Document(page_content='Guide\n\nTable of Contents\n\nBegin\nReading\n\nPages\n\n169\n\n170\n\n171\n\n172\n\n173\n\n174\n\n175\n\n176\n\n177\n\n178\n\n179\n\n180\n\n181\n\n182\n\n183\n\n184\n\n185\n\n186\n\n187\n\n188\n\n189\n\n190\n\n191\n\n192\n\n193\n\n194\n\n195\n\n196\n\n197\n\n198\n\n199\n\n200\n\n201\n\n202\n\n203\n\n204\n\n205\n\n206\n\n207\n\n208\n\n209\n\n210\n\n211\n\n212\n\n213\n\n214\n\n215\n\n216\n\n217\n\n218\n\n219\n\n220\n\n221\n\n222\n\n223\n\n224\n\n225\n\n226\n\n227\n\n228\n\n229\n\n230\n\n231\n\n232\n\n233\n\n234\n\n235\n\n236\n\n237\n\n238\n\n239\n\n240\n\n241\n\n242\n\n243\n\n244\n\n245\n\n246\n\n247\n\n248\n\n249\n\n250\n\n251\n\n252\n\n253\n\n254\n\n255\n\n256\n\n257\n\n258\n\n259\n\n260\n\n169\n\nSECTION IV FAIRY STORIES—MODERN FANTASTIC\nTALES\n\n170\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY\n\nAlden, Raymond Macdonald, Why the Chimes Rang, and Other\nStories.\n\nAndersen, Hans Christian, Fairy Tales.\n\nBarrie, Sir James Matthew, The Little White Bird.\n[Peter Pan.]\n\nBaum, L. Frank, The Wizard of Oz.\n\nBenson, A. C., David Blaize and the Blue Door.\n\nBeston, H. B., The Firelight Fairy Book.\n\nBrown, Abbie Farwell, The Lonesomest Doll.\n\nBrowne, Frances, Granny\'s Wonderful Chair.\n\nCarryl, Charles E., Davy and the Goblin.\n\n"Carroll, Lewis," Alice\'s Adventures in\nWonderland.\n\n"Carroll, Lewis," Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice\nFound There.\n\nChamisso, Adelbert von, The Wonderful History of Peter\nSchlemihl.\n\n"Collodi, C.," The Adventures of Pinocchio.\n\nCox, Palmer, The Brownies: Their Book.\n\nCraik, Dinah Mulock, Adventures of a Brownie.\n\nCraik, Dinah Mulock, The Little Lame Prince and His\nTraveling-Cloak.\n\nCrothers, Samuel McChord, Miss Muffet\'s Christmas\nParty.\n\nDickens, Charles, A Christmas Carol.\n\nEwald, Carl, Two-Legs, and Other Stories.\n\nGrahame, Kenneth, The Wind in the Willows.\n\nHarris, Joel Chandler, Nights with Uncle Remus.\n\nHawthorne, Nathaniel, "The Snow Image," "Little Daffydowndilly," "A\nRill from the Town Pump."\n\nIngelow, Jean, Mopsa the Fairy.\n\nIngelow, Jean, Stories Told to a Child. 2 vols.\n\nJordan, David Starr, The Book of Knight and\nBarbara.\n\nLagerlof, Selma, The Wonderful Adventures of Nils.\n\nLa Motte-Fouqué, F. de, Undine.\n\nLang, Andrew, Prince Prigio.\n\nKingsley, Charles, The Water Babies.\n\nMaeterlinck, Maurice, The Blue Bird.\n\nMacdonald, George, The Princess and the Goblin.\n\nMacdonald, George, At the Back of the North Wind.\n\nPyle, Katherine, In the Green Forest.\n\nRaspe, Rudolph Erich, Baron Munchausen\'s\nNarrative.\n\nRichards, Laura E., The Story of Toto.\n\nRichards, Laura E., The Pig Brother.\n\nRuskin, John, The King of the Golden River.\n\nStockton, Frank R., Fanciful Tales.\n\nSwift, Jonathan, Gulliver\'s Travels.\n\nThackeray, William Makepeace, The Rose and the\nRing.\n\nWilde, Oscar, The Happy Prince, and Other Stories.\n\nWilkins, Mary E., The Pot of Gold.\n\n171\n\nINTRODUCTORY\n\nThe difficulties of classification are very apparent here, and once\nmore it must be noted that illustrative and practical purposes rather\nthan logical ones are served by the arrangement adopted. The modern\nfanciful story is here placed next to the real folk story instead of\nafter all the groups of folk products. The Hebrew stories at the\nbeginning belong quite as well, perhaps even better, in Section V, while\nthe stories at the end of Section VI shade off into the more modern\ntypes of short tales. Then the fact that other groups of modern stories\nare to follow later, illustrating more realistic studies of life and the\nvery recent and remarkably numerous writings centering around animal\nlife, limits the list here. Many of the animal stories might, with equal\npropriety, be placed under the head of the fantastic.