself, quite a pocket full. Ib and Christina looked at the wishing nuts
with wide open eyes.

“Ts there in this nut a carriage, with a pair of horses?” asked Ib.

“ Ves, there is a golden carriage, with two golden horses,” replied the
woman.

“Then give me that nut,” said Christina; so Ib gave it to her, and
the strange woman tied up the nut for her in her handkerchief,

Ib held up another nut. “Is there, in this nut, a pretty little necker-
chief like the one Christina has on her neck?” asked Ib.

“There are ten neckerchiefs in it,” she replied, “as well as beautiful
dresses, stockings, and a hat and veil.”

“Then I will have that one also,” said Christina; “and it is a pretty one
too.” And then Ib gave her the second nut.

The third was a little black thing. “You may keep that one,” said
Christina ; it is quite as pretty.”

“ What is in it?” asked Ib.

“The best of all things for you,” replied the gipsy. So Ib held the nut
very tight.

Then the woman promised to lead the children to the right path, that
they might find their way home: and they went forward certainly in quite
another direction to the one they meant to take; therefore no one ought to
speak against the woman, and say that she wanted to steal the children. In
the wild wood-path they met a forester who knew Ib, and, by his help, Ib
and Christina reached home. They were pardoned and forgiven, although
they really had both done wrong, and deserved to get into trouble; first,
because they had let the sucking-pig fall into the water; and secondly, be-
cause they had run away. Christina was taken back to her father’s house
on the heath, and Ib remained in the farmhouse on the borders of the
wood, near the great land ridge.

The first thing Ib did that evening was to take out of his pocke’
the little black nut, in which the best thing of all was said to be enclosed.

He laid it carefully between the door and the doorpost, and then shut
the door, so that the nut cracked directly. But there was not much kernel
to be seen; it was what we should call hollow or worm-eaten, and looked
as if it had been filled with tobacco or rich black earth. “It is just what
I expected!” exclaimed Ib. “How should there be room in a little
nut like this for the best thing of all? Christina will find her two nuts
just the same; there will be neither fine clothes or a golden carriage in
them.”

Winter came; and the new year, and indeed many years passed away,
until Ib was old enough to be confirmed, and, therefore, he went during a
whole winter to the clergyman of the nearest village, to be prepared.

One day, about this time, the boatman paid a visit to Ib’s parents, and
told them that Christina was going to service, and that she had been
remarkably fortunate in obtaining a good place, with most respectable
people. ‘Only think,” he said, “she is going to the rich innkeeper’s, at
the hotel in Herning, many miles west from here. She is to assist the land-
102 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.
lady in the housekeeping ; and, if afterwards she behaves well and remains
to be confirmed, the people will treat her as their own daughter.”

So Ib and Christina took leave of each other. People already called them
“the betrothed,” and at parting the girl showed Ib the two nuts, which she
had taken care of ever since the time that they lost themselves in the
wood; and she told him also that the little wooden shoes he once carved
for her when he was a boy, and gave her as a present, had been carefully
kept in a drawer ever since. And so they parted.

After Ib’s confirmation, he remained at home with his mother, for he had
become a clever shoemaker, and in summer managed the farm for her
quite alone. His father had been dead some time, and his mother kept no
farm servants. Sometimes, but very seldom, he heard of Christina, through
a postillion or eel-seller who was passing. But she was well off with the
rich innkeeper ; and after being confirmed she wrote a letter to her father,
in which was a kind message to Ib and his mother. In this letter, she
mentioned that her master and mistress had made her a present of a beauti-
ful new dress and some nice underclothes. This was, of course, pleasant
news.

One day, in the followmg spring, there came a knock at the door of the
house where Ib’s old mother lived; and when they opened it, lo and
behold, in stepped the boatman and Christina. She had come to pay them
a visit, and to spend the day. A carriage had to come from the Herning
hotel to the next village, and she had taken the opportunity to see her
friends once more. She looked as elegant as a real lady, and wore a pretty
dress, beautifully made on purpose for her. There she stood, in full dress,
while Ib wore only his working clothes. He could not utter a word; he
could only seize her hand and hold it fast in his own, but he felt too happy
and glad to open his lips. Christina, however, was quite at her ease; she
talked and talked, and kissed him in the most friendly manner. Even after-
wards, when they were left alone, and she asked, “ Did you know me again,
Ib?” he still stood holding her hand, and said at last, “You are become
quite a grand lady, Christina, and I am only a rough working man; but I
have often thought of you and of old times.” Then they wandered up the
great ridge, and looked across the stream to the heath, where the little hills
were covered with the flowering broom. Ib said nothing; but before the
time came for them to part, it became quite clear to him that Christina
must be his wife: had they not even in childhood been called the be-
trothed? To him it seemed as if they were really engaged to each other,
although not a word had been spoken on the subject. They had only a
few more hours to remain together, for Christina was obliged to return that
evening to the neighbouring village, to be ready for the carriage which was
to start the next morning early for Herning. Ib and her father ac-
companied her to the village. It was a fine moonlight evening, and when
they arrived, Ib stood holding Christina’s hand in his, as if he could not let
her go. His eyes brightened, and the words he uttered came with hesita-
tion from his lips, but from the deepest recesses of his heart: “Christina, if
you have not become too grand, and if you can be contented to live in my


IB AND LITTLE CHRISTINA, 103



mother’s house as my wife, we will be married some day. But we can
wait for awhile.”

“Oh, yes,” she replied; let us wait a little longer, Ib. I can trust you,
for I believe that 1 do love you. But let me think it over.” Then
he kissed her lips; and so they parted.

On the way home, Ib told the boatman that he and Christina were
as good as engaged to each other; and the boatman found out that he had
always expected it would be so, and went home with Ib that evening, and
remained the night in the farmhouse; but nothing further was said of the
engagement. During the next year, two letters passed between Ib and
Christina. They were signed, “‘ Faithful till death;” but at the end of that
time, one day the boatman came over to see Ib, with a kind greeting from
Christina, He had something else to say, which made him hesitate in a
strange manner. At last it came out that Christina, who had grown a very
pretty girl, was more lucky than ever. She was courted and admired
by every one; but her master’s son, who had been home on a visit,
was so much pleased with Christina that he wished to marry her. He had
a very good situation in an office at Copenhagen, and as she had also taken
a liking for him, his parents were not unwilling to consent. But Christina,
in her heart, often thought of Tb, and knew how much he thought about her ;
so she felt inclined to refuse this good fortune, added the boatman. At first
Ib said not a word, but he became as white as the wall, and shook
his head gently, and then he spoke,—“ Christina must not refuse this good |
fortune.”

“Then will you write a few words to her?” said the boatman.

Ib sat down to write, but he could not get on at all. The words were
not what he wished to say, so he tore up the page. The following morning,
however, a letter lay ready to be sent to Christina, and the following is what
he wrote :—

“The letter written by you to your father I have read, and see from it
that you are prosperous in everything, and that still better fortune is in store
for you. Ask your own heart, Christina, and think over carefully what
awaits you if you take me for your husband, for I possess very little in the
world. Do not think of me or my position; think only of your own
welfare. You are bound to me by no promises; and if in your heart
you have given me one, I release you from it. May every blessing
and happiness be poured out upon you, Christina. Heaven will give me the
heart’s consolation. Ever your sincere friend, In.”

This letter was sent, and Christina received it in duetime, In the course
of the following November, her banns were published in the church on the
heath, and also in Copenhagen, where the bridegroom lived. She was
taken to Copenhagen under the protection of her future mother-in-law,
because the bridegroom could not spare time from his numerous occupa-
tions for a joumey so far into Jutland. On the journey, Christina met her
father at one of the villages through which they passed, and here he took
leave of her. Very little was said about the matter to Ib, and he did not
104 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRV TALES.
refer to it; his mother, however, noticed that he had grown very silent and
pensive. Thinking as he did of old times, no wonder the three nuts came
into his mind which the gispy woman had given him when:a child, and of
the two which he had given to Christina. These wishing nuts, after all, had
proved true fortune-tellers. One had contained a gilded carriage and noble
horses, and the other beautiful clothes; all of these Christina would now
have in her new home at Copenhagen. Her part had come true. And for
him the nut had contained only black earth. The gipsy woman had said it
was the best for him. Perhaps it was, and this also would be fulfilled. He
understood the gipsy woman’s meaning now. The black earth—the dark
grave—was the best thing for him now.

Again years passed away; not many, but they seemed long years to Ib.
The old innkeeper and his wife died one after the other; and the wholevof
their property, many thousand dollars, was inherited by their son. Chris-
tina could have the golden carriage now, and plenty of fine clothes. During
the two long years which followed, no letter came from Christina to her
father ; and when at last her father received one from her, it did not speak
of prosperity or happiness. Poor Christina! Neither she nor her hus-
band understood how to economize or save, and the riches brought no
blessing with them, because they had not asked for it.

Years passed ; and for many summers the heath was covered with bloom;
in winter the snow rested upon it, and the rough winds blew across the ridge
under which stood Ib’s sheltered home. One spring day the sun shone
brightly, and he was guiding the plough across his field. The ploughshare
struck against something which he fancied was a firestone, and then he saw
glittering in the earth a splinter of shining metal which the plough had cut
from sonicthing which gleamed brightly in the furrow. He searched, and
found a large golden armlet of superior workmanship, and it was evident
that the plough had disturbed a Hun’s grave, He searched further, and
found more valuable treasures, which Ib showed to the clergyman, who
explained their value tohim. Then he went to the magistrate, who informed
the president of the museum of the discovery, and advised Ib to take the
treasures himself to the president.

“Vou have found in the earth the best thing you could find,” said the
magistrate.

“The best thing,” thought Ib; “the very best thing for me,—and found
in the earth! Well, if it really is so, then the gipsy-woman was right In
her prophecy.”

So Ib went in the ferry-boat from Aarhus to Copenhagen. To him who
had only sailed once or twice on the river near his own home, this seemed
like a voyage on the ocean; and at length he arrived at Copenhagen. The
value of the gold he had found was paid to him; it was a large sum—six
hundred dollars. Then Ib of the heath went out, and wandered about in
the great city.

On the evening before the day he had settled to return with the captain
of the passage-boat, Ib lost himself in the streets, and took quite a different
turning to the one he wished to follow. He wandered on till he found him-
IB AND LITTLE CHRISTINA, 105
self in a poor street of the suburb called Christian’s Haven. Not acreature
could be seen. At last a very little girl came out of one of the wretched-
looking houses, and Ib asked her to tell him the way to the street he
wanted ; she looked up timidly at him, and began to cry bitterly. He
asked her what was the matter; but what she said he could not under-
stand. So he went along the street with her; and as they passed under a
lamp, the light fell on the little girl’s face. A strange sensation came over Ib,
as he caught sight of it. The living, breathing embodiment of Little Chris-
tina stood before him, just as he remembered her in the days of her child-
hood. He followed the child to the wretched house, and ascended the
natrow, crazy staircase which led to a little garret in the roof. The air in
-the room was heavy and stifling, no light was burning, and from one corner
came sounds of moaning and sighing. It was the mother of the child who
lay there on a miserable bed. With the help of a match, Ib struck a light,
and approached her.

“Can I be of any service to you?” he asked. “ This little girl brought
me up here; but I am a stranger in this city. Are there no neighbours or
any one whom I can call?”

Then he raised the head of the sick woman, and smoothed her pillow.
He started as he did so. It was Christina of the heath! No one had men-
tioned her name to Ib for years; it would have disturbed his peace of mind,
especially as the reports respecting her were not good. The wealth which
her husband had inherited from his parents had made him proud and arro-
gant. He had given up his certain appointment, and travelled for six months
in foreign lands, and, on his return, had lived in great style, and got into
terrible debt. For a time he had trembled on the high pedestal on which
he had placed himself, till at last he toppled over, and ruin came. His
numerous merry companions, and the visitors at his table, said it served him
right, for he had kept house like a madman. One morning his corpse was
found in the canal. The cold hand of death had already touched the heart
of Christina. Her youngest child, looked for in the midst of prosperity,
had sunk into the grave when only a few weeks old; and at last Christina
herself became sick unto death, and lay, forsaken and dying, in a miserable
room, amid poverty she might have borne in her younger days, but which
was now more painful to her from the luxuries to which she had lately been
accustomed. It was her eldest child, also a Little Christina, whom Ib had
followed to her home, where she suffered hunger and poverty with her mother.

“Tt makes me unhappy to think that I shall die, and leave this poor
child,” sighed she. “Oh, what will become of her?” She could say no more.
, _ Then Ib brought out another match, and lighted a piece of candle which

he found in the room, and it threw a glimmering light over the wretched
dwelling. Ib looked at the little girl, and thought of Christina in her young
days. For her sake, could he not love this child, who was a stranger to
him? As he thus reflected, the dying woman opened her eyes, and gazed
at him. Did she recognise him? He never knew; for not another word
escaped from her lips,
% * a “* &


106 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



in the forest by the river Gudenau, not far from the heath, and beneath
the the ridge of land, stood the little farm, newly painted and whitewashed.
The air was very heavy and dark; there were no blossoms on the heath;
the autumn winds whirled the yellow leaves towards the boatman’s hut, in
which strangers dwelt; but the little farm stood safely sheltered beneath the
tall trees and the high ridge. The turf blazed brightly on the hearth, and —
within was sunlight, the sparkling light from the sunny eyes of a child ; the
birdlike tones from the rosy lips ringing like the song of a lark in spring. ©
All was life and joy. Little Christina sat on Ib’s knee. Ib was to her both
father and mother ; her own parents had vanished from her memory, as a
dream-picture vanishes alike from childhood and age. Ib’s house was well
and prettily furnished ; for he was a prosperous man now, while the mother
of the little girl rested in the churchyard at Copenhagen, where she had died
in poverty. Ib had money now,—money which had come to him out of the
black earth; and he had Christina for his own, after all.

THE BOTTLE NECK.

CxoseE to the corner of a street, among other abodes of poverty, stood an
exceedingly tall, narrow house, which had been so knocked about by time
that it seemed out of joint in every direction. This house was inhabited
by poor people, but the deepest poverty was apparent in the garret lodging
in the gable. In front of the little wmdow, an old, bent bird-cage hung in
the sunshine, which had not even a proper water-glass, but instead of it the
broken neck of a bottle, turned upside down, and a cork stuck in to make
it hold the water with which it was filled. An old maid stood at the window;
she had hung chickweed over the cage, and the little linnet which it con-
tained hopped from perch to perch and sang and twittered merrily.

“Ves, it’s all very well for you to sing,” said the bottle neck: that 1s, ne
did not really speak the words as we do, for the neck of a bottle cannot
speak; but he thought them to himself in his own mind, just as people
sometimes talk quietly to themselves.

“Ves, you may sing very well, you have all your limbs uninjured ; you
should feel what it is like to lose your body, and have only a neck and a mouth
left, with a cork stuck in it, as I have: you wouldn’t sing then, I know.
After all, it is just as well that there are some who can be happy. I have
no reason to sing, nor could I sing now if I were ever so happy; but when
I was a whole bottle, and they rubbed me with a cork, didn’t I sing then?
THE BOTTLE NECK. 107



I used to be called a complete lark. I remember when I went out to a
picnic with the furrier’s family, on the day his daughter was betrothed,—it
seems as if it only happened yesterday. I have gone through a great deal
in my time, when I come to recollet; I have been in the fire and in the
water ; I have been deep in the earth, and have mounted higher in the air
than most other people, and now I am swinging here, outside a bird-cage,
in the air and the sunshine. Oh, indeed, it would be worth while to hear
my history; but I do not speak it aloud, for a good reason—because I
cannot.”

Then the bottle neck related his history, which was really rather remark-
able ; he, in fact, related it to himself, or, at least, thought it in his own
mind. The little bird sang his own song merrily; im the street below there
was driving and running to and fro, every one thought of his own affairs, or
perhaps of nothing at all; but the bottle neck thought deeply. He thought
of the blazing furnace in the factory, where he had been blown into life;
he remembered how hot it felt when he was placed in the heated oven, the
home from which he sprang, and that he had a strong inclination to leap
out again directly ; but after awhile it became cooler, and he found himself
very comfortable. He had been placed in a row, with a whole regiment of
his brothers and sisters all brought out of the sarne furnace; some of them
had certainly been blown into champagne bottles, and others into beer
bottles, which made a little difference between them. In the world it often
happens that a beer bottle may contain the most precious wine, and a cham-
pagne bottle be filled with blacking; but even in decay it may always be.
seen whether a man has been well born. Nobility remains noble, as a
champagne bottle remains the same, even with blacking in its interior.
When the bottles were packed our bottle was packed amongst them ; it
little expected then to finish its career as a bottle neck, or to be used as a
water-glass to a bird’s-cage, which is, after all, a place of honour, for it is to
be of some use in the world. The bottle did not behold the light of day
again, until it was unpacked with the rest in the wine merchant’s cellar, and,
for the first time, rinsed with water, which caused very curious sensations.
There it lay empty, and without a cork, and it had a peculiar feeling, as if
it wanted something it knew not what. At last it was filled with rich and
costly wine, a cork was placed -in it, and sealed down. Then it was labelled
“first quality,” as if it had carried off the first prize at an examination ;
besides, the wine and the bottle were both good, and while we are young is
the time for poetry. There were sounds of song within the bottle, of things
it could not understand, of green sunny mountains, where the vines grow
and where the merry vine-dressers laugh, sing, and are merry. ‘Ah, how
beautiful is life.” All these tones of joy and song in the bottle were like
the working of a young poet’s brain, who often knows not the meaning of
the tones which are sounding within him. One morning the bottle founda
purchaser in the furrier’s apprentice, who was told to bring one of the best
bottles of wine. It was placed in the provision basket with ham and cheese
and sausages. ‘The sweetest fresh butter and the finest bread were put inte
the basket by the furrier’s daughter herself, for she packed it. She was
108 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



young and pretty ; her brown eyes laughed, and a smile lingered round her
mouth as sweet as that in her eyes. She had delicate hands, beautifully
white, and her neck was whiter still. It could easily be seen that she was
a very lovely girl, and as yet she was not engaged. The provision basket
lay in the lap of the young girl as the family drove out to the forest, and
the neck of the bottle peeped out from between the folds of the white
napkin. There was the red wax on the cork, and the bottle looked straight
at the young girl’s face, and also at the face of the young sailor who sat
near her. He was a young friend, the son of a portrait painter. He had
lately passed his examination with honour, as mate, and the next. morning
he was to sail in his ship to a distant coast. ‘There had been a great deal
of talk on this subject while the basket was being packed, and during this
conversation the eyes and the mouth of the furrier’s daughter did not wear
a very joyful expression. ‘The young people wandered away into the green
wood, and talked together. What did they talk about? The bottle could
not say, for he was in the provision basket. It remained there a long time;
but when at last it was brought forth it appeared as if something pleasant
had happened, for every one was laughing ; the furrier’s daughter laughed
too, but she said very little, and her cheeks were like two roses. Then her
father took the bottle and the cork-screw into his hands. What a strange
sensation it was to have the cork drawn for the first time! The bottle
could never after that forget the performance of that moment ; indeed there
was quite a convulsion within him as the cork flew out, and a gurgling sound
as the wine was poured forth into the glasses.

’ “Long life to the betrothed,” cried the papa, and every glass was emptied
to the dregs, while the young sailor kissed his beautiful bride.

“ Happiness and blessing to you both,” said the old people—father and
mother ; and the young man filled the glasses again.

“ Safe return, and a wedding this day next year,” he cried; and when the
glasses were empty he took the boitle, raised it on high, and said, ‘ Thou
hast been present here on the happiest day of my life; thou shalt never be
used by others!” So saying, he hurled it high in the air.