\n\nThe child\'s natural literature. The\nworld has lost certain secrets as the price of an advancing\ncivilization. It is a commonplace of observation that no one can\nduplicate the success of Mother Goose, whether she be thought of as the\nmaker of jingles or the teller of tales. The conditions of modern life\npreclude the generally naïve attitude that produced the folk rhymes,\nballads, tales, proverbs, fables, and myths. The folk saw things simply\nand directly. The complex, analytic, questioning mind is not yet, either\nin or out of stories. The motives from which people act are to them\nplain and not mixed. Characters are good or bad. They feel no need of\nelaborately explaining their joys and sorrows. Such experiences come\nwith the day\'s work. "To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new." The\nzest of life with them is emphatic. Their humor is fresh, unbounded,\nsincere; there is no trace of cynicism. In folk literature we do not\nfeel the presence of a "writer" who is mightily concerned about\nmaintaining his reputation for wisdom, originality, or style. Hence the\nfreedom from any note of straining after effect, of artificiality. In\nthe midst of a life limited to fundamental needs, their literature deals\nwith fundamentals. On the whole, it was a literature for entertainment.\nA more learned upper class may have concerned itself then about\n"problems" and "purposes," as the whole world does now, but the\nliterature of the folk had no such interests.\n\nWithout discussing the limits of the culture-epoch theory of human\ndevelopment as a complete guide in education, it is clear that the young\nchild passes through a period when his mind looks out upon the world in\na manner analogous to that of the folk as expressed in their literature.\nQuarrel with the fact as we may, it still remains a fact that his nature\ncraves these old stories and will not be satisfied with something "just\nas good."\n\nThe modern fairy story. The advance\nof civilization has been accompanied by a wistful longing for the\nsimplicities left by the way. In some periods this interest in the past\nhas been more marked than in others. When the machinery of life has\nweighed too heavily on the human spirit, men have turned for relief to a\ncontemplation of the "good old times" and have preached crusades of a\n"return to nature." 172 Many modern writers have tried to recapture some\nof the power of the folk tale by imitating its method. In many cases\nthey have had a fair degree of success: in one case, that of Hans\nChristian Andersen, the success is admittedly very complete. As a rule,\nhowever, the sharpness of the sense of wonder has been blunted, and many\nimitators of the old fairy tale succeed in keeping only the shell.\nAnother class of modern fantastic tale is that of the pourquoi story, which has the explanation of something\nas its object. Such tales grow out of the attempt to use the charm of\nold stories as a means of conveying instruction, somewhat after the\nmethod of those parents who covered up our bitter medicine with some of\nour favorite jam. Even "Little Red Riding Hood," as we saw, has been\nturned into a flower myth. So compelling is this pedagogical motive that\nso-called nature myths have been invented or made from existing stories\nin great numbers. The practical results please many teachers, but it may\nbe questioned whether the gain is sufficient to compensate children for\nthe distorting results upon masterpieces.\n\nWide range of the modern fairy tale.\nThe bibliography will suggest something of the treasures in the field of\nthe modern fanciful story. From the delightful nonsense of Alice\nin Wonderland and the "travelers\' tales" of Baron\nMunchausen to the profound seriousness of The King of the\nGolden River and Why the Chimes Rang is a far cry.\nThere are the rich fancies of Barrie and Maeterlinck, at the same time\ndelicate as the promises of spring and brilliant as the fruitions of\nsummer. One may be blown away to the land of Oz, he may lose his shadow\nwith Peter Schlemihl, he may outdo the magic carpet with his\nTraveling-Cloak, he may visit the courts of kings with his Wonderful\nChair; Miss Muffet will invite us to her Christmas party, Lemuel\nGulliver will lead us to lands not marked in the school atlas; on every\nside is a world of wonder.\n\nSome qualities of these modern tales.