The furrier’s daughter thought she should never see it again, but she
was nistaken. It fell among the rushes on the borders of a little woodland
lake. The bottle neck remembered well how long it lay there unseen: “I
gave them wine, and they gave me muddy water,” he had said to himself,
“but I suppose it was all well meant.” He could no longer see the
betrothed couple, nor the cheerful old people ; but for a long time he could
hear them rejoicing and singing. At length there came by two peasant
beys, who peeped in among the reeds and spied out the bottle. Then they
took it up and carried it home with them, so that once more it was provided
for. At home in their wooden cottage these boys had an elder brother, a
sailor, who was about to start on a long voyage, He had been there the
day before to say farewell, and his mother was now very busy packing up
various things for him to take with him on his voyage. In the evening his
father was going to carry the parcel to the town to see his son once more,
and take him a farewell greeting from his mother, A small bottle had
THE BOTTLE NECK. 109



already been filled with herb tea, mixed with brandy, and wrapped in a
parcel; but when the boys came in they brought with them a larger and
stronger bottle, which they had found. This bottle would hold so much
more than the little one, and they all said the brandy would be so good for
complaints of the stomach, especially as it was mixed with medical herbs.
The liquid which they now poured into the bottle was not like the red wine
with which it had once been filled ; these were bitter drops, but they are of
great use sometimes—for the stomach. ‘The new large bottle was to go,
not the little one: so the bottle once more started on its travels. It was
taken on board (for Peter Jensen was one of the crew) the very same ship in
which the young mate was to sail. But the mate did not see the bottle:
indeed, if he had he would not have known it, or supposed it was the one
out of which they had drunk to the felicity of the betrothed and to the
prospect of a marriage on his own happy return. Certainly the bottle no
longer poured forth wine, but it contained something quite as good ; and so
it happened that whenever Peter Jensen brought it out, his messmates gave
it the name of “the apothecary,” for it contained the best medicine to
cure the stomach, and he gave it out quite willingly as long as a drop
remained. ‘Those were happy days, and the bottle would sing when rubbed
with a cork, and it was called a “ great lark,” “ Peter Jensen’s lark.”
Long days and months rolled by, during which the bottle stood empty in
a corner, when a storm arose—whether on the passage out or home it could
not tell, for it had never been ashore. It was a terrible storm, great waves
arose, darkly heaving and tossing the vessel to and fro. The mainmast
was split asunder, the ship sprang a leak, and the pumps became useless,
while all around was black as night. At the last moment, when the ship
was sinking, the young mate wrote on a piece of paper, “ We are going
down: God’s will be done.” Then he wrote the name of his betrothed,
his own name, and that of the ship. Then he put the leaf in an empty
bottle that happened to be at hand, corked it down tightly, and threw it
into the foaming sea, He knew not that it was the very same bottle from
which the goblet of joy and hope had once been filled for him, and now it
was tossing on the waves with his last greeting, and a message from the
dead. ‘The ship sank, and the crew sank with her; but the bottle flew on
like a bird, for it bore within it a loving letter from a loving heart. Andas
the sun rose and set, the bottle felt as at the time of its first existence, when
in the heated glowing stove it had a longing to fly away. It outlived the
storms and the calm, it struck against no rocks, was not devoured by sharks,
but drifted on for more than a year, sometimes towards the north, some-
times towards the south, just as the current carried it. It was in all other
ways its own master, but even of that one may get tired. The written leaf,
the last farewell of the bridegroom to his bride, would only bring sorrow
when once it reached her hands; but where were those hands, so soft and
delicate, which had once spread the table-cloth on the fresh grass in
the green wood, on the day of her betrothal? Ah, yes! where was the
nes daughter ? and where was the land which might lie nearest to her
ome P
IIo HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



The bottle knew not, it travelled onward and onward, and at last all this
wandering about became wearisome ; at all events 1 was not its usual occu-
pation. But it had to travel, till at length it reached land—a foreign
country. Nota word spoken in this country could the bottle understand ;
it was a language it had never before heard, and it is a great loss not to be
able to understand a language. The bottle was fished out of the water,
and examined on all sides. The little letter contained within it was disco-
vered, taken out, and turned and twisted in every direction ; but the people
could not understand what was written upon it. They could be quite sure
that the bottle had been thrown overboard from a vessel, and that some-
thing about it was written on this paper: but what was written P that was
the question,—so the paper was put back into the bottle, and then both
were put away in a large cupboard of one of the great houses of the town.
Whenever any strangers arrived, the paper was taken out and turned over
and over, so that the address, which was only written in pencil, became
almost illegible, and at last no one could distinguish any letters on it at all.
Bor a whole year the bottle remained standing im the cupboard, and then it
was taken up to the loft, where it soon became covered with dust and cob-
webs. Ah! how often then it thought of those better days—of the times
when in the fresh, green wood, it had poured forth rich wine; or, while
rocked by the swelling waves, it had carried in its bosom a secret, a letter,
a last parting sigh. ‘For full twenty years it stood in the loft, and it might
have stayed there longer but that the house was going to be rebuilt. The
bottle was discovered when the roof was taken off; they talked about it,
but the bottle did not understand what they said—a language is not to be
learnt by living in a loft, even for twenty years. “If I had been down-
stairs in the room,” thought the bottle, “I might have learnt it.” It was
now washed and rinsed, which process was really quite necessary, and
afterwards it looked clean and transparent, and felt young again in its old
age; but the paper which it had carried so faithfully was destroyed in the
washing. They filled the bottle with seeds, though it scarcely knew what
had been placed in it. Then they corked it down tightly, and carefully
wrapped it up. There not even the light of a torch or lantern could
reach it, much less the brightness of the sun or moon. “ And yet,” thought
the bottle, “men go on a journey that they may see as much as possible,
and I can see nothing.” However, it did something quite as important ; it
travelled to the place of its destination, and was unpacked.

“ What trouble they have taken with that bottle over yonder!” said one,
“and very likely it is broken after all.” But the bottle was not broken, and,
better still, it understood every word that was said: this language it had
heard at the furnaces and at the wine merchant’s; in the forest and on the
ship,—it was the only good old language it could understand. It had re-
turned home, and the language was as a welcome greeting. or very joy,
it felt ready to jump out of the people’s hands, and scarcely noticed that its
cork had been drawn, and its contents emptied out, till it found itself
carried to a cellar, to be left there and forgotten. “There’s no place like
home, even if it’s a cellar.” It never occurred to him to think that he
THE BOTTLE NECK. III
might lie there for years, he felt so comfortable. For many long years he
remained in the cellar, till at last some people came to carry away the bot-
tles, and ours amongst the number.

Out in the garden there was a great festival, Brilliant lamps hung in
festoons from tree to tree; and paper lanterns, through which the light
shone till they looked like transparent tulips. It was a beautiful evening,
and the weather mild and clear. The stars twinkled ; and the new moon,
in the form of a crescent, was surrounded by the shadowy disc of the whole
moon, and looked like a grey globe with a golden rim: it was a beautiful
sight for those who had good eyes. The illumination extended even to the
most retired of the garden walks, at least not so retired that any one need
lose himself there. In the borders were placed bottles, each containing a
light, and among them the bottle with which we are acquainted, and whose
fate it was, one day, to be only a bottle neck, and to serve as a water-glass to
a bird’s cage. Everything here appeared lovely to our bottle, for it was
again in the.green wood, amid joy and feasting; again it heard music and
song, and the noise and murmur of a crowd, especially in that part of the -
garden where the lamps blazed, and the paper lanterns displayed their bril-
liant colours. It stood in a distant walk certainly, but a place pleasant for
contemplation; and it carried a light, and was at once useful and orna-
mental. In such an hour it is easy to forget that one has spent twenty
years in a loft, and a good thing it is to be able todo so. Close before
the bottle passed a single pair, like a bridal pair—the mate and the furrier’s
daughter—who had so long ago wandered in the wood. It seemed to the
bottle as if he were living that time over again. Not only the guests but

‘other people were walking in the garden, whe were allowed to witness the
splendour and the festivities. Among the latter came an old maid, who
seemed to be quite alone in the world. She was thinking, like the bottle,
of the green wood, and of a young betrothed pair, who were closely con-
nected with herself; she was thinking of that hour, the happiest of her life,
in which she had taken part, when she had herself been one of that betrothed
pair; such hours are never to be forgotten, let a maiden be as old
as she may. But she did not recognize the bottle, neither did the
bottle notice the old maid. And so we often pass each other in the
world when we meet, as did these two, even while together in the same
town.

The bottle was taken from the garden, and again sent to a wine mer-
chant, where it was once more filled with wine, and sold to an aéronaut,
who was to make an ascent in his balloon on the following Sunday.
A great crowd assembled to witness the sight; military music had been
engaged, and many other preparations made. The bottle saw it all from
the basket in which he lay close to a live rabbit. The rabbit was quite ex-
cited because he knew that he was to be taken up, and let down again in a
parachute. The bottle, however, knew nothing of the “up,” or the
“down ;” he saw only that the balloon was swelling larger and larger till it
could swell no more, and began to rise and be restless. Then the ropes
which held it were cut through, and the aérial ship rose in the air with the


112 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



aéronaut and the basket containing the bottle and the rabbit, while the
music sounded and all the people shouted “ Hurrah.”

“This is a wonderful journey up into the air,” thought the bottle; “it is
a new way of sailing, and here, at least, there is no fear of striking against
anything.”

Thousands of people gazed at the balloon, and the old maid who was in
the garden saw it also ; for she stood at the open window of the garret, by
which hung the cage, containing the linnet, who then had no water-glass,
but was obliged to be contented with an old cup. In the window-sill stood
a myrtle in a pot, and this had been pushed a little on one side, that
it might not fall out ; for the old maid was leaning out of the window, that
she might see. And she did see distinctly the aéronaut in the balloon, and
how he let down the rabbit in the parachute, and then drank to the health
of all the spectators in the wine from the bottle. After doing this, he
hurled it high into the air. How little she thought that this was the very
same bottle which her friend had thrown aloft in her honour, on that happy
day of rejoicing, in the green wood, in her youthful days. The bottle had
no time to think, when raised so suddenly; and before it was aware, it
reached the highest point it had ever attained in its life. Steeples and
roofs lay far, far beneath it, and the people looked as tiny as possible. Then
it began to descend much more rapidly than the rabbit had done, made
somersaults in the air, and felt itself quite young and unfettered, although it
was half full of wine. But this did not last long. What a journey it was!
All the people could see the bottle; for the sun shone upon it. The bal-
loon was already far away, and very soon the bottle was far away also ; for
it fell upon a roof, and broke in pieces. But the pieces had got such
an impetus in them, that they could not stop themselves. They went jump-
ing and rolling about, till at last they fell into the courtyard, and were
broken into still smaller pieces; only the neck of the bottle managed
to keep whole. and it was broken off as clean as if it had been cut with
a diamond.

“That would make a capital bird’s glass,” said one of the cellarmen ; but
none of them had either a bird or a cage, and it was not to be expected
they would provide one just because they had found a bottle neck that
could be used asa glass. But the old maid who lived in the garret had a
bird, and it really might be useful to her; so the bottle neck was provided
with a cork, and taken up to her; and, as it often happens in life, the part that
had been uppermost was now turned downwards, and it was filled with fresh
water. ‘Then they hung it in the cage of the little bird, who sang and
twittered more merrily than ever.

“ Ah, you have good reason to sing,” said the bottle neck, which was
looked upon as something very remarkable, because it had been in a
balloon ; nothing further was known of its history. As it hung there in the
bird-cage, it could hear the noise and murmur of the people in the street
below, as well as the conversation of the old maid in the room within.
An old friend had just come to visit her, and they talked, not about the
bottle neck, but of the myrtle in the window.
THE FLAX, 113
“No, you must not spend a dollar for your daughter’s bridal bouquet,”
said the old maid; “you shall have a beautiful little bunch for a nosegay,
full of blossoms. Do you see how splendidly the tree has grown? It has
been raised from only a little sprig of myrtle that you gave me on the day
after my betrothal, and from which I was to make my own bridal bouquet
when a year had passed; but that day never came: the eyes were closed
which were to have been my light and joy through life. In the depths of
the sea my beloved sleeps sweetly ; the myrtle has become an old tree, and
I am astiil older woman. Before the sprig you gave me faded, I took a
spray, and planted it in the earth ; and now, as you see, it has become a large
tree, and a bunch of the blossoms shall at last appear at a wedding festival,
in the bouquet of your daughter
_ There were tears in the eyes of the old maid, as she spoke of the beloved
of her youth, and of their betrothal in the wood. Many thoughts came
into her mind; but the thought never came, that quite close to her, in that
very window, was a remembrance of those olden times,—the neck of the
bottle which had, as it were, shouted for joy when the cork flew out with
a. bang on the betrothal day. But the bottle neck did not recognise the old
maid ; he had not been listening to what she had related, perhaps because
he was thinking so much about her.

Nee, se

THE FLAX,

THE flax was in full bloom; it had pretty little blue flowers as delicate
as the wings of a moth, or even more so. The sun shone, and the showers
watered it; and this was just as good for the flax as it is for little children
to be washed and then kissed by their mother. ‘They look much prettier:
for it, and so did the flax.

“ People say that 1 look exceedingly well,” said the flax, “and that Iamso
fine and long that I shall make a beautiful piece of linen. How fortunate
Iam; it makes me so happy, it is such a pleasant thing to know that some-
thing can be made of me. How the sunshine cheers me, and how sweet
and refreshing is the rain; my happiness overpowers me, no one in the
world can feel happier than I am.”

“ Ah, yes, no doubt,” said the fern, “but you do not know the world
yet as well as I do, for my sticks are knotty;” and then it sung quite
mournfully—

‘Snip, snap, snurre,
Basse lurre:
The song is ended,”
TI4 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRV TALES.



“No, it is not ended,” said the flax. “To-morrow the sun will shine,
or the rain descend. I feel that I am growing. I feel that I am in full
blossom. I am the happiest of all creatures.”

Well, one day some people came, who took hold of the flax and pulled
it up by the roots; this was painful; then it was laid in water as if they
intended to drown it; and, after that, placed near a fire as if it were to be
roasted; all this was very shocking. “We cannot expect to be happy
always,” said the flax; “by experiencing evil as well as good, we become
wise.” And certainly there was plenty of evil in store for the flax. It
was steeped, and roasted, and broken, and combed; indeed, it scarcely
knew what was done to it. At last if was put on the spinning wheel.
“Whirr, whirr,” went the wheel so quickly that the flax could not collect
its thoughts. “Well, I have been very happy,” he thought in the midst of
his pain, “and must be contented with the past;” and contented he re-
mained till he was put on the Joom, and became a beautiful piece of white
linen. All the flax, even to the last stalk, was used in making this one
piece. “Well, this is quite wonderful; I could not have believed that I
should be so favoured by fortune. The fern really was not wrong with its
song of

‘Snip, snap, snurre,

Basse lurre.”
But the song is not ended yet, I am sure; it is only just beginning. How
wonderful it is, that after all I have suffered, I am made something of at
last ; I am the luckiest person in the world—so strong and fine; and how
white, and what a length! This is something different to being a mere
plant and bearing flowers. Then, I had no attention, nor any water unless
it rained; now, I am watched and taken care of. Every morning the
maid turns me over, and I have a shower-bath from the watering-pot every
evening. Yes, and the clergyman’s wife noticed me, and said I was the
best piece of linen in the whole parish, I cannot be happier that I am
now.”

After some time, the linen was taken into the house, placed under the
scissors, and cut and torn into pieces, and then pricked with needles.
This certainly was not pleasant; but at last it was made into twelve
parments of that kind which people do not like to name, and yet every-
body should wear one. “See, now, then,” said the flax; “I have become
something of importance. This was my destiny; it is quite a blessing.
Now I shall be of some use in the world, as every one ought to be; it is
the only way to be happy. i am now divided into twelve pieces, and yet
we are all one and the same in the whole dozen. It is most extraordinary
good fortune.”

Years passed away; and at last the linen was so worn it could scarcely
hold together. “It must end very soon,” said the pieces to each other ;
“we would gladly have held together a little longer, but it is useless to
expect impossibilities.” And at length they fell into rags and tatters, and
thought it was all over with them, for they were torn to shreds, and steeped
jn. water, and made into a pulp, and dried, and they knew not what besides,
THE FLAX. 115

‘iil all at once they found themselves beautiful white paper. “Well, now,
this is a surprise; a glorious surprise too,” said the paper. “I am now
finer than ever, and I shall be written upon, and who can tell what fine
things I may have written upon me. This is wonderful luck!” And sure
enough the most beautiful stories and poetry were written upon it, and only
once was there a blot, which was very fortunate. Then people heard the
stories and poetry read, and it made them wiser and better; for all that
was written had a good and sensible meaning, and a great ‘blessing was
contained in the words on this paper.

“T never imagined anything like this,” said the paper, “ when I was only
a little blue flower, growing in the fields. How could I fancy that I should
ever be the means of bringing knowledge and joy to men? I cannot un-
derstand it myself, and yet it is really so. Heaven knows that I have done
nothing myself, but what I was obliged to do with my weak powers for my
own preservation ; and yet I have been promoted from one joy and honour
to another. Each time I think that the song is ended ; and then something
higher and better begins forme. I suppose now I shall be sent on my
travels about the world, so that people may read me. It cannot be other-
wise; indeed, it is more than probable; for I have more splendid thoughts
written upon me, than I had pretty flowers in olden times. I am happier
than ever.’

But the paper did not go on its travels ; it was sent to the printer, and all
-the words written upon it were set up in type, to make a book, or rathez,
many hundreds of books; for so many more persons could derive pleasure
and profit from a printed book, than from the written paper; and if the
paper had been sent about the world, it would have been worn out before
it had got half through its journey.

“This is certainly the wisest plan,” said the written paper; “I really did
not think of that. I shall remain at home, and be held in honour, like
some old grandfather, as I really am to all these new books. They will
do some good. I could not have wandered about as they do. Yet he
who wrote all this has looked at me, as every word flowed from his pen
upon my surface. Iam the most honoured of all.”

Then the paper was tied in a bundle with other papers, and thrown into
a tub that stood in the washhouse.

“ After work, it is well to rest,” said the paper, “and a very good oppor-
tunity to collect one’s thoughts. Now I am able, for the first time, to think
of my real condition; and to know one’s self is true progress. What will
be done with me now, I wonder? No doubt I shall still go forward. I
have always progressed hitherto, as I know quite well.”

Now it happened one day that all the paper in the tub was taken out,
and laid on the hearth to be burnt. People said it could not be sold at the
shop, to wrap up butter and sugar, because it had been written upon. The
chiidren in the house stood round the stove; for they wanted to see the
paper burn, because it flamed up so prettily, and afterwards, among the
ashes, SO many ted sparks could be seen running one after the other, here
and there, as quick as the wind. They called it seeing the children come

8 &
116 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.
out of school, and the last spark was the schoolmaster. ‘They often
thought the last spark had come; and one would cry, “ There goes the
schoolmaster ;” but the next moment another spark would appear, shining
so beautifully. How they would like to know where the sparks all went to!
Perhaps we shall find out some day, but we don’t know now.

The whole bundle of paper had been placed on the fire, and was soon
alight. “Ugh,” cried the paper as it burst into a bright flame; “ugh.”
It was certainly not very pleasant to be burning; but when the whole was
wrapped in flames, the flames mounted up into the air, higher than the flax
had ever been able to raise its little blue flower, and they glistened as the
white linen never could have glistened. All the written letters became
quite red in a moment, and all the words and thoughts turned to fire.

“Now I am mounting straight up to the sun,” said a voice in the flames ;
and it was as if a thousand voices echoed the words; and the flames
darted up through the chimney, and went out at the top. Then a number
of tiny beings, as many in number as the flowers on the flax had been, and
invisible to mortal eyes, floated above them. They were even lighter and
‘more Gelicate than the flowers from which they were born; and as the
flames were extinguished, and nothing remained of the paper but black
ashes, these little beings danced upon it; and whenever they touched it,
bright red sparks appeared.

“The children are all out of school, and the schoolmaster was the last
of all,” said the children. It was good fun, and they sang over the dead
ashes— ,

** Snip, snap, snurre,
Basse lurre:
The song is ended.”

But the little invisible beings said, “The song is never ended ; the most,
beautiful is yet to come.”

But the children could neither hear nor understand this, nor should
they ; for children must not know everything.


En Gyr





THE LAST DREAM

OF THE
OLD OAK.

In the forest, high up on the steep. shore, and not far from the open sea-
coast, stood a very old oak tree. It was just three hundred and sixty-five years
_ old, but that long time was to the tree as the same number of days might
be to us; we wake by day and sleep by night, and then we have our dreams.
It is different with the tree; it is obliged to keep awake through three
seasons of the year, and does not get any sleep till winter comes. Winter is
its time for rest; its night after the long day of spring, summer, and
autumn. On many a warm summer, the Ephemera, the flies that exist only
for a day, had fluttered about the old oak, enjoyed life and felt happy; and
if, for a moment, one of the tiny creatures rested on one of his large fresh
leaves, the tree would always say, “Poor little creature! your whole life
consists only of a single day. How very short. It must be quite melan-
choly.”

“Melancholy! what do you mean?” the little creature would always reply.
“ Bverything around me is so wonderfully bright, and warm, and beautiful,
that it makes me joyous.”






118 AANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.

eee



But only for one day, and then it is all over.”

“Over!” repeated the fly; “‘what is the meaning of all over? Are you al!
ever too?”

“No; I shall very likely live for thousands of your days, and my day
is whole seasons long; indeed it is so long that you could never reckon it
out.”

“No? then I don’t understand you. You may have thousands of
my days, but I have thousands of moments in which I can be merry
and happy. Does all the beauty of the world cease when you die?”

“No,” replied the tree; “it will certainly last much longer,—infinitely
longer than I can even think of.”

“Well, then,” said the little fly, ““we have the same time to live; only we
reckon differently.” And the little creature danced and floated in the air,
rejoicing in her delicate wings of gauze and velvet, rejoicing in the balmy
breezes, laden with the fragrance of clover-fields and wild roses, elder-blos-
soms and honeysuckle, from the garden hedges, wild thyme, primroses, and
mint, and the scent of all these was so strong that the perfume almost
intoxicated the little fly. The long and beautiful day had been so full of joy
and sweet delights, that when the sun sank low it felt tired of ail its happiness
and enjoyment. Its wings could sustain it no longer, and gently and slowly
it glided down upon the soft waving blades of grass, nodded its little head
as well as it could nod, and slept peacefully and sweetly. The fly was dead.

“ Poor little Ephemera!” said the oak; “what a terribly short life!” And
so, on every summer day the dance was repeated, the same questions asked,
and the same answers given. The same thing was continued through many
generations of Ephemera ; all of them felt equally merry and equally happy.

The oak remained awake through the morning of spring, the noon of
summer, and the evening of autumn; its time of rest, its night drew nigh—
winter was coming. Already the storms were singing, “ Good-night, good-
night.” Here fell a leaf and there fell a leaf. “ We will rock you and lull
you. Go to sleep, go to sleep. We will sing you to sleep, and shake you
to sleep, and it will do your old twigs good; they will even crackle
with pleasure. Sleep sweetly, sleep. sweetly, it is your three-hundred-and-
sixty-fifth night. Correctly speaking, you are but a youngster in the world.
Sleep sweetly, the clouds will drop snow upon you, which will be quite a
coverlid, warm and sheltering to your feet. Sweet sleep to you, and
pleasant dreams.” And there stood the eak, stripped of all its leaves, left
to rest during the whole of a long winter, and to dream many dreams of
events that had happened in its life, as in the dreams of men. The great
tree had once been small; indeed, in its cradle it had been an acorn. Ac-
cording to human computation, it was now in the fourth century of its
existence. It was the largest and best tree in the forest. Its summit
towered above all the other trees, and could be seen far out at sea, so that
it served as a landmark to the sailors. It had no idea how many eyes looked
eagerly for it. In its topmost branches the wood-pigeon built her nest,
and the cuckoo carried out his vocal performances, and his well-known
notes echoed amid the boughs; and in autumn, when the leaves looked
THE LAST DREAM OF THE OLD OAK. 119



like beaten copper plates, the birds of passage would come and rest upon
the branches before taking their flight across the sea. But now it was win-
ter, the tree stood leafless, so that every one could see how crooked and
bent were the branches that sprang forth from the trunk. Crows and rooks
came by turns and set upon them, and talked of the hard times which were
beginning, and how difficult it was in winter to obtain food.

It was just about holy Christmas time that the tree dreamed a dream.
The tree had, doubtless, a kind of feeling that the festive time had arrived,
and in his dream fancied he heard the bells ringing from all the churches
round, and yet it seemed to him to be a beautiful summer’s day, mild and
warm. His mighty summit was crowned with spreading fresh green foliage ;
the sunbeams played among the leaves and branches, and the air was full
of fragrance from herb and blossom ; painted butterflies chased each other ;
‘the summer flies danced around him, as if the world had been created
merely for them to dance and be merry in. All that had happened to the
tree during every year of his life seemed to pass before him, as in a festive
procession. He saw the knights of olden times and noble ladies ride by
through the wood on their gallant steeds, with plumes waving in their hats,
and falcons on their wrists. The hunting horn sounded, and the dogs
barked. He saw hostile warriors, in coloured dresses and glittering armour,
with spear and halberd, pitching their tents, and anon striking them. The
watchfires again blazed, and men sang and slept under the hospitable shel-
ter of the tree. He saw lovers meet in quiet happiness near him in the
moonshine, and carve the initials of their names in the greyish-green bark
on his'trunk. Once, but long years had intervened since then, guitars and
Eolian harps had been hung on his boughs by merry travellers ; now they
seemed to hang there again, and he could hear their marvellous tones. The
wood-pigeons cooed as if to explain the feelings of the tree, and the cuckoa
called out to tell him how many summer days he had yet to live. Then it
seemed as if new life was thrilling through every fibre of root and stem and
leaf, rising even tothe highest branches, The tree felt itself stretching and
spreading out, while through the root beneath the earth ran the warm vigour
of life. As he grew higher and still higher, with increased strength, his
topmost boughs became broader and fuller ; and in proportion to his growth,
so was his self-satisfaction increased, and with it arose a joyous longing to
grow higher and higher, to reach even to the warm, bright sun itself Already
had his topmost branches pierced the clouds, which floated beneath thenx
like troops of birds of passage, or large white swans; every leaf seemed
gifted with sight, as if it possessed eyes to see. ‘The stars became visible
in broad daylight, large and sparkling, like clear and gentle eyes. They
recalled to the memory the well-known look in the eyes of a child, or in the
eyes of lovers who had once met beneath the branches of the old oak.
These were wonderful and happy moments for the old tree, full of peace
and joy ; and yet amidst all this happiness, the tree felt a yearning, longing
desire that all the other trees, bushes, herbs, and flowers beneath him, might
be able also to rise higher, as he had done, and to see all this splendour,
and experience the same happiness. The grand, majestic oak could not be
120 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.

quite happy in the midst of his enjoyment, while all the rest, both great and
small, were not with him. And this feeling of yearning trembled through
every branch, through every leaf, as warmly and fervently as if they had
been the fibres of a human heart. The summit of the tree waved to and
fro, and bent downwards as if in silent longing he sought for something.
Then there came to him the fragrance of thyme, followed by the more
powerful scent of honeysuckle and violets; and he fancied he heard the
note of the cuckoo. At length his longing was satisfied. Up through the
clouds came the green summits of the forest trees, and beneath him, the oak
saw them rising, and growing higher and higher. Bush and herb shot up-
ward, and some even tore themselves up by the roots to rise more quickly.
The birch-tree was the quickest of all. Like a lightning flash the slender stem
shot upwards in a zigzag line, the branches spreading around it like green
gauze and banners. Every native of the wood, even to the brown and
feathery rushes, grew with the rest, while the birds ascended with the melody
ofsong. On a blade of grass, that fluttered in the air like a long-green
ribbon, sat a grasshopper, cleaning his wings with his legs. May beetles
hummed, the bees murmured, the birds sang, each in his own way; the air
was filled with the sounds of song and gladness.

“‘ But where is the little blue flower that grows by the water?” asked the
oak, “and the purple bell-flower, and the daisy?” Yousee the oak wanted
to have them all with him.

‘Here we are, we are here,” sounded in voice and song.

“ But the beautiful thyme of last summer, where is that! and the lilies-
ofthe-valley, which last year covered the earth with their bloom? and the
wild apple-tree with its lovely blossoms, and all the glory of the wood, which
has flourished year after year? even what may have but now sprouted forth
could be with us here.”

“We are here, we are here,” sounded voices higher in the air, as if they
had flown there beforehand.

‘Why this is beautiful, too beautiful to be believed,” said the oak in a
joyful tone. “I have them all here, both great and small; not one has
been forgotten. Can such happiness be imagined?” It seemed almost
impossible. :

“Tn heaven with the Eternal God, it can be imagined, and it is possible,”
sounded the reply through the air.

And the old tree, as it still grew upwards and onwards, felt that his roots
were loosening themselves from the earth.

“Tt is right so, it is best,” said the tree, “no fetters hold me now. Ican
fly up to the very highest point in light and glory. And ali I love are with
me, both small and great. All—all are here.”

Such was the dream of the old oak: and while he dreamed, a mighty
storm came rushing over land and sea, at the holy Christmas time. The
sea rolled in great billows towards the shore. There was a cracking and
crushing heard in the tree. The root was torn from the ground just at the
moment when in his dream he fancied it was being loosened from the
garth. He fell—his three hundred and sixty-five years were passed as the
THE GIRE WHO TROD ON THE LOAF. T2t



single day of the Ephemera. On the morning of Christmas-day, when the
sun rose, the storm had ceased. From all the churches sounded the
festive bells, and from every hearth, even of the smallest hut, rose the smoke
into the blue sky, like the smoke from the festive thank-offerings on the
Druids’ altars. The sea gradually became calm. and on board a great ship
that had withstood the tempest during the night, all the flags were displayed,
as a token of joy and festivity. ‘The tree is down! The old oak,—our
landmark on the coast!” exclaimed the sailors. “It must have fallen in the
storm of last night. Who can replace it? Alas!.no one.” This was a
funeral oration over the old tree; short, but well-meant. There it lay
stretched on the snow-covered shore, and over it sounded the notes of a
song from the ship—a song of Christmas joy, and of the redemption of
the soul of man, and of eternal life through Christ’s atoning blood.

‘¢ Sing aloud on this happy morn,
All is fulfilled, for Christ is born ;
With songs of joy let us loudly sing,
* Hallelujahs to Christ our King.’ ”

Thus sounded the old Christmas carol, and every one on board the ship
felt his thoughts elevated, through the song and the prayer, even as the old
tree had felt lifted up in its last, its beautiful dream on that Christmas
morn.

THE GIRL WHO TROD ON THE LOAF.

THERE was once a girl who trod on a loaf to avoid soiling her shoes, and
the misfortunes that happened to her in consequence are well known. Her
name was Ingé ; she was a poor child, but proud and presuming, and with
a bad and cruel disposition. When quite a little child she would delight in
catching flies, and tearing off their wings, so as to make creeping things of
them. When older, she would take cockchafers and beetles, and stick pins
through them. Then she pushed a green leaf, or a little scrap of paper
towards their feet, and when the poor creatures would seize it and hold it
fast, and turn over and over in their struggles to get free from the pin, she
would say, “ The cockchafer is reading ; see how he turns over the leaf.”
She grew worse instead of better with years, and, unfortunately, she was

pretty, which caused her to be excused, when she should have been sharply
reproved.
122 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRV TALES,



“ Your headstrong will requires severity to conquer it,” her mother often
said to her. “ Asa little child you used to trample on my apron, but one
day I fear you will trample on my heart.” And, alas! this fear was realised,

Tngé was taken to the house of some rich people, who lived at a distance,
and who treated her as their own child, and dressed her so fine that her
pride and arrogance increased.

* When she had been there about a year, her patroness said to her, “ You
ought to go, for once, to see your parents, Ingé.”

So Ingé started to go and visit her parents; but she only wanted to show
herself in her native place, that the people might see how fine she was. She
reached the entrance of the village, and saw the young labouring men and
maidens standing together chatting, and her own mother amongst them.
Ingé’s mother was sitting on a stone to rest, with a fagot of sticks lying be-
fore her, which she had picked up in the wood. Then Ingé turned back;
she who was so finely dressed felt ashamed of her mother, a poorly clad
woman, who picked up wood in the forest. She did not turn back out of
pity for her mother’s poverty, but from price.

Another halfyear went by, and her mistress said, “ You ought to go home
again, and visit your parents, Ingé, and I will give you a large wheaten loaf
to take to them, they will be glad to see you, I am sure.”

So Ingé put on her best clothes, and her new shoes, drew her dress up
around her, and set out, stepping very carefully, that she might be clean
and neat about the feet, and there was nothing wrong in doing so. But
when she came to the place where the footpath led across the moor, she
found small pools of water, and a great deal of mud, so she threw the loaf
into the mud, and trod upon it, that she might pass without wetting her feet.
But as she stood with one foot on the loaf and the other lifted up to step
forward, the loaf began to sink under her, lower and lower, till she dis-
appeared altogether, and only a few bubbles on the surface of the muddy
pool remained, to show where she had sunk. And this is the story.

But where did Ingé go? She sank into the ground, and went down to
the Marsh Woman, who is always brewing there.

The Marsh Woman is related to the elf maidens, who are well-known, for
songs are sung and pictures painted about them. But of the Marsh Woman
nothing is known, excepting that when a mist arises from the meadows, in
summer time, it is because she is brewing beneath them. To the Marsh
Woman’s brewery Ingé sunk, down to a place which no one can endure for
long. A heap of mud is a palace compared with the Marsh Woman’s
brewery ; and as Ingé fell she shuddered in every limb, and soon became
cold and stiff as marble. Her foot was still fastened to the loaf, which
bowed her down as a golden ear of corn bends the stem.

An evil spirit soon took possession of Ingé, and carried her to a still
worse place, in which she saw crowds of unhappy people, waiting in a state
of agony for the gates of mercy to be opened to them, and in every heart —
was a miserable and eternal feeling of unrest. It would take too much time
io describe the various tortures these people suffered, but Ingé’s punishment
consisted in standing there as a statue, with her foot fastened to the loaf.




THE GIRL WHO TROD ON THE LOAF. 123



She could move her eyes about, and see all the misery around her, but she
could not turn her head; and when she saw the people looking at her she
thought they were admiring her pretty face and fine clothes, for she was
still vain and proud. But she had forgotten how soiled her clothes had
become while in the Marsh Woman’s brewery, and that they were covered
with mud; a snake had also fastened itself in her hair, and hung down her
back, while from each fold in her dress a great toad peeped out and croaked
tke an asthmatic poodle. Worse than all was the terrible hunger that tor-
mented her, and she could not stoop to break off a piece of the ‘oaf on
which she stood. No; her back was too stiff, and her whole body like a
pillar of stone. And then came creeping over her face and eyes flies with-
out wings; she winked and blinked, but they could not fly away, for their
wings had been pulled off; this, added to the hunger she felt, was horrible
torture.

“Tf this last much longer,” she said, “I shall not be able to bear it.”
But it did last, and she had to bear it, without being able to help herself.

A tear, followed by many scalding tears, fell upon her head, and rolled
over her face and neck, down to the loaf on which she stood. Who could
be weeping for Ingé? She had a mother in the world still, and the tears
of sorrow which a mother sheds for her child always find their way to that
child’s heart, but they often increase the torment instead of being a relief.
And Ingé could hear all that was said about her in the world she had left,
and every one seemed cruel to her. The sin she had committed in treading
on the loaf was known on earth, for she had been seen by the cowherd from
the hill, when she was crossing the marsh and had disappeared.

When her mother wept and exclaimed, “Ah, Ingé! what grief thou hast
caused thy mother!” she would say, “O that I had never been born! My
mother’s tears are useless now.” ‘

And then the words of the kind people who had adopted her came to her
ears, when they said, “‘Ingé was a sinful girl, who did not value the gifts of
God, but trampled them under her feet.

“Ah,” thought Ingé, “they should have punished me, and driven all my
naughty tempers out of me,”

A song was made about “The girl who trod on a loaf to keep her shoes
from being soiled ;” and this song was sung everywhere. The story of her
sin was also told to the little children, and they called her “wicked Ingé,”
and said she was so naughty she ought to be punished. Ingé heard all this,
and her heart became hardened and full of bitterness.

But one day, while hunger and grief were gnawing in her hollow frame,
she heard a little, innocent child, while listening to the tale of the vain,
haughty Ingé, burst into tears and exclaim, “ But will she never come up
again?”

And she heard the reply, “No, she will never come up again.”

“ But if she were to say she was sorry, and ask pardon, and promise never
to do so again?” asked the little one. :

“Yes, then she might come; but she will not beg pardon,” was the
answer.
124 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



“ Oh, I wish she would!” said the child, who was quite unhappy about
it. “I should be so glad. I would give up my doll and all my playthings,
if she could only come here again. Poor Ingé! it is so dreadful for her.”

These pitying words penetrated to Inge’s inmost heart, and seemed to do
her good. It was the first time any one had said, “ Poor Ingé!” without
saying something about her faults. A little innocent child was weeping,
and praying for mercy for her. It made her feel quite strange, and she
would gladly have wept herself, and it added to her torment to find she
could ~ot do so. And while she thus suffered in a place where nothing
changed, years passed away on earth, and she heard her name less frequently
mentioned, But one day a sigh reached her ear, and the words, “Ingé!
Ingé! what a grief thou hast been tome! I said it would be so.” It was
the last sigh of her dying mother.

After this, Ingé heard her kind mistress say, “ Ah, poor Ingé! shall I ever
see thee again? Perhaps I may, for we know not what may happen in the
future.” But Ingé knew right well that her mistress would never come to
that dreadful place.

Time passed—a long, bitter time—then Ingé heard her name pronounced
once more, and saw what seemed two bright stars shining above her. They
were two gentle eyes closing on earth. Many years had passed since the
little girl had lamented and wept about “poor Ingé.” That child was now
an old woman, whom God was taking to Himself. In the last hour of exis-
tence the events of a whole life often appear before us; and in this hour
the old woman remembered how, when a child, she had shed tears over the
story of Ingé, and she prayed for her now. As the eyes of the old woman
closed to earth, the eyes of the soul opened upon the hidden things of
eternity, and then she, in whose last thoughts Ingé had been so vividly
present, saw how deeply the poor girl had sunk. She burst into tears at
the sight, and in heaven, as she had done when a little child on earth, she
wept and prayed for poor Ingé. Her tears and her prayers echoed through
the dark void that surrounded the tormented captive soul, and the unex-
pected mercy was obtained for it through an angel’s tears. , As in thought
Ingé seemed to act over again every sin she had committed on earth, she
trembled, and tears she had never yet been able to weep rushed to her
eyes. It seemed impossible that the gates of mercy could ever be opened
to her; but while she acknowledged this in deep penitence, a beam of
radiant light shot suddenly into the depths upon her. More powerful than
the sunbeam that dissolves the man of snow which the children have raised,
more quickly than the snowflake melts and becomes a drop of water on
the warm lips of a child, was the stony form of Ingé changed, and as a
little bird she soared, with the speed of lightning, upward to the world of
mortals. A bird that felt timid and shy to all things around it, that seemed
to shrink with shame from meeting any living creature, and hurriedly
sought to conceal itself in a dark corner of an old ruined wall; there it sat
cowering and unable to utter a sound, for it was voiceless. Yet how quickly
the little bird discovered the beauty of everything around it. The sweet,
fresh air ; the soft radiance of the moon, as its light spread over the earth ;


THE GIRL WHO TROD ON THE LOAF 125



the fragrance which exhaled from bush and tree, made it feel happy as it
sat there clothed inits fresh, bright plumage. All creation seemed to speak
of beneficence and love. The bird wanted to give utterance to thoughts
that stirred in his breast, as the cuckoo and the nightingale in the spring,
but it could not. Yet in heaven can be heard the song of praise, even
from a worm; and the notes trembling in the breast of the bird were as
audible to Heaven even as the Psalms of David before they had fashioned
themselves into words and song.

Christmas-time drew near, and a peasant who dwelt close by the old
wall stuck up a pole with some ears of corn fastened to the top, that the
birds of Heaven might have a feast, and rejoice in the happy, blessed time.
And on Christmas morning the sun rose and shone upon the ears of corn,
which were quickly surrounded by a number of twittering birds. Then,
from a hole in the wall, gushed forth in song the swelling thoughts of the
bird as he issued from his hiding-place to perform his first good deed on
earth,—and in heaven it was well-known who that bird was.

The winter was very hard; the ponds were covered with ice, and there
was very little food for either tae beasts of the field or the birds of the air.
Our little bird flew away into the public roads, and found here and there,
in the ruts of the sledges, a grain of corn, and at the halting places some
crumbs. Of these: he ate only a few, but he called around him the other
birds and the hungry sparrows, that they too might have food. He flew
into the towns, and looked about, and wherever a kind hand had strewed
bread on the window-sill for the birds, he only ate a single crumb himself,
and gave all the rest tothe other birds. In the course of the winter, the
bird had in this way collected many crumbs and given them to other birds,
till they equalled ‘he weight of the loaf on which Ingé had trod to keep
her shoes clean ; and when the last bread-crumb had been found and given,
moet wings of the bird became white, and spread themselves out for

ight.

_ “See, yonder is a sea-gull !” cried the children, when they saw the white
bird, as it dived into the sea, and rose again into the clear sunlight, white
and glittering. But no one could tell whither it went then, although some
declared it flew straight to the sun.





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THE DAISY.

Now listen. In the country, close by the roadside, stood a pleasant
house; you have seen one like it, no doubt, very often. In front, lay a
little garden enclosed in palings, and full of blooming flowers. Near the
hedge, in the soft green grass, grew a little daisy. The sun shone as
brightly and warmly upon her as upon the large and beautiful garden
flowers, so the daisy grew from hour to hour. Every morning she unfolded
her little white petals, like shining rays round the little golden sun in the
centre of the flower. She never thought of being unseen down in the grass,
or that she was only a poor, insignificant flower. She felt too happy to care
for that, so she turned towards the warm sun, looked up to the blue sky,
and listened to the lark singing high in the air. One day, the little flower
was as joyful as if it had been a great holiday, and yet it was only Monday.
All the children were at school, and while they sat on their forms learning
their lessons, she, on her little stem, learnt also from the warm sun
and from everything around her, how good God is, and she was glad to hear
the lark in his pleasant song express exactly her own feelings. And the
daisy admired the happy bird who could warble so sweetly and fly so high;
but she was not sorrowful from regret at her own inability to do the same.
“TY can see and hear,” thought she; “the sun shines upon me, and the
wind kisses me: what else do I need to make me happy?” Within the
palings grew a number of garden flowers, who appeared more proud and
conceited in proportion as they were scentless. The peonies considered it
a grand thing to be so large, and puffed themselves out to be larger than
the roses. The tulips knew that they were marked with beautiful colours, and
held themselves bolt upright, that they might be seen more plainly. . They
did not notice the little daisy outside, but she looked at them and thought,
“ How rich and beautiful they are! No wonder the pretty bird flies down
to visit them. How glad I am that I grow so near them, that I may ad-
mire their beautiful appearance.” Just at this moment, the lark flew down,
crying “ Tweet,” but he did not go near the peonies and tulips; he hopped
into the grass near the lowly daisy. She trembled for joy, and hardly knew


THE DAISY. 127

what to think. ‘The little bird hopped round the daisy, singing, “Oh, what
sweet grass, and what a lovely little flower, with gold in its heart and silver
on its dress.” Fer the yellow centre in the daisy looked hike gold, and the
leaves around were glittering white, like silver. How happy the little daisy
felt, no one can describe—the bird kissed it with its beak, sang to it, and
then flew up again into the blue air above. It was, at least, a quarter of an
hour before the daisy could recover herself. Half ashamed, yet happy in
herself, she glanced at the other flowers; they must have seen the honour
she had received, and would understand her delight and pleasure. But the
tulips looked prouder than ever, indeed, they were evidently quite
vexed about it. And the peonies were quite disgusted, and could they
have spoken, the poor little daisy would have no doubt received a good
scolding. She could see they were all out of temper, and it made her very
sorry.

At this moment there came into the garden a girl with a large sharp
knife, which glittered in her hand. She went straight up to the tulips and
cut down several of them one after another.