\nEvery age produces after its own fashion, and we must expect to find the\nmodern user of the fairy-story method expressing through it the\nqualities of his own outlook upon the world. Interest in the picturesque\naspects of landscape will be emphasized, as in the early portions of\n"The Story of Fairyfoot" and, with especial magnificence of style,\nthroughout The King of the Golden River. There will appear\nthe saddened mood of the modern in the face of the human miseries that\nmake happiness a mockery, as in "The Happy Prince." The destructive\neffects of the possessive instinct upon all that is finest in human\nnature is reflected in "The Prince\'s Dream." That the most valuable\nefforts are often those performed with least spectacular settings may be\ndiscerned in "The Knights of the Silver Shield," while the lesson of\nkindly helpfulness is the burden of "Old Pipes and the Dryad." In many\nmodern stories the reader is too much aware of the conscious efforts of\nstyle and structure. The thoughtful child will sometimes be too much\ndistressed by the more somber modern story, and should not hear too many\nof the gloomy type.\n\nAndersen the consummate master. Hans\nChristian Andersen is the acknowledged master of the modern story for\nchildren. What are the sources of his success? Genius is always\nunexplainable except in terms of itself, but some things are clear. To\nbegin, he makes a mark—drives down a peg: "There came a soldier marching\nalong 173 the high road—one, two! one, two!" and\nyou are off. No backing and filling, no jockeying for position, no\nelaborate setting of the stage. The story\'s the thing! Next, the\nlanguage is the language of common oral speech, free and unrestrained.\nThe rigid forms of the grammar are eschewed. There is no beating around\nthe bush. Seeing through the eyes of the child, he uses the language\nthat is natural to such sight: "Aha! there sat the dog with eyes as big\nas mill-wheels." In quick dramatic fashion the story unrolls before your\nvision: "So the soldier cut the witch\'s head off. There she lay!" No\nagonizing over the cruelty of it, the lack of sympathy. It is a joke\nafter the child\'s own heart, and with a hearty laugh at this end to an\nimpostor, the listener is on with the story. The logic is the logic of\nchildhood: "And everyone could see she was a real princess, for she was\nso lovely." When Andersen deals with some of the deeper truths of\nexistence, as in "The Nightingale" or "The Ugly Duckling," he still\nmanages to throw it all into the form that is natural and convincing and\nsimple to the child. He never mounts a pedestal and becomes a grown-up\nphilosopher. Perhaps Andersen\'s secret lay in the fact that some fairy\ngodmother invested him at birth with a power to see things so completely\nas a child sees them that he never questioned the dignity of the method.\nIn few of his stories is there any evidence of a constraint due to a\nconscious attempt to write down to the understandings of children.\n\nSUGGESTIONS FOR READING\n\nThe most valuable discussion of the difficulties to be mastered in\nwriting the literary fairy tale, and the story of the only very complete\nmastery yet made, will be found in the account of Hans Christian\nAndersen in Eminent Authors of the Nineteenth Century, by\nGeorg Brandes. Now and then hints of importance on such stories and\ntheir value for children may be found in biographies of the more\nprominent writers represented in the section and mentioned in the\nbibliography, and in magazine articles and reviews. These latter may be\nlocated by use of the periodical indexes found in most libraries. For\nthe proper attitude which the schools should have toward fiction and\nfanciful writing in general, nothing could be better than two lectures\non "Children\'s Reading," in On the Art of Reading, by Sir\nArthur Quiller-Couch.