“Oh dear,” sighed the daisy ; “ how shocking! It is all over with them
now.” The girl carried the tulips away, and the daisy felt very glad to
grow outside in the grass, and to be only a poor little flower. When the
sun set, she folded up her leaves and went to sleep, and dreamt the whole
night long of the warm sun and the pretty little bird. The next morning,
when the flower joyfully stretched out its white leaves once more to the
warm air and the light, she recognised the voice of the bird, but his song
sounded mournful and sad, Alas! he had good reason to be sad—he had
been caught and made a prisoner in a cage that hung close by the open
window. He sung of the happy time when he could fly in the air joyous
and free ; of the young green corn in the fields from which he would spring
higher and higher to sing his glorious song, and now he was a prisoner in a
cage. The little daisy wished very much that she could help him. But
what could she do? In her anxiety she forgot all the beautiful things
around her, the warm sunshine and her own pretty shining white leaves,
Alas! she could think of nothing but the captive bird, and her own
inability to help him. Two boys came into the garden; one of them
cartied a large sharp knife in his hand like the one with which the girl had
cut down the tulips. They went straight up to the little daisy, who could
not think what they were going to do. ‘We can cut out a nice piece of
turf for the lark here,” said one of the boys, and he began to cut a square
piece round the daisy so that she stood just in the centre. “Pull up the
flower,” said the other boy, and the daisy trembled with fear, for to pluck
it up would destroy its life, and it wished so much to live and to be taken
to the captive lark, in his cage, on the piece of turf. ‘No, let it stay,”
said the boy, “it looks so pretty.” So the daisy remained, and was put
with the turf in the lark’s cage. The poor bird was complaining loudly
about his lost freedom, and beat his wings against the iron bars of his cage.
The little daisy could not speak nor utter one word to console him, or she
would gladly have done so. The whole morning passed in this manner.
128 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



“ Here is no water,” said the captive lark; “they are all gone out and
have forgotten to give me a drop of water to drink. My throat is hot and
dry ; i feelas if 1 had fire and ice within me, and the air is so heavy.
Alas! I must die; I must bid farewell to the warm sunshine, the fresh
green, and all the beautiful things which God has created.” And then he
thrust his beak into the cool turf to refresh himself a little with the fresh
grass, and his eye fell on the daisy; then the bird nodded to it and kissed
it with his beak, and said, ‘ You also will wither here, you poor little flower!
They have given you to me with the little patch of green grass on which you
grow, in exchange for the whole world which was mine out there. Each
‘little blade of grass was to me asa great tree, and each of your white leaves
aflower. Alas! you only show me how much I have lost.” “Oh, if I could
only comfort him,” thought the daisy, but she could not move a leaf; yet
the perfume from her leaves was stronger than is usual in these flowers, and
the bird noticed it, and though he was fainting with thirst, and in his pain
pulled up the green blades of grass, he did not touch the flower. The
evening came, and yet no one appeared to bring the bird a drop of water;
then he stretched out his pretty wings and shook convulsively, he could
only sing, “ Tweet, tweet,” in a weak, mournful tone. His little head bent
down towards the flower ; the bird’s heart was broken with want and pining.
Then the flower could not fold its leaves as it had done the evening before,
to sleep, but it drooped sick and sorrowful towards the earth. Not till
morning did the boys come, and when they found the bird dead, they wept
many and bitter tears ; they dug a pretty grave for him, and adorned it with
leaves of flowers. The bird’s lifeless body was placed in a smart red box,
and he was buried with great honour. Poor bird; while he was alive and
could sing, they forgot him and allowed him to sit in his cage and suffer
want, but now he was dead, they mourned for him with many tears, and
buried him in royal state. But the turf with the daisy on it was thrown
out into the dusty road. No one thought of the little flower which had
felt more for the poor bird than any one else, and would have been so glad
to help and console him, if she had been able to do so,




The old house.




























00 OM Try F
3) nen :



ty

al

















A very old house stood once in a

av street with several that were quite new



pour out at the dragon’s mouth, but i

‘ and clean. The date of its erection
» had been carved on one of the beams,
and surrounded by scrolls formed of
tulips and hop-tendrils,; by this date
it could be seen that the old house
was nearly three hundred years old.
Verses too were written over the
windows in old-fashioned letters, and
grotesque faces, curiously carved,
grinned at you from underthe cornices.
One storey projected a long way over
the other, and under the roof ran a
leaden gutter, with a dragon’s head at
the end. The rain was intended to
t ran out of his body instead, for there

was a hole in the gutter. The other houses in the street were new and

9
130 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



well-built, with large window panes and smooth walls. Any one could see
they had nothing to do with the old house. Perhaps they thought, “‘ How
long will that heap of rubbish remain here to be a disgrace to the whole
street. The parapet projects so far forward that no one can see out of our
windows what is going on in that direction. The stairs are as broad as the
staircase of a castle, and as steep as if they led toa church-tower. The
iron railing looks like the gate of a cemetery, and there are brass knobs
upon it. It is really too ridiculous.”

Opposite to the old house were more nice new houses, which had just
the same opinion as their neighbours.

At the window of one of them sat a little boy with fresh rosy cheeks,
and clear sparkling eyes, who was very fond of the old house, in sunshine
or in moonlight. He would sit and look at the wall from which the plaster
had in some places fallen off, and fancy all sorts of scenes which had been
informer times. How the street must have looked when the houses had all
gable roofs, open staircases, and gutters with dragons at the spout. He
could even see soldiers walking about with halberds. Certainly it was a
very good house to look at for amusement.

An old man lived in it, who wore knee-breeches, a coat with large brass
butions, and a wig, which any one could see was a real wig. Every morning
an old man came to clean the rooms, and to wait upon him, otherwise the
old man in the knee-breeches would have been quite alone in the house,
Sometimes he came to one of the windows and looked out; then the little
boy nodded to him, and the old man nodded back again, till they became
acquainted, and were friends, although they had never spoken to each
other; but that was of no consequence.

T he little boy one day heard his parent say, “The old man opposite is
very well off, but he is terribly lonely.” The next Sunday morning the little
boy wrapped something in a piece of paper and took it to the door of the
old house, and said to the attendant who waited upon the old man, “ Will
you please to give this from me to the gentleman who lives here; I have
two tin soldiers, and this is one of them, and he shall have it, because I
know he is terribly lonely.”

And the old attendant nodded and looked very pleased, and then he
carried the tin soldier into the house.

Afterwards he was sent over to ask the little boy if he would not like to
pay a visit himself. His parents gave him permission, and so it was that
he gained admission to the old house.

‘lhe brass knobs on the railings shone more brightly than ever, as if they
had been polished on account of his visit; and on the doors were carved
trumpeters standing in tulips, and it seemed as if they were blowing with
all their might, their cheeks were so puffed out, “'Tanta-ra-ra, the little boy
is coming ; Tanta-ra-ra, the little boy is coming.”

Then the door opened. All around the hall hung old portraits of knights
in armour, and ladies in silk gowns; and the armour rattled, and the silk
dresses rustled. Then came a staircase which went up a long way, and
then came down a little way and led to a balcony, which was in a very
FHE OLD HOUSE. 131



ruinous state. ‘There were large holes and long cracks, out of which grew
grass and leaves, indeed the whole balcony, the courtyard, and the walls
were so overgrown with green that they looked like a garden. In the
balcony stood flower-pots, on which were heads having asses’ ears, but the
flowers in them grew just as they pleased. In one pot pinks were growing
all over the sides, at least the green leaves were shooting forth stalk and
stem, and saying as plainly as they could speak, “‘ ‘The air has fanned me,
the sun has kissed me, and I am’ promised a little flower for next Sunday—
really for next Sunday.”

Then they entered a room in which the walls were covered with leather,
and the leather had golden flowers stamped upon it.

“Gilding will fade in damp weather,
To endure, there is nothing like leather,”

said the walls. Chairs handsomely carved, with elbows on each side, and
with very high backs, stood in the room, and as they creaked they seemed
to say, “Sit down. Oh dear, how I am creaking. I shall certainly have
the gout like the old cupboard. Gout in my back; ugh,”

And then the little boy entered the room where the old man sat.

“Thank you for the tin soldier, my little friend,” said the old man, “ard
thank you also for coming to see me.” ;

“Thanks, thanks,” or ‘ Creak, creak,” said all the furniture.

There was so much that the pieces of furniture stood in each other’s way
to get a sight of the little boy.

On the wall near the centre of the room hung the picture of a beautiful
lady, young and gay, dressed in the fashion of the olden times, with pow-
dered hair, and a full, stiff skirt. She said neither “ thanks” nor “ creak,”
but she looked down upon the little boy with her mild eyes ; and then he
said to the old man,

“ Where did you get that picture?”

“From the shop opposite,” he replied. ‘“ Many portraits hang there that
none seem to trouble themselves about. The persons they represent have
been dead and buried long since. But I knew this lady many years ago, and
she has been dead nearly half a century.”

Under a glass beneath the picture hung a nosegay of withered flowers,
which were no doubt half a century old too, at least they appeared so.

And the pendulum of the old clock went to and fro, and the hands turned
round ; and as time passed on, everything in the room grew older, but no
one seemed to notice it.

“They say at home,” said the little boy, “that you are very lonely.”

“Oh,” replied the old man, “I have pleasant thoughts of all that is
passed, recalled by memory; and now you are come to visit me, and that
Is very pleasant.”

Then he took from the book-case, a book full of pictures representing
long processions of wonderful coaches, such as are never seen at the present
time. Soldiers like the knave of clubs, and citizens with waving banners.
The tailors had a flag with a pair of scissors supported by two lions, and on

9*
132 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



the shoemakers’ flag there were not boots, but an eagle with two heads, for
the shoemakers must have everything arranged so that they can say, “‘ This
is a pair.” What a picture-book it was; and then the old man went into
another room to fetch apples and nuts. It was very pleasant, certainly, to
be in that old house. -

‘‘T cannot endure it,” said the tin soldier, who stood on a shelf, “ it is so
lonely and dull here. I have been accustomed to live in a family, and I
cannot get used to this life. I cannot bear it. The whole day is long
enough, but the evening is longer. It is not here like it was in your house
opposite, when your father and mother talked so cheerfully together, while
you and all the dear children made such a delightful noise. No, it is all
lonely in the old man’s house. Do you think he gets any kisses? Do you
think he ever has friendly looks, or a Christmas-tree? He will have nothing
now but the grave. Oh, I cannot bear it.”

“ You must not look only on the sorrowful side,” said the little boy; “I
think everything in this house is beautiful, and all the old pleasant thoughts
come back here to pay visits.”

« Ah, but I never see any, and I don’t know them,” said the tin soldier,
“and I cannot bear it.”

“ You must bear it,” said the little boy. Then the old man came back
with a pleasant face, and brought with him beautiful preserved fruits, as well
as apples and nuts ; and the little boy thought no more of the tin soldier.
How happy and delighted the little boy was ; and after he returned home,
and while days and weeks passed a great deal of nodding took place from
one house to the other, and then the little hoy went to pay another visit.
The carved trumpeters blew “ Tanta-ra-ra. There is the little boy. Tanta-
ra-ra.” The swords and armour on the old knight’s pictures rattled. The
silk dresses rustled, the leather repeated its rhyme, and the old chairs had
the gout in their backs, and cried, “Creak ;” it was all exactly like the first
time ; for in that house, one day and one hour were just like another. “I
cannot bear it any longer,” said the tin soldier; “I have wept tears of tin,
it is so melancholy here. Let me go to t!.e wars, and lose an arm or a leg,
that would be some change ; I cannot bear it. Now I know what it is to
have visits from one’s old recollections, and all they may bring with them.
I have had visits from mine, and you may believe me it is not altogether
pleasant. 1 was very nearly jumping from the shelf I saw you allin your
house opposite, as if you were really present. It was Sunday morning, and
you children stood round the table, singing the hymn that you sing every
morning. You were standing quietly, with your hands folded, and your
father and mother were looking just as serious, when the door opened, and
your little sister Maria, who is not two years old, was brought into the room;
You know she always dances when she hears music and singing of any sort;
so she began to dance immediately, although she ought not to have done
so, but she could not get into the right time because the tune was so slow;
so she stood first on one leg and then on the other, and bent her head very
low, but it would not suit the music. You all stood looking grave, although
it was very difficult to do so, but I laughed so to myself that I fell down
THE OLD HOUSE. 133



from the table, and got a bruise, which is there still; I know it was not
right to laugh. So all this, and everything else that I have seen, keeps
running in my head, and these must be the old recollections that bring.
so many thoughts with them. Tell me whether you still sing on Sundays,
and tell me about your little sister Maria, and how my old comrade is,
the other tin soldier. Ah, really he must be very happy; I cannot endure
this life.”

“Vou are given away,” said the little boy; “‘you must stay. Don’t you
see that?” Then the old man came in, with a box containing many
curious things to show him. Rouge-pots, scent-boxes, and old cards, so
large and so richly gilded, that none are ever seen like them in these days.
And there were smaller boxes to look at, and the piano was opened, and in-
side the lid were painted landscapes. But when the old man played, the
piano sounded quite out of tune. Then he looked at the picture he had
bought at the broker’s, and his eyes sparkled brightly as he nodded at it, .
and said, “ Ah, she could sing that tune.”

“T will go to the wars! 1 will go to the wars!” cried the tin soldier as
loud as he could, and threw himself down on the floor. Where could he
have fallen? The old man searched, and the little boy searched, but he was
gone, and could not be found. “I shall find him again,” said the man,
but he did not find him, The boards of the floor were open and full of
holes. The tin soldier had fallen through a crack between the boards, and
lay there now in an open grave. The day went by, and the little boy re-
turned home; the week passed,and many more weeks. It was winter, and
the windows were quite frozen, so the little boy was obliged to breathe on
the panes, and rub a hole to peep through at the old house. Snow drifts
were lying in all the scrolls and on the inscriptions, and the steps were
covered with snow, as if no one were at home. And indeed nobody was
at home, for the old man wasdead. In the evening a hearse stopped at the
door, and the old man in his coffin was placed in it. He was to be taken to
the country to be buried there in his own grave; so they carried him away ;
no one followed him, for all his friends were dead; and the little boy
kissed his hand to the coffin as the hearse moved away with it. A few days
after, there was an auction at the old house, and from his window the little
boy saw the people carrying away the pictures of old knights and ladies,
the flower-pots with the long ears, the old chairs, and the cupboards. Some
were taken one way, some another. er portrait, which had been bought
at the picture dealers, went back again to his shop, and there it remained,
for no one seemed to know her or care for the old picture. In the spring,
they began to pull the house itself down ; people called it complete rubbish.
From the street could be seen the room in which the walls were covered
with leather, ragged and torn, and the green in the balcony hung straggling
over the beams; they pulled it down quickly, for it looked ready to fall, and
at last it was cleared away altogether. “ What a good riddance,” said the
neighbours’ houses. Very shortly, a fe new house was built farther back
from the road; it had lofty windows and smooth walls, but in front, on the
spot where the old house really stood, a little garden was planted, and
134 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



wild vines grew up over the neighbouring walls; in front of the garden were
large iron railings and a great gate, which looked very stately. People used
to stop and peep through the railings. The sparrows assembled in dozens
upon the wild vines, and chattered all together as loud as they could, but
not about the old house; none of them could remember it, for many years
had passed by, so many indeed, that the little boy was now a man, and a
really good man too, and his parents were very proud of him. He was just
married, and had come with his young wife, to reside in the new house with
the garden in front of it, and now he stood there by her side while she
planted a field flower that she thought very pretty. She was planting it her-
self with her little hands, and pressing down the earth with her fingers.
“ Oh dear, what was that?” she exclaimed, as something pricked her. Out
of the soft earth something was sticking up. It was—only think !—it was
really the tin soldier, the very same which had been lost up in the old man’s
room, and had been hidden among old wood and rubbish for a long time,
till it sunk into the earth, where it must have been for many years. And
the young wife wiped the soldier, first with a green leaf, and then with her
fine pocket-handkerchief, that smelt of such beautiful perfume. And the tin
soldier felt as if he was recovering from a fainting fit. “Let me see him,”
said the young man, and then he smiled and shook his head, and said, “It
can scarcely be the same, but it reminds me of something that happened to
one of my tin soldiers when I was a little boy.” And then he told his wife
about the old house and the old man, and of the tin soldier which he had
sent across, because he thought the old man was lonely; and he related the
story so clearly that tears came into the eyes of the young wife for the old
house and the old man. “It is very likely that this is really the same
soldier,” said she, “and I will take care of him, and always remember what
you have told me; but some day you must show me the old man’s
grave.”

*“T don’t know where it is,” he replied; no one knows. All his friends
are dead ; no one took care of him, and I was only a little boy.”

“Oh, how dreadfully lonely he must have been,” said she.

“Yes, terribly lonely,” cried the tin soldier ; still it is delightful not to be
forgotten.”

“ Delightful indeed,” cried a voice quite near to them; no one but the
tin soldier saw that it came from a rag of the leather which hung in tatters ;
it had lost all its gilding, and looked like wet earth, but it had an opinion,
and it spoke it thus :—

“* Gilding will fade in damp weather,
To endure, there is nothing like leather.”

But the tin soldier did not believe any such thing.













































































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olelz)

THE HAPPY FAMILY.

Tue largest green leaf in this country is certainly the burdock-leaf. If
you hold it in front of you, it is large enough for an apron; and if you hold
it over your head, it is almost as good as an umbrella, it is so wonderfully
large. A burdock never grows alone ; where it grows, there are many more,
and it is a splendid sight ; and all this splendour is good for snails. The
great white snails, which grand people in olden times used to have made
into fricassees ; and when they had eaten them, they would say, “ Oh, what
a delicious dish!” for these people really thought them good; and these.
snails lived on burdock-leaves, and for them the burdock was planted.

There was once an old estate where no one now lived to require snails ;
indeed, the owners had all died out, but the burdock still flourished ; it grew
over all the beds and walks of the garden—its growth had no check—till it
became at last quite a forest of burdocks. Here and there stood. an apple
or a plum-tree : but for this, nobody would have thought the place had ever
been a garden. It was burdock from one end to the other; and here lived
the last two surviving snails. They knew not themselves how old they were;
but they could remember the time when there were a great many more of
them, and that they were descended from a family which came from foreign
lands, and that the whole forest had been planted for them and theirs.
They had never been away from the garden; but they knew that another
Place once existed in the world, called the Duke’s Palace Castle, in which
some of their relations had been boiled till they became black, and were
then laid on a silver dish ; but what was done afterwards they did not know.
Besides, they could not imagine exactly how it felt to be boiled and placed
on a silver dish ; but no doubt it was something very fine and highly gen-
teel. Neither the cockchafer, nor the toad, nor the earth-worm, whom they
questioned about it, would give them the least information; for none of
their relations had ever been cooked or served on a silver dish. The old
white snails were the most aristocratic race in the world,—they knew that,
The forest had been planted for them, and the nobleman’s castle had been
built entirely that they might be cooked and laid on silver dishes.

They lived quite retired and very happily ; and as they had no children
of their own, they had adopted a little common snail, which they brought
136 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



up as their own child. The littl one would not grow, for he was only a
common: snail; but the old people, particularly the mother-snail, declared
that she could easily see how he grew; and when the father said he could
not perceive it, she begged him to feel the little snail’s shell, and he did so,
and found that the mother was right.

One day it rained very fast. “Listen, what a drumming there is on
the burdock-leaves; tum, tum, tum; tum, tum, tum,” said the father-
snail.

“There come the drops,” said the mother ; “they are trickling down the
stalks, We shall have it very wet here presently. Iam very glad we have
such good houses, and that the little one has one of his own. There has
been really more done for us than for any other creature; it is quite plain
that we are the most noble people in the world. We have houses from our
birth, and the burdock forest has been planted for us. I should very much
like to know how far it extends, and what lies beyond it.”

“There can be nothing better than we have here,” said the father-snail ;
“T wish for nothing more.”

“Ves, but I do,” said the mother; “I should like to be taken to the
palace, and boiled, and laid upon a silver dish, as was done to all our an-
cestors; and you may be sure it must be something very uncommon.”

“The nobleman’s castle, perhaps, has fallen to decay,” said the snail-
father, “or the burdock wood may have grown over it, so that those who
live there cannot get out. You need not be in a hurry; you are always so
impatient, and the youngster is getting just the same. He has been three
days creeping to the top of that stalk. I feel quite giddy when I look
at him.”

“Vou must not scold him,” said the mother-snail; “he creeps so very
carefully. He will be the joy of our home; and we old folks have nothing
else to live for. But have you ever thought where we are to get a wife
for him? Do you think that farther out in the wood there may be others
of our race?”

“There may be black snails, no doubt,” said the old snail; “ black snails
without houses; but they are so vulgar and conceited too. But we can
give the ants a commission; they run here and there, as if they had so
much business to get through. They, most likely, will know of a wife for
our youngster.”

“JT certainly know a most beautiful bride,” said one of the ants; “ but I
fear it would not do, for she is a queen.”

"That does not matter,” said the old snail; “has she a house?”

“She has a palace,” replied the ant,-—‘‘a most beautiful ant-palace with
seven hundred passages.”

“Thank you,” said the mother-snail; “but our boy shall not go to live
in an ant-hill. If you know of nothing better we will give the commission
to the white gnats; they fly about in rain and sunshine; they know the
burdock wood. from one end to the other.”

“We have a wife for him,” said the gnats; “a hundred man-steps from
here there is a little snail with a house, sitting on a gooseberry-bush ; she is
THE METAL PIG. 137
quite alone, and old enough to be married. It is only a hundred man-steps
from here.”

“Then let her come to him,” said the old people. “He has the whole
burdock forest; she has only a bush.”

So they brought the hittle lady-snail. She took eight days to perform the
journey ; but that was just as it ought to be; for it showed her to be one
of the right breeding. And then they had a wedding. ‘Six glow-worms
gave as much light as they could; but in other respects it was all very quiet;
for the old snails could not bear festivities or a crowd. But a beautiful
speech was made by the mother-snail. The father could not speak; he was
too much overcome. Then they gave the whole burdock forest to the young
snails as an inheritance, and repeated what they had so often said, that it
was the finest place in the world, and that if they.led upright and honour-
able lives, and their family mcreased, they and their children might some
day be taken to the nobleman’s palace, to be boiled black, and laid on a
silver dish. And when they had finished speaking, the old couple crept
into their houses, and came out no more ; for they slept.

The young snail pair now ruled in the forest, and had a numerous progeny.
But as the young ones were never boiled or laid in silver dishes, they con-
cluded that the castle had fallen into decay, and that all the people in the
world were dead; and as nobody contradicted them, they thought they
must be right. And the rain fell upon the burdock-leaves, to play the drum
for them, and the sun shone to paint colours on the burdock forest for
them, and they were very happy ; the whole family were entirely and per-
fectly happy.

THE METAL PIG.

_ ty the city of Florence, not far from the Piazza del Granduca, runs a.
little street called Porta Rosa. In this street, just in front of the market-
place where vegetables are sold, stands a pig, made of brass and curiously
formed. The bright colour has been changed by age to dark green; but
clear, fresh water pours from the snout, which shines as if it had been polished,
and so indeed it has, for hundreds of poor people and children seize it in
their hands as they place their mouths close to the mouth of the animal, to
drink, It is quite a picture to see a half-naked boy clasping the well-
formed creature by the head, as he presses his rosy lips against its jaws.
Every one who visits Florence can very quickly find the place; he has only
138 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



to ask the first beggar he meets for the Metal Pig, and he will be told where
it Is.

It was jate on a winter’s evening; the mountains were covered with snow,
but the moon shone brightly, and moonlight in Italy is like a dull winter’s
day in the north; indeed it is better, for the clear air seems to raise us
above the earth, while in the north a cold, grey, leaden sky appears to press
us down to earth, even as the cold damp earth shall one day press on
us In the grave. In the garden of the grand duke’s palace, under the roof
of one of the wings, where a thousand roses bloom in winter, a little ragged
boy had been sitting the whole day long; a boy, who might serve as a type
of Italy, loving and smiling, and yet still suffering. He was hungry and
thirsty, yet no one gave him anything; and when it became dark, and they
were about to close the gardens, the porter turned him out. He stood a
long time musing on the bridge which crosses the Arno, and looking at the
glittering stars, reflected in the water which flowed between him and the
elegant marble bridge Della Trinita. We then walked away towards the
Metal Pig, half knelt down, clasped it with his arms, and then put his
mouth to the shining snout and drank deep draughts of the fresh water.
Close by, lay a few salad-leaves and two chestnuts, which were to serve for
his supper. No one was in the street but himself; it belonged only to him,
so he boldly seated himself on the pig’s back, leaned forward so that his
curly head could rest on the head of the animal, and, before he was aware,
he fell asleep.

It was midnight. The Metal Pig raised himself gently, and the boy
heard him say quite distinctly, ‘“ Hold tight, little boy, for I am going to
run ;” and away he started for a wonderful ride. First, they arrived at the
Piagsa del Granduca, and the metal horse which bears the duke’s statue,
neighed aloud. The painted coats-of-arms on the old council-house shone
like transparent pictures, and Michael Angelo’s David tossed his sling ; it
was as if everything had life. The metallic groups of figures, among which
were Perseus and the Rape of the Sabines, looked like living persons, and
the cries of terror sounded from them all across the noble square. By the
Palazzo degli Ufiza, in the arcade, where the nobility assembled for the
carnival, the Metal Pig stopped. “ Hold fast,” said the animal; “hold fast,
for I am going upstairs.”

The little boy said not a word; he was half pleased and half afraid.
They entered a long gallery, where the boy had beer. before. The walls
were resplendent with paintings; here stood statues and busts, all in a
clear light as if it were day. But the grandest appeared when the door of
a side room opened; the little boy could remember what beautiful things
he had seen there, but to-night everything shone in its brightest colours.
Here stood the figure of a beautiful woman, as beautifully sculptured as
possible by one of the great masters. Her graceful limbs appeared to
move ; dolphins sprang at her feet, and immortality shone from her eyes.
The world called her the Venus dé Medic?. By her side were statues, in
which the spirit of life breathed in stone; figures of men, one of whom
whetted his sword, and was named The. Grinder ; wrestling gladiators
THE METAL PIG, 139



formed another group, the sword had been sharpened for them, and they
strove for the goddess of beauty. The boy was dazzled by so much
glitter ; for the walls were gleaming with bright colours, all appeared living
reality.

renee passed from hall to hall, beauty everywhere showed itself; and
as the Metal Pig went step by step from one picture to the other, the little
boy could see it all plainly. One glory eclipsed another; yet there was
one picture that fixed itself on the little boy’s memory, more especially
becatse of the happy children it represented, for these the little boy had
seen in daylight. Many pass this picture by with indifference, and yet it
contains a treasure of poetic feeling; it represents Christ descending into
Hades. They are not the lost whom the spectator sees, but the heathen of
olden times. The Florentine, Angiolo Bronzino, painted this picture ;
most beautiful is the expression on the faces of two children, who appear
to have full confidence that they shall reach heaven at last. They are
embracing each other, and one little one stretches out his hand towards
another who stands below him, and points to himself, as if he were saying,
“T am going to heaven.” The older people stand as if uncertain, yet
hopeful, and they bow in humble adoration to the Lord Jesus. On this
picture the boy’s eyes rested longer than on any other; the Metal Pig stood
still before it. A low sigh was heard. Did it come from the picture or
from the animal? The boy raised his hands towards the smiling children,
and then the Pig ran off with him through the open vestibule.

“Thank you, thank you, you beautiful animal,” said the little boy,
caressing the Metal Pig as it ran down the steps.

“Thanks to yourself also,” replied the Metal Pig; “I have helped you
and you have helped me, for it is only when I have an innocent child on
my back that I receive the power to run. Yes; as you see, I can even
venture under the rays of the lamp, in front of the picture of the Madonna,
but I may not enter the church ; still, from without, and while you are upon
my back, I may look in through the open door. - Do not get down yet, for
a you do, then I shall be lifeless, as you have seen me in the /orta

Vasa,

“Twill stay with you, my dear creature,” said the little boy. So then
they went on at a rapid pace through the streets of Florence, till they came
to the square before the church of Sata Croce. The folding doors flew
open, and lights streamed from the altar through the church into the
deserted square. A wonderful blaze of light streamed from one of the
monuments in the left-side aisle, and a thousand moving stars seemed to
form a glory round it 3 even the coat-ofarms on the tombstone shone, and
a red ladder on a blue field gleamed like fire. It was the grave of Galileo.
The monument is unadorned, but the red ladder is an emblem of art,
signifying that the way to glory leads up a shining ladder, on which the
prophets of mind rise to heaven, like Elias of old. In the right aisle of
the church every statue on the richly carved sarcophagi seemed endowed
with life. Here stood Michael Angelo; there Dante, with the laurel wreath
round his brow; Alfieri and Machiavelli; for here, side by side, rest the
140 AANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



great men—the pride of Italy.* The church itself is very beautiful, even
more beautiful than the marble cathedral at Florence, though not so large.
It seemed as if the carved vestments stirred, and as if the marble figures
they covered raised their heads higher, to gaze upon the brightly coloured
glowing altar, where the white robed boys swung the golden censers, amid
niusic and song, while the strong fragrance of incense filled the church, and
streamed forth into the square. The boy stretched forth his hands towards
the light, and at the same moment the Metal Pig started again so rapidly
that he was obliged to cling tightly to him. The wind whistled in his ears,
he heard the church door creak on its hinges as it closed, and it seemed to
him as if he had lost his senses—then a cold shudder passed over him, and
he awoke.

It was morning ; the Metal Pig stood in its old place on the Porta Rosa,
and the boy found he had slipped nearly off its back. Fear and trembling
came upon him as he thought of his mother; she had sent him out the day
before to get some money, he had not done so, and now he was hungry
and thirsty. Once more he clasped the neck of his metal horse, kissed its
nose, and nodded farewell to it. Then he wandered away into one of the
narrowest streets, where there was scarcely room for a loaded donkey to
pass. A great iron-bound door stood ajar; he passed through, and climbed
up a brick staircase, with dirty walls and a rope for a balustrade, till he
came to an open gallery hung with rags. From here a flight of steps led
down to a court, where from a well water was drawn up by iron rollers to
the different stories of the house, and where the water-buckets hung side by
side. Sometimes the roller and the bucket danced in the air, splashing the
water all over the court. Another broken-down staircase led from the
gallery, and two Russian sailors running down it almost upset the poor
boy. They were coming from their nightly carousal. A woman, not very
young, with an unpleasant face and a quantity of black hair, followed
pete. “What have you brought home?” she asked, when she saw the

oy.

“Don’t be angry,” he pleaded; “I received nothing, I have nothing at
all;” and he seized his mother’s dress and would have kissed it. Then
they went into a little room. I need not describe it, but only say that
there stood in it an earthen pot with handles, made for holding fire, which
in Italy is called a marito. This pot she took in her lap, warmed her
fingers, and pushed the boy with her elbow.

“Certainly you must have some money,” she said. The boy began to
cry, and then sne struck him with her foot till he cried out louder.

* Opposite to the grave of Galileo is the tomb of Michael Angelo. His bust stands
upon it, with three figures, representing sculpture, painting, and architecture. Close by
isa monument to Dante, whose body is buried at Ravenna. On this monument Italy is
represented pointing to the colossal statue of Dante, while poetry weeps over his loss, A
few steps farther is Alfieri’s monument, which is adorned with laurel, the lyre, and the

dramatic masks: Italy weeps over his grave. Machiavelli i: i i
a ee p g) chiavelli is the last in the list of these
THE METAL PIG. 14t
se oes te SF oe ee es aE

“Will you be quiet ? or Vil break your screaming head ;” and she swung
about the fire-pot which she held in her hand, while the boy crouched to the
earth and screamed.

Then a neighbour came in, and she had also a marzfo under her arm.
* Felicita,” she said, “ what are you doing to the child?”

“The child is mine,” she answered: “I can murder him if I like, and
you too, Giannina.” And then she swung about the fire-pot. The other
woman lifted up hers to defend herself, and the two pots clashed together
so violently that they were dashed to pieces, and fire and ashes flew about
the room. ‘The boy rushed out at the sight, sped across the courtyard, and
fled from the house. The poor child ran till he was quite out of breath;
at last he stopped at the church, the doors of which were opened to him the
night before, and went in. Here everything was bright, and the bey knelt
down by the first tomb on his right hand, the grave of Michael Angelo,
and sobbed as if his heart would break. People came and went, mass was
performed, but no one noticed the boy, excepting an elderly citizen, who
stood stil! and looked at him for a moment, and then went away like the
rest, Hunger and thirst overpowered the child, and he became quite faint
and ill, At last he crept into a corner behind the marble monuments, and
went sleep. Towards evening he was awakened by a pull at his sleeve ; he
started up, and the same old citizen stood before him.

“ Are you ill? where do you live? have you been here all day?” were
some of the questions asked by the old man. After hearing his answers,
the old man took him home to a small house close by, in a back street.
They entered a glovemaker’s shop, where a woman sat sewing busily. A
little white poodle, so closely shaven that his pink skin could plainly be
seen, frisked about the room, and gambolled upon the boy.

“Innocent souls are soon intimate,” said the woman, as she caressed
both the boy and the dog. These good people gave the child food and
drink, and said he should stay with them all night, and that the next day
the old man, who was called Giuseppe, would go and speak to his mother.
A little homely bed was prepared for him, but to him who had so often
slept on the hard stones it was a royal couch, and he slept sweetly and
dreamed of the splendid pictures and of the Metal Pig. Giuseppe went
out the next morning, and the poor child was not glad to see him go, for
he knew that the old man was gone to his mother, and that, perhaps, he
would have to go back. He wept at the thought, and then he played with
the little, lively dog, and kissed it, while the old woman looked kindly a*
him to encourage him. And what news did Giuseppe bring back? At
first the boy could not hear, for he talked a great deal to his wife, and she
nodded and stroked the boy’s cheek.

Then she said, “ He is a good lad, he shall stay with us, he may become
a clever glovemaker, like you. Look what delicate fingers he has got;
Madonna intended him for a glovemaker.” So the boy stayed with them,
and the woman herself taught him to sew; and he ate well, and slept well,
i becoae very merry. _ But at last he began to tease Bellissima, as the

€ dog was called. This made the woman angry, and she scolded him
142 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.

and threatened him, which made him very unhappy, and he went and sat
in his own room full of sad thoughts. This chamber looked upon the
street, in which hung skins to dry, and there were thick iron bars across his
window. That night he lay awake, thinking of the Metal Pig; indeed, it
was always in his thoughts. Suddenly he fancied he heard feet outside
going pit-a-pat. He sprung out of bed and went to the window. Could it
be the Metal Pig? But there was nothing to be seen; whatever he had
heard had passed already. Next morning, their neighbour, the artist, passed
by, carrying a paint-box and a large roll of canvas.

“ Help the gentleman to carry his box of colours,” said the woman to the
boy; and he obeyed instantly, took the box, and followed the painter.
They walked on till they reached the picture gallery, and mounted the same
staircase up which he had ridden that night on the Metal Pig. He remem-
bered all the statues and pictures, the beautiful marble Venus, and again he
looked at the Madonna with the Saviour and St. John. They stopped
before the picture by Bronzino, in which Christ is represented as standing
in the lower world, with the children smiling before Him, in the sweet
expectation of entering heaven; and the poor boy smiled, ‘too, for here was
his heaven.

“You may go home now,” said the painter, while the boy stood watching
him, till he had set up his easel.

“ May I see you paint?” asked the boy; “may I see you put the picture
on this white canvas?”

“JT am not going to paint yet,” replied the artist ; then he brought out a
piece of chalk. His hand moved quickly, and his eye measured the great
picture; and though nothing appeared but a faint line, the figure of the
Saviour was as clearly visible as in the coloured picture.

“Why don’t you go?” said the painter. ‘Then the boy wandered home
silently, and seated himself on the table, and learned to sew gloves. But
all day long his thoughts were in the picture gallery ; and so he pricked his
fingers and was awkward. But he did not tease Bellissima. When evening
came, and the house door stood open, he slipped out. It was a bright,
beautiful, starlight evening, but rather cold. Away he went through the
already-deserted streets, and soon came to the Metal Pig ; -he stooped down
and kissed its shining nose, and then seated himself on its back.

“You happy creature,” he said; “how I have longed for you! we must
take a ride to-night.”

But the Metal Pig lay motionless, while the fresh stream gushed forth
from its mouth. The little boy still sat astride on its back, when he felt
something pulling at his clothes. He looked down, and there was Bellissima,
little smooth-shapen Bellissima, barking as if she would have said, “ Here
am I too; why are you sitting there?”

A fiery dragon could not have frightened the little boy so much as did
the little dog in this place, “ Bellissima in the street, and not dressed!”
as the old lady called it; “ what would be the end of this?”

The dog never went out in winter, unless she was attired in a little Jamb-
skin coat. which had been made for her ; it was fastened round the little dog’s
THE METAL PIG. 143



neck and body with red ribbons, and was decorated with rosettes and little
bells, The dog looked almost like a little kid when she was allowed to go
out in winter, and trot after her mistress. And now here she was in the
cold, and not dressed. Oh, how would it end? All his fancies were quickly
put to flight; yet he kissed the Metal Pig once more, and then took Bellis-
sima in his arms, The poor little thing trembled so with cold, that the boy
ran homeward as fast as he could.

“What are you running away with there?” asked two of the police
whom he met, and at whom the dog barked. “Where have you stolen
that pretty dog?” they asked ; and they took it away from him.

“Oh, IT have not stolen it; do give it to me back again,” cried the boy,
despairingly.

“Tfyou have not stolen it, you may say at home that they can send to
the watch-house for the dog.” ‘Then they told him where the watch-house
was, and went away with Bellissima.

Here was a dreadful trouble. The boy did not know whether he had
better jump into the Arno, or go home and confess everything. They
would certainly kill him, he thought.

“Well, I would gladly be killed,” he reasoned; “for then I shall die,
and go to heaven :” and so he went home, almost hoping for death.

The door was locked and he could not reach the knocker. No one was
in the street; so he took up a stone, and with it made a tremendous noise
at the door.

“Who is there?” asked somebody from within.

“Itis I,” said he. “ Bellissimais gone. Open the door, and then kill me.”

Then indeed there was a great panic. Madame was so very fond of
Bellissima. She immediately looked at the wall where the dog’s cress
usually hung; and there was the little lambskin.

“ Bellissima in the watch-house!” she cried. “You bad boy! how did
you entice her out! Poor little delicate thing, with those rough policemen!
and she’ll be frozen with cold.”

Giuseppe went off at once, while his wife lamented, and the boy wept.
Several of the neighbours came in, and amongst them the painter. He
took the boy between his knees, and questioned him; and, in broken
sentences, he soon heard the whole story, and also about the Metal Pig, and the
wonderful ride to the picture-gallery, which was certainly rather incomprehen-
sible. The painter, however, consoled the little fellow, and tried to soften
the lady’s anger; but she would not be pacified till her husband returned
with Bellissima, who had been with the police. Then there was great rejoic-
ing, and the painter caressed the boy, and gave him a number of pictures.
Oh, what beautiful pictures these were !—figures with funny heads ; and,
above all, the Metal Pig was there too. Oh, nothing could be more
delightful. By means of a few strokes, it was made to appear on the
paper; and even the house that stood behind it had been sketched in. Oh,
if he could only draw and paint !. He who could do this could conjure the
whole world before him. The first leisure moment during the next day, the
30y gota pencil, and on the back of one of the other drawings he attempted to
id4 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



copy the drawing of the Metal Pig, and he succeeded. Certainly it was
rather crooked, rather up and down, one leg thick, and another thin; still i¢
was like the copy, and he was overjoyed at what he had done. The pencil
would not go quite as it ought,—he had found that out; but the next day
he tried again. A second pig was drawn by the side of the first, and this
looked a hundred times better; and the third attempt was so good, that
everybody might know what it was meant to represent.

And now the glovemaking went on but slowly. The orders given by the
shops in the town were not finished quickly; for the Metal Pig had taught
the boy that all objects may be drawn upon paper; and Florence is a picture-
book in itself for any one who chooses to turn over its pages. On the
Piazza della Trinita stands a slender pillar, and upon it is the goddess of
Justice, blindfolded, with the scales in her hand. She was soon represented
on paper, and it was the glovemaker’s boy who placed her there. His col-
lection of pictures increased; but as yet they were only copies of lifeless
objects, when one-day Bellissima came gambolling before him: “Stand
still,” cried he, “and I will draw you beautifully, to put amongst my col-
iéction.”

But Bellissima would not stand still, so she must be bound fast in
one position. He tied her head and tail; but she barked and jumped, and
so pulled and tightened the string, that she was nearly strangled; and just
then her mistress walked in.

“You wicked boy ! the poor little creature!” was all she could utter.

She pushed the boy from her, thrust him away with her foot, called him
a most ungrateful, good-for-nothing, wicked boy, and forbade him to enter
her house again. Then she wept, and kissed her little halfstrangled Bellis-
sima. At this moment the painter entered the room.

In the year 1834 there was an exhibition in the Academy of Arts
at Florence. Two pictures, placed side by side, attracted a large number
of spectators. The smaller of the two represented a little boy sitting at a
table, drawing; before him was a little white poodle, curiously shaven;
but as the animal would not stand still, it had been fastened with a string
to its head and tail, to keep it in one position. The truthfulness and life in
this picture interested every one. The painter was said to be a young
Florentine, who had been found in the streets, when a child, by an old
glovemaker, who had brought him up. The boy had taught himself
to draw: it was also said that a young artist, now famous, had discovered
' this talent in the child just as he was about to be sent away for having tied
up madame’s favourite little dog, and using it as a model. The glovemaker’s
boy had also become a great painter, as the picture proved; but the larger
picture by its side was still greater proof of his talent. It represented
a handsome boy, clothed in rags, lying asleep, and leaning against the
Metal Pig in the street of the Porta Rosa. All the spectators knew the spot
well, The child’s arms were round the neck of the Pig, and he was ina
deep sleep. The lamp before the picture of the Madonna threw a strong,
effective light on the pale, delicate face of the child. It was a beautiful

*K
THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES. 145



picture. A large gilt frame surrounded it, and on one corner of the frame a
laurel wreath had been hung ; but a black band, twined unseen among the
green leaves, and a streamer of crape, hung down from it; for within the
last few days the young artist had—died.

THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES.

Many years ago, lived an emperor who was so very fond of new clothes,
that he spared no expense in order to obtain as many fine dresses as possible.

He did not care about the soldiers of the army, and scarcely ever visited
the theatre, and when he did drive out in his carriage it was only to show
off his new clothes.

He had a different suit for every hour of the day, and his subjects, in-
stead of saying, as they do in other kingdoms, “‘ The king is in his council-
chamber,” here it was always said, “ The emperor is in his dressing-room.”

The great city in which he dwelt was very gay, for every day strangers’
visited the town. On a certain day two men arrived who gave out that
they were weavers, and possessed the secret of weaving the most beautiful
fabric that eyes had ever seen. They pretended also that, although the
rich colours and designs were as beautiful as the material, yet the latter had
a wonderful power of becoming invisible, even when made into clothes, to:
everybody who was either unsuitable for his position or very stupid.

“To have clothes of such a material as that would just suit me,” thought
the emperor. “If I wore them I should soon find out which men in my
empire were suited to the positions they filled, and distinguish between the
clever and the stupid. Yes, I must have some of that stuff woven for
myself.” So he gave an order to the weavers, with a large sum of money
in advance, so that they might begin their work immediately.

The impostors set up two weaving looms, and pretended to be at work,
but there was nothing on the looms at all, Then they asked for the finest
and the costliest thread of gold and silk, all of which they stowed away
safely in a bag, and then worked the empty looms all night.

“T should like to know how the weaving gets on,” thought the emperor ;
but he was greatly troubled with a fear that if Ze could not see this wonder-
ful stuff on the looms, his subjects would think he was stupid, or not fit for
his position.

But at last he decided that he could have no cause to fear, yet he would
send some one else to look at the looms first, and see how the weaving was
progressing,

Io
146 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.





Everyone in the whole city knew what a very strange power the fabric
had, and were longing to find out how many would be found unfit for their
position, or how the stupidity of their neighbours might be discovered.