\n\n174\n\n190\n\nThe rabbis of old were good story-tellers. They were essentially\nteachers and they understood that the best sermon is a story. "They were\nfond of the parable, the anecdote, the apt illustration, and their\nlegends that have been transmitted to us, all aglow with the light and\nlife of the Orient, possess perennial charm." It is possible to find in\nrabbinical sources a large number of brief stories that have the power\nof entertaining as well as of emphasizing some qualities of character\nthat are important in all ages. The plan of this book does not include\nthe wonderful stories of the Old Testament, which are easy of access to\nany teacher and may be used as experience directs. The Hebrew stories\nfollowing correspond very nearly to the folk anecdote and are placed in\nthis section because of their literary form.\n\nDr. Abram S. Isaacs (1851—) is a professor in New York University and\nis also a rabbi. The selection that follows is from his Stories\nfrom the Rabbis. (Copyrighted. Used by special permission of The\nBloch Publishing Company, New York.) Taking advantage of the popular\nsuperstition that a four-leaved clover is a sign of good luck, Dr.\nIsaacs has grouped together four parable-like stories, each of which\ndeals with wealth as a subject. The editors are responsible for the\nspecial titles given. The messages of these stories might be summarized\nas follows: If you would be lucky, (1) be honest because it is right to\nbe honest, (2) value good friends more highly than gold, (3) let love\naccompany each gift of charity, and (4) use common sense in your\nbusiness ventures.\n\nA FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER\n\nABRAM S. ISAACS\n\n1. The Rabbi and The Diadem\n\nGreat was the alarm in the palace of Rome, which soon spread\nthroughout the entire city. The Empress had lost her costly diadem, and\nit could not be found. They searched in every direction, but it was all\nin vain. Half distracted, for the mishap boded no good to her or her\nhouse, the Empress redoubled her exertions to regain her precious\npossession, but without result. As a last resource it was proclaimed in\nthe public streets:\n\n"The Empress has lost a priceless diadem. Whoever restores it within\nthirty days shall receive a princely reward. But he who delays, and\nbrings it after thirty days, shall lose his head."\n\nIn those times all nationalities flocked toward Rome; all classes and\ncreeds could be met in its stately halls and crowded thoroughfares.\nAmong the rest was a rabbi, a learnèd sage from the East, who loved\ngoodness and lived a righteous life, in the stir and turmoil of the\nWestern world. It chanced one night as he was strolling up and down, in\nbusy meditation, beneath the clear, moonlit sky, he saw the diadem\nsparkling at his feet. He seized it quickly, brought it to his dwelling,\nwhere he guarded it carefully until the thirty days had expired, when he\nresolved to return it to the owner.\n\nHe proceeded to the palace, and, undismayed at sight of long lines of\nsoldiery and officials, asked for an audience with the Empress.\n\n"What dost thou mean by this?" she inquired, when he told her his\nstory and gave her the diadem. "Why didst thou delay until this hour?\nDost thou know the penalty? Thy head must be forfeited."\n\n"I delayed until now," the rabbi answered calmly, "so that thou\nmightst know that I return thy diadem, not for the sake of the reward,\nstill less out of fear of punishment; but solely to comply 175 with\nthe Divine command not to withhold from another the property which\nbelongs to him."\n\n"Blessed be thy God!" the Empress answered, and dismissed the rabbi\nwithout further reproof; for had he not done right for right\'s sake?\n\n2. Friendship\n\nA certain father was doubly blessed—he had reached a good old age,\nand had ten sons. One day he called them to his side, and after repeated\nexpressions of affection, told them that he had acquired a fortune by\nindustry and economy, and would give them one hundred gold pieces each\nbefore his death, so that they might begin business for themselves, and\nnot be obliged to wait until he had passed away. It happened, however,\nthat, soon after, he lost a portion of his property, much to his regret,\nand had only nine hundred and fifty gold pieces left. So he gave one\nhundred to each of his nine sons. When his youngest son, whom he loved\nmost of all, asked naturally what was to be his share, the father\nreplied:\n\n"My son, I promised to give each of thy brothers one hundred gold\npieces. I shall keep my word to them. I have fifty left. Thirty I shall\nreserve for my funeral expenses, and twenty will be thy portion. But\nunderstand this—I possess, in addition, ten friends, whom I give over to\nthee as compensation for the loss of the eighty gold pieces. Believe me,\nthey are worth more than all the gold and silver."