“T will send my high-principled old minister to the weavers,” thought the
emperor; “he will be quite able to discover how the weaving progresses,

















































































-TEE MINISTER VISITING THE WEAVERS.

for he is a sensible man and more fitted for such an office than any one
else.”

So the good old minister went to the hall where the impostors were work-
ing at their bare looms. “Heaven defend us!” he thought, as he gazed

at the looms with wide open eyes; “why I cannot see anything at all;”
but he did not utter his thoughts aloud.




THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES, 147

ea



The two rogties were very polite; they asked him to step nearer, and
inquired whether he did not think the pattern very pretty and the colours
brilliant.

The poor old gentleman went forward with eyes open still wider than
ever, but he could see nothing, for there was nothing to see.

“Good gracious!” he said to himself, “am I becoming stupid or unfit
for my position? I never should have believed it; at the same time I
cannot understand why I can see nothing on the weavers’ looms.”

“Now, what do you think of our work?” asked the two weavers.

“Oh, it is beautiful, lovely,” said the bewildered old gentleman, looking
through his spectacles. “ What a magnificent design, and what gorgeous
colouring. Yes, I shall tell the emperor I approve of all I have seen very
much.”

“We are charmed to hear this,” they said, as they pointed out the beauty
of the pattern and the colours.

The old minister listened attentively, that he might be able to explain it
all to the emperor in the same words, which he did very correctly.

After this the impostors applied for more money in advance and more
gold and silken thread, which they readily obtained, and also stowed away
in the same bag. Then they continued their pretended work at the looms,
but not a single thread was used.

The emperor soon after sent another statesman to see how the weaving
was going on, and to inquire whether the stuff would soon be ready. But
it was exactly the same with him as with the first. He almost made himself
half blind with looking; but as there was nothing on the looms, he could
see nothing.

“T am not stupid,” said the man to himself; ‘I suppose, therefore, I am
not fitted for my situation. That, however, is a ridiculous idea, but I must
not say a word about it to anyone.” So he praised the tissue he could not
see, and told the weavers how greatly he admired the design and the colours.
“It is really lovely,” he said to the emperor.

Everyone in the city now talked about the beautiful fabric, and then the
emperor expressed a wish to see for himself what this wonderful stuff was
like, while still on the loom. He took a number of gentlemen with him,
among whom were the two honest statesmen who had been there already.

The emperor approached the looms at which the two artful impostors
were working with all their might, although there was not a single thread on
the looms.

“Ts it not magnificent ?” exclaimed the two honest statesmen who already
knew all about it. “Will your majesty come a little nearer, and examine
the pattern and the bright colours?” The looms appeared empty and
bare when they pointed to them, but they believed that every one but them-
selves would see the material plainly.

_ How is this?” said the emperor to himself. ‘I can see nothing ; this
: ay dreadful. Am I stupid? Am I, as emperor, unfit for my position ?
would be the most dreadful thing if that could happen to me. Oh, really,

18 very beautiful,” he said, aloud ; “it merits my highest approval in every

1o*
148 HANS ANDERSENS FAIRY TALES,



nT

way ;’ and he nodded as if quite satisfied at the bare looms, for he would
not own that he saw nothing.

All, however, who accompanied the emperor saw no more than he did,
yet they agreed with him, when he said again, “Yes, it is very beautiful,”
and advised him to have some new clothes made of this magnificent fabric,
to wear at the first grand procession. “ How delightful! how charming!
excellent!” sounded from mouth to mouth, and every one seemed con.
tented, especially when the emperor, decreed that the two weavers should
in future bear the title of “ Court Weavers.”

The impostors were up the whole night before the day of the grand pro-
cession, and had more than twenty lights burning, so that people could see
that they were busily at work on the emperor’s new clothes.

They moved their hands as if they were taking the cloth from the loom;
they cut with their great scissors in the air, and sewed with needles that held
no thread, and said, at last, “See, now, the clothes are quite ready.”

By-and-by the emperor-himself arrived with the greatest of his noblemen,
and both impostors raised one arm, just as if they were holding something
up and said, “ Here are the trousers, there is the coat, and here the cloak,”
and so forth; “all as light as a spider’s web, so that anyone who wears
them might believe he had nothing on, but that is one beauty of the
clothes we prepare.”

“Ves.” they all exclaimed; yet they could see nothing, for there was
nothing to be seen.

“Tf your imperial majesty will now please to take off the old clothes,”
said the impostors, “we will then dress you in the new ones here, before
this large looking-glass.”

The emperor took off his clothes, and the impostors pretended to help
him in putting on one article after another of the new clothes, while he
twisted and turned himself about before the looking-glass.

“Oh, how becoming they are! how beautifully they fit!” was the general
remark; “and the patterns and colours are wonderful; it is truly an im-
perial dress.”

The master of the ceremonies then appeared and said, “The canopy
ve is to be carried over your imperial majesty in the procession is quite
ready.”

“Well, I am ready also,” said the emperor. “Does not everything fit
me well!” And he turned himself about once more before the looking-
glass as he spoke, for he wished it to appear that he was admiring himself
in his pretty finery.

The pages who were to carry the train stooped and pretended to lit
something from the ground, as if they were raising the train, and then fol-
lowed the emperor, for they also were unwilling for it to be known that they
could see nothing,

And thus the emperor walked in the procession under the magnificent
canopy, and all the people in the streets and at the windows said,

“Dear heaven! what splendid clothes the emperor has on, and how well
they fit! and is not the train magnificent !”
THE LAST PEARL, 149



No one dared to make the remark that they saw nothing, for whoever
should do so would be at once considered stupid or unfit for his office,
None of the emperor’s new clothes had ever been so successful as these.

“But the emperor has no clothes on!” said a little child at last.

“Good heavens !” exclaimed the father, “listen to the voice of that little
innocent child.” And as the words were whispered from one to another,
the people at once cried out,

“Well, it is true;. he Aas no clothes on }”

And the emperor heard it, and was terribly puzzled, for it appeared to
him they were right ; but he said to himself, “Now that I have begun the
procession, I must go on to the end.” So the pages still pretended to carry
the emperor’s train, although they knew it really did not exist.



THE LAST PEARL.

We are in a rich, happy house, where the master, the servants, the friends
of the family are full of joy and felicity. For on this day a son and heir
has been born, and mother and child are doing well. The lamp in the bed-
chamber had been partly shaded, and the windows were covered with heavy
curtains of some costly silken material. The carpet was thick and soft,
like a covering of moss. Everything invited to slumber, everything had a
charming look of repose; and so the nurse had discovered, for she slept ;
and well she might sleep, while everything around her told of happiness
and blessing. The guardian angel of the house leaned against the head of
the bed; while over the child was spread as it were, a net of shining stars,
and each star was a pearl of happiness. All the good stars of life had
brought their gifts to the newly-born ; here sparkled health, wealth, fortune,
and love; in short, there seemed to be everything for which man could wish
on earth,

“Everything has been bestowed here,” said the guardian angel.

“No, not everything,” said a voice near him—the voice of the good
angel of the child; “one fairy has not yet brought her gift, but she will,
even if years should elapse, she will bring her gift; it is the last pearl that
Is wanting,”

“ Wanting !” cried the guardian angel; “nothing must be wanting here:
ae it is so, let us fetch it; let us seek the powerful fairy; let us go to

er

“She will come, she will come some day unsought !”

“Her pearl must not be missing; it must be there, that the crown, when
worn may be complete. Where is she to be found? where does she dwell?”
said the guardian angel. “Tell me and I will procure the pearl.”

Will you do that ?” replied the good angel of the child. “Then I
will lead you to her directly, wherever she may be. She has no abiding
place. She rules in the palace of the emperor, sometimes she enters the
150 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.





peasant’s humble cot; she passes no one without leaving a trace of her
presence. She brings her gift with her, whether it is a world or a bauble.
To this child she must come. You think that to wait for this time would
be long and useless. Well, then, let us go for this pearl—the only one lack-
ing amidst all this wealth.”

Then hand-in-hand they floated away to the spot where the fairy was now
lingering. It was ina large house with dark windows and empty rooms,
in which a peculiar stillness reigned. A whole row of windows stood open,
‘so that the rude wind could enter at its pleasure, and the long white cur.
tains waved to and fro in the current of air. In the centre of one of the
rooms stood an open coffin, in which lay the body of a woman, still in the
bloom of youth, and very beautiful. Fresh roses were scattered over her.

The delicate folded hands and the noble face glorified in death by the
solemn, earnest look, which spoke of an entrance inte a better world, were
alone visible. Around the coffin stood the husband and children, a whole
troop, the youngest in the father’s arms. They were come to take a last
Jarewell look of their mother. The husband kissed her hand, which now
lay like a withered leaf, but which a short time before had been diligently
employed in deeds of love for them all. Tears of sorrow rolled down their
cheeks, and fell in heavy drops on the floor, but not a word was spoken.
The silence which reigned here expressed a world of grief. With silent
steps, still sobbing, they left the room. A burning light remained in the
room, and a long, red wick rose far above the flame, which fluttered in the
draught of air. Strange men came in and placed the lid of the coffin over
the dead, and drove the nails firmly in; while the blows of the hammer
resounded through the house, and echoed in the hearts that were bleeding.

“Whither art thou leading me?” asked the guardian angel. “Here
dwells no fairy whose pearl could be counted amongst th: best gifts of
life.”

“Ves, she is here ; here in this sacred hour,” replied the angel, pointing
to a comer of the room; and there,—where in her life-time, the mother
had taken her seat amidst flowers and pictures; in that spot, where she,
like the blessed fairy of the house, had welcomed husband, children, and
friends, and, like a sunbeam, had spread joy and cheerfulness around her,
the centre and heart of them all,—there, in that very spot, sat a strange
woman, clothed in long, flowing garments, and occupying the place of the
dead wife and mother. It was the fairy, and her name was “Sorrow.” A
hot tear rolled into her lap, and formed itself into a pearl, glowing with all
the colours of the rainbow. The angel seized it: the pearl glittered like a
star with seven-fold radiance. ‘The pearl of Sorrow, the last, which must
not be wanting, increases the lustre, and explains the meaning of all the
other pearls. :

“Do you see the shimmer of the rainbow, which unites earth to
heaven?” So has there been a bridge built between this world and the
next. Through the night of the grave we gaze upwards beyond the stars
to the end of all things. Then we glance at the pearl of Sorrow, in which
are concealed the wings which shall carry us away to eternal happiness.






ae Lat fi

















SS x THE TINDER-BOX.

SSA

A SOLDIER came marching along
, the high road :—“ Left, right—left,
PES right.” He had his knapsack on his
p(X back, and a sword at his side ; he had
i S\ been to the wars, and was now retur-
st \2\ ing home.
ée| As he walked on, he met a very
say frightful-looking old witch in the road.
Si i J Her underlip hung quite down on
Se her breast, and she stopped and said,

: ee “Good evening, soldier; you have a
Oe



fg







; d 1 k k
Ven, Very fme sword, and a large knapsack,
wiiscaand you are a real soldier; so you

YS “<=> shall have as much money as ever you
“Tike.”
Thank you, old witch,” said the soldier.
Do you see that large tree?” said the witch, pointing to a tree which







We oo
rt UL 0 EE



152 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



stood beside them. “Well, it is quite hollow inside, and you must climb
to the top, when you will see a hole, through which you can let yourself
down into the tree to a great depth. I will tie a rope round your body, so
that I can pull you up again when you call out to me.”

“But what am I to do, down there in the tree P” asked the soldier.

“Get money,” she replied; “for you must know that when you reach the
ground under the tree, you will find yourself in a large hall, lighted up by
three hundred lamps; you will then see three doors, which can be easily
opened, for the keys are in all the locks. On entering the first of the
chambers, to which these doors lead, you will see a large chest, standing in
the middle of the floor, and upon it a dog seated, with a pair of eyes as
large as teacups. But you need not be at all afraid of him; I will give
you my blue checked apron, which you must spread upon the floor, and
then boldly seize hold of the dog, and place him upon it. You can then
open the chest, and take from it as many pence as you please, they are only
copper pence ; but if you would rather have silver money, you must go into
the second chamber. Here you will find another dog, with eyes as big as
mill-wheels ; but do not let that trouble you. Place him upon my apron,
and then take what money you please. If, however, you like gold best,
enter the third chamber, where there is another chest full of it.. The dog who
sits on this chest is very dreadful; his eyes are as big as a tower, but do not
mind him, If he also is placed upon my apron, he cannot hurt you, and
you may take from the chest what gold you will.”

“This is not a bad story,” said the soldier; “but what am I to give you,
you old witch? for, of course, you do not mean to tell me all this for
nothing.”

“No,” said the witch; “but I do not ask for a single penny. Only
‘ promise to bring me an old tinder-box, which my grandmother left behind
the last time she went down there.”

“Very well; I promise. Now tie the rope round my body.”

‘Flere it is,” replied the witch ; “‘and here is my blue checked apron.”

As soon as the rope was tied, the soldier climbed up the tree, and let
himself down through the hollow to the ground beneath; and here he
. found, as the witch had told him, a large hall, in which many hundred lamps
were ali burning. Then he opened the first door. “Ah!” there sat the
dog, with the eyes as large as teacups, staring at him.

“Vou 're a pretty fellow,” said the soldier, seizing him, and placing him
on the witch’s apron, while he filled his pockets from the chest with as many
pence as they would hold. Then he closed the lid, seated the dog upon it
again, and walked into another chamber. And, sure enough, there sat the
dog, with eyes as big as mill-wheels.

“Vou had better not look at me in that way,” said the soldier; “ you will
make your eyes water ;” and then he seated him also upon the apron, and
opened the chest. But when he saw what a quantity of silver money it
contained, he very quickly threw away all the coppers he had taken, and
filled his pockets and his knapsack with nothing but silver.

Then he went into the third room, and there the dog was really hideous;
THE TINDER-BOX. 183





his eyes were, truly, as big as towers, and they turned round and round in
his head like wheels.

“Good morning,” said the soldier, touching his cap, for he had never
seen such a dog in his life. But after looking at him more closely, he thought
he had been civil enough, so he placed him on the floor and opened the
chest. Good gracious, what a quantity of gold there was! enough to buy
all the sugar-sticks of the sweet-stuff women ; all the tin-soldiers, whips, and
rocking-horses in the world, or even the whole town itself. There was, in-
deed, an immense quantity. So the soldier now threw away all the silver money
he had taken, and filled his pockets and his knapsack with gold instead; -
and not only his pockets and his knapsack, but even his cap and his boots,
so that he could scarcely walk.

He was really rich now; so he replaced the dog on the chest, closed the
door, and called up through the tree, “‘ Now pull me out, you old witch.”

. “Have you got the tinder-box?” asked the witch.

“No; I declare I quite forgot it.” So he went back and fetched the
tinder-box, and then the witch drew him up out of the tree, and he stood
again in the high road, with his pockets, his knapsack, his cap, and his
boots full of gold.

“What are you going to do with the tinder-box ?” asked the soldier.

“That is nothing to you,” replied the witch ; “ You have the money, now
give me the tinder-box.”

“T tell you what,” said the soldier, ‘if you don’t tell me what you are
going to do with it, I will draw my sword and cut off your head.”

“No,” said the witch.

The soldier immediately cut off her head, and there she lay on the ground.
Then he tied up all his money in her apron, and slung it on his back like a
bundle, put the tinder-box in his pocket, and walked off to the nearest town.
It was a very nice town, and he put up at the best inn, and ordered a dinner
of all his. favourite dishes, for now he was rich and had plenty of money.

The servant, who cleaned his boots, thought they were a shabby pair te
be worn by such arich gentleman, for he had not yet bought any new ones.
The next day, however, he procured some good clothes and proper boots,
SO that our soldier soon became known asa fine gentleman, and the people
visited him, and told him all the wonders that were to be seen in the town,
and of the king’s beautiful daughter, the princess.

“Where can I see her?” asked the soldier.

“She is not to be seen at all,” they said; “she lives in a large copper
castle, surrounded by walls and towers. No one but the king himself can
pass in or out, for there has been a prophecy that she will marry a common
soldier, and the king cannot bear to think of such a marriage.”

“TI should very much like to see her,” thought the soldier; but he could
not obtain permission to do so. However, he passed a very pleasant time;
went to the theatre, drove in the king’s garden, and gave a great deal of
money to the poor, which was very good of him; he remembered what it
had been in olden times to be without a shilling. Now he was rich, had
fne clothes. and many friends, who all declared he was a fine fellow and
154 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



areal gentleman, and all this gratified him exceedingly. But his money
would not last for ever ; and as he spent and gave away a great deal daily,
and received none, he found himself at last with only two shillings left. So
he was obliged to leave his elegant rooms, and live in a little garret under
the roof, where he had to clean his own boots, and even mend them with a
large needle. None of his friends came to see him, there were too many
stairs to mount up. One dark evening, he had not even a penny to buy a
candle ; then all at once he remembered that there was a piece of candle
stuck in the tinder-box, which he had brought from the old tree, into which
the witch had helped him.

He found the tinder-box, but no sooner had he struck a few sparks from
the flint and steel, than the door flew open, and the dog with eyes as big as
teacups, whom he had seen while down in the tree, stood before him, and
said, “‘ What orders, master?”

“ Hallo,” said the soldier; “ well this is a pleasant tinder-box, if it brings
me all I wish for.”

“ Bring me some money,” sald he to the dog.

He was gone in a moment, and presently returned, carrying a large bag
of coppers in his mouth. The soldier very soon discovered after this the
value of the tinder-box. If he struck the flint once, the dog who sat on
the chest of copper money made his appearance ; if twice, the dog came
from the chest of silver; and if three times, the dog with eyes like towers,
who watched over the gold. The soldier had now plenty of money; he
returned to his elegant rooms, and reappeared in his fine clothes, so that
his friends knew him again directly, and made as much of him as before.

After a while he began to think it was very strange that no one could get
a look at the princess. ‘ Every one says she is very beautiful,” he thought
to himself; “ but what is the use of that if she is to be shut up in a copper
castle surrounded by so many towers. Can I by any means get to see her?
Stop! where is my tinder-box?” Then he struck a light, and in a moment
the dog, with eyes as big as teacups, stood before him.

“Tt is midnight,” said the soldier, “yet I should very much like to see
the princess, if only for a moment.”

The dog disappeared instantly, and before the soldier could even look
round, he returned with the princess. She was lying on the dog’s back
asleep, and looked. so lovely, that every one who saw her would know she
was a real princess. The soldier could not help kissing her, true soldier as
he was, Then the dog ran back with the princess; but in the morning,
while at breakfast with the king and queen, she told them what a singular
dream she had had during the night, of a dog and a soldier, that she had
ridden on the dog’s back, and been kissed by the soldier.

“ That is a very pretty story, indeed,” said the queen. So the next night
one of the old ladies of the court was set to watch by the princess’s bed, to
discover whether it really was a dream, or what else it might be.

“The soldier longed very much to see the princess once more, so he sent
for the dog again in the night to fetch her, and to run with her as fast as
ever he could. But the old lady put on water-boots, and ran after him as
THE TINDER-BOX. 155



quickly as he did, and found that he carried the princess into a large
house. She thought it would help her to remember the place if she made
a large cross on the door with a piece of chalk. Then she went home to
bed, and the dog presently returned with the princess. But when he saw
that a cross had been made on the door of the house where the soldier lived,
he took another piece of chalk and made crosses on all the doors in the town,
so that the lady-in-waiting might not be able to find out the right door.

Early the next morning the king and queen accompanied the lady and all
the officers of the household, to see where the princess had been.

“Here it is,” said the king, when they came to the first door with a cross
on it

“No, my dear husband, it must be that one,” said the queen, pointing to
a second door having a cross also.

“And here is one, and there is another!” they all exclaimed; for there
were crosses on all the doors in every direction.

So they felt it would be useless to search any farther. But the queen
was a very clever woman; she could do a great deal more than merely ride
inacarriage. She took her large gold scissors, cut a piece of silk into
squares, and made a neat little bag. This bag she filled with buckwheat
flour, and tied it round the princess’s neck ; and then she cut a small hole
in the bag, so that the flour might be scattered on the ground as the princess
went along. During the night, the dog came again and carried the princess
on his back, and ran with her to the soldier, who loved her very much, and
wished that he had been a prince, so that he might have her for a wife.
The dog did not observe how the flour ran out of the bag all the way from
the castle wall to the soldier’s house, and even up to the window, where he
had climbed with the princess. Therefore in the morning the king and
queen found out where their daughter had been, and the soldier was taken
up and put in prison. Oh, how dark and disagreeable it was as he sat there,
and the people said to him, “To-morrow you will be hanged.” It was not
very pleasant news, and besides, he had left the tinder-box at the inn. In
the moring he could see through the iron grating of the little window
how the people were hastening out of the town to see him hanged; he
heard the drums beating and saw the soldiers marching. Every one ran
out to look at them, and a shoemaker’s boy, with a leather apron and
slippers on, galloped by so fast that one of his slippers flew off and struck
against the wall where the soldier sat looking through the iron grating.
“ Hallo, you shoemaker’s boy, you need not be in such a hurry,” cried the
soldier to him, “ there will be nothing to see till I come; but if you will run
to the house where I have been living, and bring me my tinder-box, you shall
have four shillings, but you must pat your best foot foremost.”

The shoemaker’s boy liked the idea of getting the four shillings, so he
ran very fast and fetched the tinder-box, and gave it to the soldier. And
now we shall see what happened. Outside the town a large gibbet had been
erected, round which stood the soldiers and several thousands of people.
The king and the queen sat on splendid thrones opposite to the judges and
the whole council. The soldier already stood on the ladder ; but as they were
156 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES,



etd

about to place the rope round his neck, he said that an innocent request
was often granted to a poor criminal before he suffered death. He wished
very much to smoke a pipe, as it would be the last pipe he should ever
smoke in the world. The king could not refuse this request, so the soldier
took his tinder-box, and struck fire, once, twice, thrice,—and there in a
moment stood all the dogs ;—the one with eyes as big as teacups, the one
with eyes as large as mill-wheels, and the third, whose eyes were like
towers. “Help me now, that I may not be hanged,” cried the soldier.