\n\nThe youth tenderly embraced his parent, and assured him that he was\ncontent, such was his confidence and affection. In a few days the father\ndied, and the nine sons took their money, and without a thought of their\nyoungest brother and the small amount he had received, followed each his\nown fancy. But the youngest son, although his portion was the least,\nresolved to heed his father\'s words, and hold fast to the ten friends.\nWhen a short time had elapsed he prepared a simple feast, went to the\nten friends of his father, and said to them: "My father, almost in his\nlast words, asked me to keep you, his friends, in honor. Before I leave\nthis place to seek my fortune elsewhere, will you not share with me a\nfarewell meal, and aid me thus to comply with his dying request?"\n\nThe ten friends, stirred by his earnestness and cordiality, accepted\nhis invitation with pleasure, and enjoyed the repast, although they were\nused to richer fare. When the moment for parting arrived, however, one\nof them rose and spoke: "My friends, it seems to me that of all the sons\nof our dear friend that has gone, the youngest alone is mindful of his\nfather\'s friendship for us, and reverences his memory. Let us, then, be\ntrue friends to him, for his own sake as well, and provide for him a\ngenerous sum, that he may begin business here, and not be forced to live\namong strangers."\n\nThe proposal, so unexpected and yet so merited, was received with\napplause. The youth, proud of their friendship, soon became a prosperous\nmerchant, who never forgot that faithful friends were more valuable than\ngold or silver, and left an honored name to his descendants.\n\n3. True Charity\n\nThere lived once a very wealthy man, who cared little for money,\nexcept as 176 a means for helping others. He used to adopt a\npeculiar plan in his method of charitable relief. He had three boxes\nmade for the three different classes of people whom he desired to\nassist. In one box he put gold pieces, which he distributed among\nartists and scholars, for he honored knowledge and learning as the\nhighest possession. In the second box he placed silver pieces for widows\nand orphans, for whom his sympathies were readily awakened. In the third\nwere copper coins for the general poor and beggars—no one was turned\naway from his dwelling without some gift, however small.\n\nThat the man was beloved by all, need hardly be said. He rejoiced\nthat he was enabled to do so much good, retained his modest bearing, and\ncontinued to regard his wealth as only an incentive to promote the\nhappiness of mankind, without distinction of creed or nationality.\nUnhappily, his wife was just the opposite. She rarely gave food or\nraiment to the poor, and felt angry at her husband\'s liberality, which\nshe considered shameless extravagance.\n\nThe day came when in the pressure of various duties he had to leave\nhis house, and could not return until the morrow. Unaware of his sudden\ndeparture, the poor knocked at the door as usual for his kind gifts;\nbut when they found him absent, they were about to go away or remain in\nthe street, being terrified at the thought of asking his wife for alms.\nVexed at their conduct, she exclaimed impetuously: "I will give to the\npoor according to my husband\'s method."\n\nShe seized the keys of the boxes, and first opened the box of gold.\nBut how great was her terror when she gazed at its contents—frogs\njumping here and there. Then she went to the silver box, and it was full\nof ants. With troubled heart, she opened the copper box, and it was\ncrowded with creeping bugs. Loud then were her complaints, and bitter\nher tears, at the deception, and she kept her room until her husband\nreturned.