And the dogs fell upon the judges and all the councillors ; seized one by
the legs, and another by the nose, and tossed them many feet high in the
air, so that they fell down and were dashed to pieces.

“J will not be touched,” said the king. But the Jargest dog seized him,
as well as the queen, and threw them after the others. Then the soldiers
and all the people were afraid, and cried, “Good soldier, you shall be our
king, and you shall marry the beautiful princess.”

So they placed the soldier in the king’s carriage, and the three dogs ran
on in front and cried “ Hurrah!” and the little boys whistled through their
fingers, and the soldiers presented arms. The princess came out of the
copper castle, and became queen, which was very pleasing to her. The
wedding festivities lasted a whole week, and the dogs sat at the table, and
stared with all their eyes.

THE RED SHOES.



THERE was once a little girl who was very pretty and delicate; but in
summer she used to go barefooted, because she was poor; in winter she
wore large wooden shoes, and her little insteps became quite red.

In the village lived an old shoemaker’s wife, who had some old strips of
red cloth; and she sewed these together, as well as she could, into a little
pair of shoes. They were rather clumsy ; but the intention was kind, for
the little girl was to have them, and her name was Karen. She received
these shoes on the very day on which her mother was buried, and she wore
them for the first time. They were certainly not suitable for mourning, but
she had no others; so she put them on her bare feet, and walked behind
the poor deal coffin.

There came by a large old-fashioned carriage, in which sat an old lady.
She looked at the little girl, and felt pity for her; so she said to the clergy-
man, “ Pray give me that little girl, and I will adopt her.”
THE RED SHOES. 157



Karen thought all this happened because of her red shoes; but the old
lady considered them horrible, and so they were burnt. But Karen herself
was dressed in neat, tidy clothes, and taught to read and to sew, and people
said she was pretty; but the looking-glass said, ‘‘ You are more than pretty ;
you are beautiful.”

Not long after, a queen travelled through the country with her little
daughter, who was a princess, and crowds flocked to the castle to see them.
Karen was amongst them, and she saw the little princess in a white dress,
standing at a window, to allow every one to gaze upon her. She had
neither train nor golden crown on her head; but she wore a beautiful pair
of red morocco shoes, which certainly were rather handsomer than those
that the old shoemaker’s wife had made for little Karen. Surely nothing in
the world could be compared with those red shoes.

The time arrived for Karen to be confirmed. New clothes were made
for her, and she was to have, also, a pair of new shoes, A rich shoemaker
in the town took the measure of her little foot at his own house, in a room
where stood large glass cases full of elegant shoes and shining boots. They
looked beautiful ; but the old lady could not see very well, so she had not
much pleasure in looking at them. Among the shoes stood a pair of red
ones, just like those which the princess had worn. Oh, how pretty they
were! The shoemaker said they had been made for a count’s child, but
they had not fitted her properly.

“ Are they of polished leather?” said the old lady; “ for they shine as if
they were.” .

“Ves, they do shine,” said Karen; and as they fitted her they were
bought; but the old lady did not know they were red, or she would never
have allowed Karen to go to confirmation in red shoes, which, however,
she did. Every one looked at her feet; and as she passed through the
church, to the entrance of the choir, it seemed as if the old pictures on the
tombs, and the portraits of clergymen and their wives, with their stiff
collars and long black dresses, were all fixing their eyes on her red shoes;
and she thought of them only, even when the clergyman laid his hands on
her head, and spoke of her baptism, and of her covenant with God, and
that now she must remember that she must act as a grown-up Christian.
And the organ pealed forth its solemn tones, and the fresh, young voices of
the children sounded sweetly as they joined with the choir; but Karen
thought only of her red shoes.

In the afternoon the old lady was told by every one chat the shoes were
red; and she said it was very shocking, and not at all proper, and told Karen
that, when she went to church in future, she must always wear black shoes,
even though they might be old.

Next Sunday was Sacrament Sunday, and Karen was to receive it for the
first time. She looked at her black shoes, and then at the red ones ; then
looked again, and put on the red ones. The sun shone brightly, and
Karen and the old lady went to church by the footpath through the fields ;
for the road was so dusty.

Near the church door stood an old invalid soldier, with a crutch and a
158 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



wonderfully long beard, more red than white. He bowed nearly to the
ground, and asked the old lady if he might wipe her shoes. And Karen
stretched out her little foot also.

“Why, these are dancing shoes,” cried the soldier. “I will make them
stick fast to your feet when you dance.” And then he slapped the soles of
her shoes with his hand. ;

The old lady gave the soldier some money, and then went into church
with Karen. Every one in the church looked at Karen’s red shoes, and the
pictures looked at them; and when she knelt at the altar, and took the
golden cup to her lips, she thought only of her red shoes, and it was to her
as if they passed before her eyes in the cup; and she forgot to sing the
psalm, or to say the Lord’s Prayer. Then all the people went out of church,
and the old lady stepped into her carriage. Karen lifted her foot to step
in also, and the old soldier cried, “See what beautiful dancing shoes.”

And then Karen found she could not help dancing a few steps; and
when she began, it seemed as if her legs would go on dancing. It was just
as if the shoes had a power over her. She danced round the corner of the
church, and could not stop herself. The coachman was obliged to run after
her, and catch her, and then lift her into the carriage, and even then her
feet would go on dancing, so that she kept treading on the good old lady’s
toes. At last she took off the shoes, and then her legs had a little rest.
As soon as they reached home, the shoes were put away in a closet ; but
Karen could not resist looking at them.

Soon after this the old lady was taken ill, and it was said that she could
not recover. She had to be waited upon and nursed, and no one ought to
have been so anxious to do this as Karen. But there was to be a grand
ball in the town, to which Karen was invited. She thought of the old lady,
who could not recover; she looked at her red shoes, and then she reflected
that there could be no harm in her putting them on, nor was there ; but her
next act was to go to the ball, and to join in the dancing. But the shoes
would not let her do as she wished : when she wanted to go to the right,
they would dance to the left ; or if she wished to go up the floor, they per-
sisted in going down; and at last they danced down the stairs, into the
street, and out of the town gate. She danced on in spite of herself, till she
came toa gloomy wood. Something was shining up among the trees, At
first she thought it was the moon, and then she saw a face. It was the old
soldier, with his red beard ; and he sat and nodded to her, and said, “See
what pretty dancing shoes they are.”

Then she was frightened, and tried to pull off the red shoes; but they
clung fast. She tore off her stockings ; but the shoes seemed to have grown.
to her feet. And she was obliged to continue dancing over fields and mea-
dows, in rain or in sunshine, by night or by day; but it was most terrible at
night. She danced through the open churchyard; the dead there do not
dance, they are better employed. She would gladly have seated herself
on the poor man’s grave, where the bitter fern-leaves grew; but for her there
was neither rest nor peace. And then, as she danced towards the open.
church door, she saw before her an angel, in long white robes, and wings
THE RED SHOES. 169
that reached from his shoulders down to the ground. His countenance was
grave and stern, and in his hand he held a bright and glittering sword.

‘ Thou shalt dance,” said he, “dance in thy red shoes till thou art pale
and cold, and till thy skin shrivels up toa skeleton. Thou shalt dance from
door to door ; and where proud, haughty children live thou shalt knock, so
that they may hear thee, and be afraid; yea, thou shalt dance.”

“Mercy!” cried Karen; but she heard not what the angel answered ; for
her shoes carried her away from the door, into the fields, over highways and
byways; but dancing, dancing ever.

One morning she danced by a door which she knew well. She could hear
sounds of singing within, and a coffin, decked with flowers, was presently
carried out. Then she knew that the old lady was dead, and she felt that
she was forsaken by all the world, and condemned by an angel from heaven.
Still must she dance through the long days, and the dark, gloomy nights.
The shoes carried her on through brambles, and over stumps of trees, which
scratched her till the blood came. Then she danced across a heath to a
little lonely house. Here, she knew, the executioner dwelt ; and she tapped
with her fingers on the window-pane, and said, ‘Come out, come out; I
cannot come in, for I must dance.” :

And the executioner said, “ Do you not know who IJ am? I cut off the
heads of wicked people, and I perceive now that my axe tingles through my
fingers.”

“Do not strike off my head,” said Karen, “fer then I shall not be able
to repent of my sin; but cut off my feet with the red shoes.” And then
she confessed all her sins, and the executioner cut off her feet with the red
shoes on’ them, and the shoes, with the little feet in them, danced away
over the fields, and were lost in the dark wood. And he cut out a pair of
wooden feet for her, and gave her crutches; then he taught her a psalm,
which the penitents always sing, and she kissed the hand that had held the
axe, and went away across the heath. “Now I have suffered enough for
the red shoes,” said she; “I will go to church, that I may be seen there
by the people ;” and she went as quickly as she could to the church door,
but when she arrived there, the red shoes danced before her eyes so, that
she was frightened, and turned back. Through the whole week she was in
sorrow, and wept many bitter tears; but when Sunday came again, she
said, “ Now I have suffered and striven enough ; 1 believe I am quite as
good as many of those who go to church, and sit there showing their airs.”
And then she went boldly on, but she did not get further than the church-
yard gate, for there were the red shoes dancing before her. Then she was
really frightened, and went back, and repented of her sinful pride with her
whole heart. Then she went to the parsonage and begged to be taken
there as a servant, promising to be industrious, and do all that she could,
even without wages. All she wanted was the shelter of a home, and to be
with good people. ‘The clergyman’s wife had pity on her, and took her
Into her service ; and she was industrious and thoughtful. Silently she sat
and listened when the clergyman read the Bible aloud in the evening. All
the little ones became very fond of her, but when they spoke of dress, or


160 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



finery, or beauty, she would shake her head. Next Sunday they all went
to church, and they asked her if she would like to go with them ; but she
looked sorrowfully and with tearful eyes at her crutches. And while the
others went to listen to God’s word, she sat alone in her little room, which
was only just large enough to contain a bed and achair. And here she
remained with ‘her hymn-book in her hand, and as she read in a humble
spirit, the wind wafted the tones of the organ from the church towards her,
and she lifted her tearful face, and said, “O Lord, help me.” Then the
sun shone brightly, and before her stood the angel, in the long white robes,
the same whom she had seen one night at the church door, but he no
longer held in his hand a sharp sword, but a beautiful green branch
covered with roses, and as he touched the ceiling with the branch, it raised
itselfto a lofty height, and on the spot where it had been touched, gleamed
a golden star. He also touched the walls, and they opened wide, so that
she could see the organ whose tones sounded so melodious. She saw, too,
the old pictures of the clergymen and their wives, and the congregation
sitting on the ornamental seats, and singing out of their hymn-books. The
church itself had come to the poor girl in her narrow room, or the room
had become a church to her. She found herself sitting on a seat with the
rest of the clergyman’s servants, and when they had finished the psalm,
tiey looked at her and nodded, and said, “It was right of you to come,

“Tt was through mercy I came,” said she. And then the organ pealed
forth again, and the children’s voices sounded so soft and sweet. The
bright sunshine streamed through the window, and fell clear and warm upon
the chair on which Karen sat. Her heart became so filled with sunshine,
peace, and joy, that it broke, and her soul flew on a sunbeam to heaven,
and there was no one in heaven who asked about the RED SHOES.




The golden treasure. — wo 1,




THE DRUMMER BOY ON THE BATTLE FIELD,

THE GOLDEN TREASURE.

THE wife of the town drummer went to a church one day, in which there
was a new altar piece, and over the altar was an oil painting, and before it
a sculptured figure of a litile angel.

_What a chubby-cheeked angel it was! both in the picture on the canvas
with the aureole round the head, and also in the carved wood, which was
also painted and gilded.

The hair glittered like pure gold in the sunshine, wonderful to see. God’s
sunshine itself is really not much more beautiful when it shimmers clearly
a a purple and golden light between the dark trees, when the sun is
setting.

How delightful then must be the light of God’s countenance !

Ir
162 AANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



And as the drummer's wife contemplated all this she wished in her heart
that if she should ever have a child, it might be like that little angel, at
least with the radiant golden hair of the little angel on the altar piece.

And by-and-by she really had a little child, and the father held it in his
arms to show it to her. It was exactly like the angel in the church. The
hair was golden, with the glittering brightness of sunshine, when the sun is
setting.

*t My golden treasure! my riches! my sunny heaven!” cried she, and
kissed the shining locks, and there was the sound of music and song in the
home of the drummer, as well as life, joy, and great excitement.

The drummer beat a whirligig on his drum—a joyful whirligig, and all
the drums, little and big, joined in the turmoil.

“Red Hair!”-—-The little one has red hair! “Believe the beat of the
alarm drum, not what the mother says:” Drum-a-tum-tum—dram-a-tum-
tum. :

And so all the townspeople believed what the alarm drum had said,

The little one was taken to the church to be baptized, but as no name
had been chosen for him they called him “Peter.” The whole of the
townspeople, except the drummer, called him “ Peter, the drummer's boy -
with the red hair.” The mother, however, kissed the red hair, and called
him her “ Golden Treasure.”

For the whole distance down the slope to the town the soil was clay and
often very soft, and in that neighbourhood, the child’s name was not likely
to be forgotten, the father took care of that.

“To be well known is always something,” said the drummer, so he
wrote his own and his son’s name in the clay soil.

And the swallows arrived after a long journey. They had, however, hewn
out an account of what they had seen, on the steep rocks, and on the walls
of heathen temples, in Hindoostan, and also of the great deeds of mighty
kings. Immortal names of so long ago that no one can read or speak of
them any more.

“One name is something. To have many names has its importance,”
thought the drummer, but down in the hollow where he had written the
_ names, the ground swallows had made holes for their nests. The rain and

the mists had softened the ground and turned it into mud and slime, and
so the names of the drummer and his son had soon disappeared.

“ Peter’s name will no doubt remain for the next half-year,” said his
father.

“Folly,” thought the alarm drum, but he only said Dum-dum-dum-
alum.

The drummer's son was a lively frolicsome youngster, and he had a
wonderful voice. He could sing so well, that people who heard him sing-

. ing in the open air said it sounded like the music of birds in the grove.

There was melody in the voice, but it wanted cultivation.

“He must be a chorister,” said his mother, “and sing in church,
and when he stands under the lovely gilded angel you will see the like
ness.”
THE GOLDEN TREASURE, 163

“What's going on?” said the curious among the townspeople. The
drum heard this from the neighbours.

“ Don’t go home, Peter,” cried the street boys, for if you sleep under that
roof a fire will break out in the upper story, and then the alarm drum will
beat.

“Take care of yourselves, or the drum-stick will beat you,” said Peter,
who although he was little was no coward, and he stood and faced the boys
quite alone, as he spoke.

Many of them lost their courage at the sight of his fists, while the others
hastily took to their heels.

The town musician approached. Oh, just fancy! such a noble and well-
born man! His father had been silversmith to the king!

He pounced upon Peter, took him to his house and kept him for a whole
hour, gave him a violin, and showed him how it was played.

When he placed it in the little boy’s fingers, he who once wished to be a
drummer, now only wanted to become a musician.

“J mean to be a soldier,” Peter had said when he was a little boy, for he
thought nothing in the world could be more beautiful than to carry a gun,
and to wear uniform and have a sword by his side, and then to march in
time—one, two—one, two. .

“You will have to learn to obey the drumbeats,” said the drum, “tromme-_
lom, trommelom.”

“Yes, till he is promoted to be general,” said the father, “but for that a
war is necessary.

“Which may God prevent,” said the mother.

“We have nothing to lose,” said the father.

“ Tlave we not our son?” she replied.

“ And supposing he should come back a general,” said the father.

“Ah, yes, without an arm or a leg,” cried the mother, “and I would
rather keep my golden treasure at home, with sound limbs.”

Trom, trom, trom! the alarm drum sounded, all the drums were beat-
ing the call to battle; war was declared. ‘The soldiers started for the field
and the drummer’s little son followed them.

_ “Red-head! my golden treasure!” sighed the mother, while the father’s
imagination saw him already gloriously distinguished.

“Ah,” thought the town musician, he will not remain long at the
seat of war, for already he appears as if he would rather stay and listen to
the town music.”

“ Red-head,” cried a soldier, but Peter laughed and quickly paid him
back by exclaiming, saucily, “Foxy,” then grinding his teeth together and
showing them, he ran off and was out of sight, almost as soon as the saucy
word was out of his mouth.

“The boy is very bright and full of drollery, and a light heart is better
than any canteen in the battle field,” said his comrade.

And it was quite true, for in rain or mist, and though wet through to
the skin, he would persist in sleeping in the open air all night, but his
happy temper he never lost. And when the drum beat to call to arms,

i1*
164 HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.



“trommelom, trommelom,” you would have declared he was born to be
a drummer boy. .

The day on which the first fight in the battle field occurred, dawned, but
the morning was grey, the air close, and the combat fierce. A mist lay
over the battle field, and worse still the powder became damp, yet the shot
and shells flew about over head, and were falling in every direction, maim-
ing some and killing others, yet onward the soldiers marched, while here and
there lay the wounded or dying, with faces deathly white. But the little
drummer kept his rosy cheeks and met with no harm. He even whistled
gaily to the dog of the regiment, who sprang upon him joyfully, wagged
his tail, as if it was a splendid game, while the shots were falling around
them in every direction.

“March } forward ! march,” were the words of command from the drum,
and these words did zo¢ imply a retreat, yet by some misunderstanding, the
soldiers took the words to mean a retreat and were about to fly, when the
drum beat again louder and correctly, “‘March forward, march!” Peter
had understood and gave the right signal on the drum, which the soldiers
then obeyed. ,

This was a glorious drum beating, for it prevented the soldiers from
turing back, and won victory to the army.

Alas! many lives and limbs were lost on that terrible battle field, and for
hours the wounded were obliged to lie without pity or aid, till the
surgeons arrived, and then with many it was too late, yet death had released
them from their sufferings.

These things are dreadful to think of, yet people will think of them even
at a distance, or in the friendly town. No wonder, therefore, that the
drummer and his wife should think about these honours, for still Peter was
in the battle field.

“ Now I am full of sorrow,” cried the alarm drum.

Another battle was expected at sunrise the next day, and the town
druramer and his wife lay awake all night thinking of their son, of whom
they had been talking, and who was still in the battle field, yet, as they
knew, in God’s hands,

As morning dawned, however, they at last fell asleep and dreamed.

The father dreamt that the war was ended, and that the soldiers who had
been healed of their wounds were entering the town, and that Peter, who
was with them, wore a silver cross on his breast.

But the mother dreamed that she went into the church and was looking
eamestly at the oil painting and the carved angel with the golden hau,
when presently she saw her own heart’s darling standing under the angel.
There he stood in a white surplice, singing beautifully with the angel, and
then suddenly nodding to his mother with a jloving smile, he flew away to
heaven.

“My gold treasure!” cried the mother as she woke from her dream;
“ God has now called him to Himself,” and she folded her hands and wept
as she spoke. “Is he resting now among a number in one large grave?
which has been dug for the dead, very likely in slimy soil. No one will
LZHE GOLDEN TREASURE, 165





know his grave. No words of God’s book will be read upon his tomb-
stone.”

At last the words of the Lord’s prayer fell silently from her lips; then
she rested her head on the pillow in her sorrow, and a light slumber took
her in its arms.

* * ® # #

Time flies as swiftly in our waking hours as it does in dreams.

It was the evening hour. A rainbow arched itself over the battle field.
and rested at each edge on the forest and on the deep moor.

Some people believe, and the saying has been preserved, that wherever
the edge of the rainbow rests on the ground, there lies buried a treasure a
golden treasure—and here was one in reality.

No one had thought of the little drummer boy—yes, one had—his
mother thought of him, and from this came her dream.

And time flies as swiftly in life as in dreams. “ Peter is coming home !”
Not a hair of his head had been ruffled, not a golden hair, as the drummer
and his mother could have sung had they seen it or dreamt it.

With jubilee and song, and adorned with the laurels of victory, the soldiers
returned gladly to the friendly shelter of home. The dog of the regiment
rushed round them in great circles as if he would make the way longer.

Days and weeks had passed before the arrival of the men from the war,
and at last Peter stepped suddenly into the room where his parents were
seated. He was as brown asa berry, his eyes glistened and his face beamed
like sunshine when his mother took him in her arms, kissed his eyes and his
lips and his red hair. She had her heart’s darling with her again at last.
He had no cross on his breast as his father had dreamed. He had, however,
sound limbs, which his mother had not dreamed .of, and this was a great
joy. She laughed and wept in turns, while Peter embraced the old alarm

rum, ;

“There it is still, and the old parchment is as good as ever,” he said,
while his father took up the drum and beat a rat-tan upon it.

“ People will think that a great fire has broken out,” said the alarm drum ;
“Fire in the roof! fire in the heart! Gold Treasure is come home. Rat-
tan, rat-tan, rat-tan !”

“ And now,—yes,—what now?” said the town musician, when he heare
of his return. “Peter is getting too old for a drummer boy,” he said ;
“ Peter will become as great as I am.” And yet he was the son of the
royal silversmith. But what had taken Az a whole life to acquire, Peter
learnt in half a year.

‘That there was in him something so bright and so truthful, even with his
brilliant eyes and his blazing hair, no one could deny. ‘“ Never mind the
colour of his hair,” said the neighbours, “he must have it dyed. The
daughter of the police inspector would be an excellent match for him, and
he would be sure to succeed with her.”

“But if his hair is dyed it will become as green as duckweed, and require
to be dyed again frequently,” they said.

“Well, she has plenty of means,” said the neighbours. “And so has
166 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES,



Peter,” was the reply ; “he teaches music at the principal houses, even the
mayor’s house, and gives his daughter, Lottie, an hour’s lesson on the
piano.”

And he could play,—yes, play music that went right to the heart, the
most wonderfully beautiful melodies, and often without notes.

He played in the moonlight as well as in the dark. “He is certainly
very persevering,” said the neighbours, and the alarm drum said the same,
His playing made those who listened feel as if lifted above the earth to the
music of heaven, and reminded them of that place of rest on high.

And he taught the mayor’s daughter Lottie, to play like himself. As she
sat at the piano, and her delicate fingers glided over the keys, Peter’s heart
would flutter and swell as if it were ready to burst, and this happened not
only once but many times. And one day he suddenly took the delicate
fingers and the beautifully formed hand in his own, and kissed it, and look-
ing at her with his great brown eyes said something—but what it was we
outsiders dare not guess.

Lottie stood up with a deep flush on her cheeks, and appeared speech-
less.

Strange footsteps were heard approaching, and the son of a menrber of
the council entered. He had a high, white forehead, and carried himself
very erect. Peter sat along time with them. Lottie, however, glanced at
him with very friendly eyes.

That evening, in the family circle at home, he spoke of his experience in
the world, and of the “ Golden Treasure, whose heart was in his violin.”

“Glory! fame! tummelum, tummelum, tummelumst,” beat the alarm
drum. “Peter is gone crazy, his house is on fire, I believe.”

His mother went the next day to the market, When she came back she
said, “I have news for you, Peter,—such good news, the mayor’s daughter,
Lottie, is engaged to the son of the councillor; it happened yesterday
evening.”

*Tmpossible !” cried Peter, starting from his seat; but his mother said
“Tt is true, for the barber’s wife told me, and her husband heard it from
the lips of the mayor himself.”

Then Peter became pale as death and sat down again without a word.

“Oh, heavens! what is the matter?” cried the mother.

“Nothing ! nothing! Leave me alone,” he said, while the tears rolled
down his cheeks.

“ My dearest child! my golden treasure!” said the mother, and wept:
but the alarm drum sang—not indeed truly, but only in the house—

“ Lottie is dead! Lottie is dead! see, that is the end of the song.”

But, however, it was not the end of the song, there were many long verses
remaining, and indeed the most beautiful, for the subject was, “The Golden
Treasure of a life.”

“Good gracious! how foolishly those drummer people are behaving,”
said the neighbours. “The whole town is full of letters written by the
‘Golden Treasure’ from the seat of war. Everybody is reading them, as
well as what the newspapers say about him and his fiddle. Money also has
THE GOLDEN TREASURE. 167



————a

been sent to him, which was really necessary, for Peter’s mother is now a
lonely widow.”

“fe has played before emperors and kings,” said the town musician,
“ but I was not aware of this, and yet I fancied it would be so, and he will
never forget his old teacher.”

His father’s dream came true, that Peter would return from the war with
a silver cross on his breast. He did not obtain it at the war, there it is
more difficult to keep; but they just gave him the Chevalier cross and
made him a knight.

If his father had only lived to see this !

“Celebrated! glorious!” said the alarm drum; and in nis native town
people said, “Only imagine! the drummer’s son—red-haired Peter, the
youngster who used to run about in wooden shoes.” And then the drum
beat and performed a dance tune.—“ Glorious !”

“He played before us ere he played before the king,” said the mayor's
wife; ‘he was at that time quite taken up with our Lottie; he would always
look above himself, but she was saucy and would not listen. My husband
laughed when he observed their childishness, and now Lottie is the wife of
the councillor’s son.”

It was a “golden treasure” in the heart and soul of the daring child,—
the little drummer boy, who beat on the drum, “ March! forward! march !”
a war cry of victory to those who were about to fly.

And in the breast of the “Golden Treasure” lay an inexhaustible richness
of voice and musical power.

The sound of his violin was to him quite lke the tones of an organ, to
which the fairies dance on a summer night, and one could hear in them the
notes of the thrush and the full tones of the human voice. Therefore the
melody sank deep into the human heart like a sweet refreshing shower.

Music in him was a great passion—and in this was a true inspiration,
which made his name known over land and sea.

“ And through this he is so beautiful,” said the young ladies ; and the old
voices too, yes, even the oldest, would ask for a lock of his hair, and one
and all wanted something written in their albums.

And sometimes they would accept a lock of hair that fell off, belonging
to the young violinist—a “ golden treasure,” for which they begged.

The widow’s son stepped into the humble house of the drummer, looking
as fine as a prince, and as happy as a king. His eyes sparkled and his
countenance was bright like sunshine. The mother held him in her arms,
kissed him fondly, and wept over him tears of joy.

And then he nodded to the old furniture in the room, and to the old-
fashioned bureau with the tea-cups and the flower-glass upon it; and also
to the wooden bench on which he used to sleep when he was a little boy,
to show that he remembered it all. :

But the old alarm drum he pulled out of the corner in which it stood,
and placing it in the middle of the room, he said to his mother, “ My dear
father would have beaten a tarantella on the drum to-day, and now I must
do it ;” and then he beat a rat-tan that was like a thunder storm.
168 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.

“Vou see,” he said, ‘it feels so excited that it could really jump out of
its skin.”

“He has beaten a clever rat-tan,” said the drum, “and now I shall never
forget him, and I think his mother is so joyful over her ‘golden treasure,’
that she is almost ready to jump out of her skin also.”

And this is the story of the “Golden Treasure.”



THE BUTTERFLY.

THERE was once a butterfly who wished for a bride; and, as may be sup-
posed, he wanted to choose a very pretty one from among the flowers. He
glanced, with a very critical eye, at all the flower-beds, and found that the
flowers were seated quietly and demurely on their stalks, just as maidens
should sit before they are engaged ; but there was a great number of them,
and it appeared as if his search would become very wearisome. The’butterfly
did not like to take too much trouble, so he flew off on a visit to the daisies,
The French call this flower “ Marguerite,” and they say that the little daisy
can prophesy. ‘Lovers pluck off the leaves, and as they pluck each leaf,
they ask a question about their lovers ; thus : “ Does he or she love me?—
Ardently? Distractedly? Very much? A little? Not at all?” and so
on. Every one speaks these words in his own language. The butterfly
came also to Marguerite to inquire, but he did not pluck off her leaves ; he
pressed a kiss on each of them, for he thought there was always more to be
done by kindness.

“ Darling Marguerite daisy,” he said to her, “you are the wisest woman
of all the flowers. Pray tell me which of the flowers I shall choose for my
wife. Which will be my bride? When I know, I will fly directly to her,
and propose.”

But Marguerite did not answer him ; she was offended that he should call
her a woman when she was only a girl , and there is a great difference. He
asked her a second time, and then a third; but she remained dumb, and
answered not a word. Then he would wait no longer, but flew away, to
commence his wooing at once. It was ir the early spring, when the crocus
and the snowdrop were in full bloom.

“They are very pretty,” thought the butterfly; “charming little lasses ;
but they are rather formal.”

Then, as young lads often do, he looked out for the elder girls. He next
flew to the anemones; these were rather sour to his taste. The violet, a
little too sentimental. The lime-blossoms, too small; and besides, there
was such a large family of them. The apple-blossoms, though they looked
like roses, bloomed to-day, but might fall off to-morrow, with the first wind
that blew: and he thought that a marriage with one of them might last too
THE BUTTERFLY. 169

short a time. The pea-blossom pleased him most of all; she was white and
red, graceful and slender, and belonged to those domestic maidens who
have a pretty appearance, and can yet be useful in the kitchen. He was
just about to make her an offer, when, close by the maiden, he saw a pod,
with a withered flower hanging at the end.

“Who is that?” he asked.

“That is my sister,” replied the pea-blossom.

“Oh, indeed; and you will be like her some day,” said he; and he flew
away directly, for he felt quite shocked.

A honeysuckle hung forth from the hedge, in full bloom ; but there were
so many girls like her, with long faces and sallow complexions. No; he
did not like her. But which one did he like?

Spring went by, and summer drew towards its close; autumn came; but
he had not decided. The flowers now appeared in their most gorgeous
robes, but all in vain ; they had not the fresh, fragrant air of youth. For
the heart asks for fragrance, even when it is no longer young ; and there is
very little of that to be found in the dahlias or the dry chrysanthemums;
therefore the butterfly turned to the mint on the ground. You know, this
plant has no blossom ; but it is sweetness all over,—full of fragrance from
head to foot, with the scent of a flower in every leaf.

“T will take her,” said the butterfly ; and he made her an offer. But the
mint stood silent and stiff, as she listened to him. At last she said,—

“Friendship, if you please ; nothing more. Iam old, and you are old,.
but we may live for each other just the same; as to marrying—no; don’t
let us appear ridiculous at our age.”

And so it happened that the butterfly got no wife at all. He had been
too long choosing, which is always a bad plan. And the butterfly became
what is called an old bachelor.

It was late in the autumn, with rainy and cloudy weather. The cold wind
blew over the bowed backs of the willows, so that they creaked again. It
was not the weather for flying about in summer clothes ; but fortunately the
butterfly was not out in it. He had gota shelter by chance. It was in a
room heated by a stove, and as warm as summer. He could exist here, he
said, well enough.

“ But it is not enough merely to exist,” said he; “I need freedom, sun-
shine, and a little flower for a companion.”

Then he flew against the window-pane and was seen and admired by
those in the room, who caught him, and stuck him on a pin, in a box of
curiosities. They could not do more for him.

“ Now I am perched on a stalk, like the flowers,” said the butterfly. ‘It
is not very pleasant, certainly; I should imagine it is something like being
married ; for here I am stuck fast.” And with this thought he consoled him-
self a little.

“That seems very poor consolation,” said one of the plants in the room,
that grew in a pot.

“ Ah,” thought the butterfly, “one can’t very well trust these plants in pots;
they have had too much to do with mankind.”


Bait

H) THE DUMB BOOK.



By the high-road in the forest lay
a lonely peasant’s hut; the path to it
led right through the farmyard. The
sun shone, and all the windows were
open, and in the house there seemed
a great bustle and movement; but in
the garden, in an arbour formed of
blooming elder-branches, stood an open
coffin, A dead man had been carried
out, who on this morning was to be
buried. Nobody stood by the coffin
looking sorrowfully at the dead; no
one shed a tear over him. His face
was covered with a white cloth, and
under his head lay a large, thick book, the leaves of which were entirely
composed of blotting paper, and on each leaf lay a withered flower. It was
THE DUMB BOOK, 171



2, complete herbarium, gathered by him in different parts of the world; and
was to be buried with him, for so he wished it.

“Who is the dead man?” we inquired.

“The old student,” was the reply.

He had once been a lively lad; had studied the dead languages, com-
posed many songs, and even poems. Then something happened to him
which led him to drink; and when, at last, his health was ruined, he came
to reside here in the country, some friend paying for his board and lodging.
He was as gentle as a child, excepting when the dark mood was on him,
and then he became fierce as a lion, and would run about the woods like a
hunted stag. But when we got him home again, and prevailed upon him to
open his book with the dried plants, he would often sit for whole days,
looking first at one plant and then at another, and at times the tears would
roll down his cheeks. Heaven knows what he was thinking of He begged
us to put the book into his coffin; and now there he lies. In a little while
the lid will be nailed down, and he will be at rest in the grave,

The face cloth was raised, and upon the features of the dead there was
peace, and a sunbeam fell upon them. A swallow shot through the
arbour with arrowy flight, turned rapidly, and twittered over the dead man’s
head.

What a strange feeling it is, and no doubt we have all experienced it,
that which comes over us as we turn over and read the old letters of our
youthful days. An entirely new life rises before us, with all its hopes and
sorrows. How many with whom we were then intimate seem dead to us,
although they are still living, but we have long ceased to think of them,
whom we once thought to retain in our memory for ever, and with whom
we were to share every sorrow and joy. So did the withered oak-leafin the
book remind its owner of the friend, the schoolfellow, who was to have been
his friend for life. He had fastened that green leaf in the student’s cap in
the green wood, when they had vowed eternal friendship ; and now where
ishe? The leaf has been preserved, but the friendship has perished. And
here is a foreign hothouse plant, too delicate for the gardens of the north:
the leaves seem still to keep their fragrance. She gave it him, that young
lady in the nobleman’s garden. Here is a water-rose, which he plucked
himself, and moistened with salt tears—a rose of sweet waters. And what
tale could not the leaves of that rose tell, if they could speak. What were
his thoughts when he plucked it, and kept it? Here is a lily-of-the-valley
from the solitudes of the forest. Here an evergreen, from a flower-pot at
the tavern; and here a simple blade of grass.

The blooming elder-branches wave their fragrant blossoms over the head
of the dead. The swallow flies past again, crying, “wit, twit,” and
now the men come with nails and hammer; the lid is placed over the
ee while his head rests on the silent book, its memories withered
and dead,













i ere ed)
EO aa
Sas CIES ESS EONS EFS

















THE GARDENER.

A SPLENDID castle, with thick walls, towers, and winding staircases, stood
at about the distance of a mile from any other residence.

In this castle dwelt a rich, high-born nobleman—only, however, during
the months of summer, when the beautiful grounds were in their richest
verdure.

Of all other residences situated in the neighbourhood this was the best
and most beautiful. Outside, the constant play of fountains preserved the
wonderful vegetation; and within the castle everything was arranged with
comfort and elegance.

Over the entrance gate the family escutcheon had been carved in stone.
Blooming roses climbed round it, and also round the balcony in great pro-
fusion.

In front of the castle extended a large and well-kept lawn, with a carpet
of fresh turf as soft as velvet to the foot. Round it were beds of rare and
lovely flowers, not only in the hothouse, but in the flower gardens, while
hedges and thornbushes, covered with white and pink. blossoms, formed the
boundary of the estate.

This nobleman was fortunate enough to possess a clever head-gardener,
to whom the flowers, fruit and kitchen gardens, were a delight.

There still remained, however, on the estate, relics of olden times, box-
trees cut into forms of crowns and pyramids, and two noble lofty trees.
Although very old, they still remained rooted in the earth, but they were
now almost without leaves, and it is supposed that a storm or a waterspout
had caused a blight to fall upon them.

Time out of mind these lofty trees had contained quantities of nests
built by cawing rooks, crows, and ravens. It was quite a bird-village. In
fact, these birds were the noble proprietors, and the oldest families on the
estate, and actually the rightful owners of the castle.

They cared nothing for the human beings who lived under them. They
allowed, as it were, these creatures of earth to associate with them in spite
of their insolence ; for sometimes they would crack a whip, which would
‘sound like a pistol shot, and make them all fly away, crying “ Caw, caw.”

The gardener had more than once begged his master to have these old
THE GARDENER. 173

trees cut down, for they really were not ornamental, and if they were gone,
he hoped the birds would soon find another home.

But the nobleman said, “I wish the trees and the flock of birds to re-
main ; they both belong to the castle; they are a part of the olden times,
and no one shall ever send them quite away. ‘The trees are really the in-
heritance of the birds, and we will not deprive them of it, my good Larsen”
(Larsen was the gardener’s name), and he found he was not allowed to set
matters right as he thought, and get more ground to work upon. “You
have the whole of the flower gardens, the hothouse, the fruit and the
kitchen gardens, ta attend to, and is not that work enough for you, dear
Larsen ?”

The gardener knew his master was right; he wished above all things
to keep such a good situation, and his zeal and cleverness were indefatig-
able.

The nobleman acknowledged this fact; nevertheless he did not conceal
from his gardener, that he knew he could obtain far more beautiful flowers
and better fruit from foreign countries than from his own gardens.

All this caused the. gardener great sorrow, for both in will and deed he
always endeavoured to do his best.

He had a good heart, and was zealous in his work.

One day the nobleman called his gardener, and said, with gentle dignity,
*T spoke to you the other day about having seen some foreign fruit of a
superior kind, especially apples and pears, so juicy, and of such an agreeable
taste, that all the guests where I was dining spoke of them with wonder.
The fruit could not have been produced in this country, but must have been
cultivated in its native land, and under a very different climate. However,
I know there is a large Fruiterer’s shop in the town, so you can ride over to
him and make inquiries yourself as to where these apples and pears came
from, and then procure grafts from the trees.”

The gardener knew the fruiterer very well, for he had sold to him in the
name of his master al! the overplus of the fruit which grew in the castle garden.
The gardener therefore rode to the town, and asked the fruiterer from
whence he had obtained these wonderful apples and pears.

“From your own garden,” said the fruitseller, pomting to the fruit, and
Larsen recognised them immediately.

The gardener was overjoyed. He hastened back to the nobleman, and
told him of this unusual result—that the apples and pears he had so admired
were from their own garden. 5

“That seems to me quite incredible,” dear Larsen, he said ; “is it not im-
possible? However, if the fruitseller will send me a written testimony that
the fruit is really from our garden, I will believe it.”

Larsen very soon brought a certificate from the fruiterer,

“Well, really this is very remarkable,” said the nobleman ; and after this
event, there was placed on the table every day great dishes with these
beautiful apples and pears, which had really come from the nobleman’s own
fruit garden, And besides all these, bushels and bushels were sent to
friends in the town, as well as elsewhere. It was truly delightful, And to
174 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.



this was added the fact that now was the second summer of unusually
beautiful weather, and very favourable for producing ripe and superior
fruit.

Time passed on quickly, and one day the nobleman was invited to dine
at the king’s table.

Next morning the gardener was sent for by his master, who told him that
a melon, with a delicious flavour, had been placed on the king’s table, which
was loaded with all kinds of fruit, and this melon had been reared in his
majesty’s hothouse.

“ Go to the court gardener, good Larsen,” said the nobleman, “ and pro-
cure from him a seed of this costly melon.”

But the court gardener replied, “Why I got the seed of that melon from
one out of the Castle garden.”

Full of joy Larsen returned and told his master.

* And now, indeed, I can feel proud,” he said. “My noble master will
spread it abroad that the court gardener this summer has had no success
with his melons, and that after seeing and tasting them, he gave orders that
three from the castle gardens should be taken to the king’s table.”

“Larsen,” said his master, “don’t fancy that these melons came out of
our gardens.”

“But I do believe it,” he said. “I went myself to the court gardener,
and received from him a written testimony that the melons on the king’s
table had been produced from the seeds of one he had bought from
Larsen.”

The nobleman was greatly surprised; he spoke of the circumstance to
others, and showed them the written certificate, and, as in the case of the
apples and pears, the story of the melon seed travelled everywhere ; it was
even stated publicly where the fruit flourished and grew, till the castle
became noted, and obtained a name which could be spoken and read in
English, French, and German.

Hitherto people had supposed that such a thing would be impossible.

“If now my gardener had only not so great an opinion of himself,” said
the nobleman; and yet he seized every opportunity that offered to make
known the name of his gardener as the best in the country. Therefore,
every year Larsen endeavoured to produce some fruit of a superior kind,
and yet often he heard it said that the fruit, such as apples and pears, which
had been of such an excellent quality at first, were not so good now,
and indeed quite inferior. And positively, even the melons, that every one
had considered so luscious, were also depreciated.

The strawberries, however, were pronounced excellent, as well as the
other splendid fruit. Still, in one year the radishes were a great failure, and
were always spoken of afterwards as those “unfortunate radishes,” although
since then they had always been good.

It was as if a heavy weight had fallen from the heart of the nobleman
when he could say, “This year nothing is wrong, best Larsen,” and he said
it joyfully too.

Regularly twice a week the gardener brought fresh flowers into the rooms,
THE GARDENER. 175





and the fragrance was so strong and full, that the odour spread in every
direction.

“This fragrance is a gift from heaven, Larsen,” said his master; “no
human power could produce that.”

One day the gardener came in carrying a large crystal bow! of water, in
which, resting on its leaves that were floating on the water, lay a beautiful
water lily—a large, shining, blue flower, with its long thick stem in the
water under it.

* An Indian lotus flower!” cried the nobleman. They had never before
seen such a flower, and it remained in full bloom for days, both in sunshine
and even after dark. Every one who saw it declared that it was a wonder-
fully lovely and rare flower.

Among others were the young ladies from the king’s palace, the princesses,
kind hearted and clever young ladies, who were charmed with its beauty.

The nobleman valued this flower greatly, and on that account many
people envied him, and among others the princesses at the king’s palace.

The nobleman went one morning into his garden to pluck a certain kind
of flower that he wanted, and to have another look at the water lily, but
he could not find it.

Hastily calling the gardener, he asked, “What has become of the blue
lotus flower, Larsen? I have searched everywhere, in the hothouse and
in the flower garden, but I cannot find it.”

“Tt is not much worth finding,” said the gardener; “it is only a
mean common flower from the kitchen garden, beautiful as it is. It
resembles the blue cactus flower, but it is really only the blossom of an arti-
choke.”

“You should have told me so at first,” replied his master; “we have
made a mistake in supposing it a foreign and rare flower. It is your fault
that we have made ourselves appear ridiculous before the young princesses.
They saw it was an unknown flower to us, and considered it beautiful, but
they have studied botany, and these scientific people do not trouble them-
selves about what grows in kitchen gardens. We could not have been in
our senses, good Larsen, to place such a flower as that in a room and make
ourselves ridiculous.’*

So the beautiful blue and splendid flower, which belonged to the kitchen
garden, was removed from the room, where it had no right to be, and sent
to a distant part of the estate.

‘The nobleman blamed himself equally with his servant when he met the
princesses, and acknowledged that the flower was only a kitchen garden
blossom, “But I have already reproved my gardener,” he said, “for he
made the first error in bringing it into the room, and by so doing misled
me,

“Tt was a sin and a shame,” said the princess, when alone ; “ he showed
us a splendid flower that we had never before noticed, and he pointed out
the beauties that we did not look for; however, it is a lovely flower, after
all, and I shall ask the castle garden