\n\nNo sooner did the man enter the room, annoyed that so many poor\npeople were kept waiting outside, than she asked him: "Why did you give\nme keys to boxes of frogs, ants, and bugs, instead of gold, silver, and\ncopper? Was it right thus to deceive your wife, and disappoint the\npoor?"\n\n"Not so," rejoined her husband. "The mistake must be yours, not mine.\nI have given you the right keys. I do not know what you have done with\nthem. Come, let me have them. I am guiltless of any deception." He took\nthe keys, quickly opened the boxes, and found the coins as he had left\nthem. "Ah, dear wife," said he, when she had regained her composure,\n"your heart, I fear, was not in the gift, when you wished to give to the\npoor. It is the feeling that prompts us to aid, not the mere money,\nwhich is the chief thing after all."\n\nAnd ever after, her heart was changed. Her gifts blessed the poor of\nthe land, and aroused their love and reverence.\n\n4. An Eastern Garden\n\nIn an Eastern city a lovely garden flourished, whose beauty and\nluxuriance awakened much admiration. It was the owner\'s greatest\npleasure to watch its growth, as leaf, flower, and tree seemed daily to\nunfold to brighter bloom. One morning, while taking his usual stroll\nthrough the well-kept paths, 177 he was surprised to find that\nsome blossoms were picked to pieces. The next day he noticed more signs\nof mischief, and rendered thus more observant he gave himself no rest\nuntil he had discovered the culprit. It was a little trembling bird,\nwhom he managed to capture, and was about to kill in his anger, when it\nexclaimed: "Do not kill me, I beg you, kind sir. I am only a wee, tiny\nbird. My flesh is too little to satisfy you. I would not furnish\none-hundredth of a meal to a man of your size. Let me free without any\nhesitation, and I shall teach you something that will be of much use to\nyou and your friends."\n\n"I would dearly like to put an end to you," replied the man, "for you\nwere rapidly putting an end to my garden. It is a good thing to rid the\nworld of such annoyances. But as I am not revengeful, and am always glad\nto learn something useful, I shall set you free this time." And he\nopened his hand to give the bird more air.\n\n"Attention!" cried the bird. "Here are three rules which should guide\nyou through life, and if you observe them you will find your path made\neasier: Do not cry over spilt milk; do not desire what is unattainable,\nand do not believe what is impossible."\n\nThe man was satisfied with the advice, and let the bird escape; but\nit had scarcely regained its liberty, when, from a high tree opposite,\nit exclaimed:\n\n"What a silly man! The idea of letting me escape! If you only knew\nwhat you have lost! But it is too late now."\n\n"What have I lost?" the man asked, angrily.\n\n"Why, if you had killed me, as you intended, you would have found\ninside of me a huge pearl, as large as a goose\'s egg, and you would have\nbeen a wealthy man forever."\n\n"Dear little bird," the man said in his blandest tones; "sweet little\nbird, I will not harm you. Only come down to me, and I will treat you as\nif you were my own child, and give you fruit and flowers all day. I\nassure you of this most sacredly."\n\nBut the bird shook its head sagely, and replied: "What a silly man,\nto forget so soon the advice which was given him in all seriousness. I\ntold you not to cry over spilt milk, and here you are, worrying over\nwhat has happened. I urged you not to desire the unattainable, and now\nyou wish to capture me again. And, finally, I asked you not to believe\nwhat is impossible, and you are rashly imagining that I have a huge\npearl inside of me, when a goose\'s egg is larger than my whole body. You\nought to learn your lessons better in the future, if you would become\nwise," added the bird, as with another twist of its head it flew away,\nand was lost in the distance.\n\n191\n\nA classic collection of short stories from the ancient Hebrew sages\nis the little book, Hebrew Tales, published in London in\n1826 by the noted Jewish scholar Hyman Hurwitz (1770-1844). A modern\nhandy edition of this book (about sixty tales) is published as Vol. II\nof the Library of Jewish Classics. Of special interest is the fact that\nit contained three stories by the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who had\npublished them first in his periodical, The Friend.\nColeridge was much interested in Hebrew literature, and especially fond\nof speaking in parables, as those who know "The Ancient Mariner" will\nreadily recall. The 178 following is one of the three stories referred\nto, and it had prefixed to it the significant text, "The Lord helpeth\nman and beast." (Psalm XXXVI, 6.)\n\nTHE LORD HELPETH MAN AND BEAST\n\nSAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE\n\nDuring his march to conquer the world, Alexander, the Macedonian,\ncame to a people in Africa who dwelt in a remote and secluded corner, in\npeaceful huts, and knew neither war nor conqueror. They led him to the\nhut of their chief, who received him hospitably, and placed before him\ngolden dates, golden figs, and bread of gold.\n\n"Do you eat gold in this country?" said Alexander.\n\n"I take it for granted," replied the chief, "that thou wert able to\nfind eatable food in thine own country. For what reason, then, art thou\ncome amongst us?"\n\n"Your gold has not tempted me hither," said Alexander, "but I would\nbecome acquainted with your manners and customs."\n\n"So be it," rejoined the other: "sojourn among us as long as it\npleaseth thee."\n\nAt the close of this conversation, two citizens entered, as into\ntheir court of justice. The plaintiff said, "I bought of this man a\npiece of land, and as I was making a deep drain through it, I found a\ntreasure. This is not mine, for I only bargained for the land, and not\nfor any treasure that might be concealed beneath it; and yet the former\nowner of the land will not receive it." The defendant answered, "I hope\nI have a conscience, as well as my fellow citizen. I sold him the land\nwith all its contingent, as well as existing advantages, and\nconsequently, the treasure inclusively."\n\nThe chief, who was at the same time their supreme judge,\nrecapitulated their words, in order that the parties might see whether\nor not he understood them aright. Then, after some reflection, said:\n"Thou hast a son, friend, I believe?"\n\n"Yes."\n\n"And thou," addressing the other, "a daughter?"\n\n"Yes."\n\n"Well, then, let thy son marry thy daughter, and bestow the\ntreasure on the young couple for a marriage portion." Alexander seemed\nsurprised and perplexed. "Think you my sentence unjust?" the chief asked\nhim.\n\n"Oh, no!" replied Alexander; "but it astonishes me."\n\n"And how, then," rejoined the chief, "would the case have been\ndecided in your country?"\n\n"To confess the truth," said Alexander, "we should have taken both\nparties into custody, and have seized the treasure for the king\'s\nuse."\n\n"For the king\'s use!" exclaimed the chief; "does the sun shine on\nthat country?"\n\n"Oh, yes!"\n\n"Does it rain there?"\n\n"Assuredly."\n\n"Wonderful! But are there tame animals in the country, that live on\nthe grass and green herbs?"\n\n"Very many, and of many kinds."\n\n"Ay, that must, then, be the cause," said the chief: "for the sake of\nthose innocent animals the All-gracious Being continues to let the sun\nshine, and the rain drop down on your country; since its inhabitants are\nunworthy of such blessings." 179\n\n192\n\nBy almost common consent Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875), the\nDanish author, is the acknowledged master of all modern writers of fairy\ntales. He was born in poverty, the son of a poor shoemaker. With a\nnaturally keen dramatic sense, his imagination was stirred by stories\nfrom the Arabian Nights and La Fontaine\'s\nFables, by French and Spanish soldiers marching through his\nnative city, and by listening to the wonderful folk tales of his\ncountry. On a toy stage and with toy actors, these vivid impressions\ntook actual form. The world continued a dramatic spectacle to him\nthroughout his existence. His consuming ambition was for the stage, but\nhe had none of the personal graces so necessary for success. He was\nungainly and awkward, like his "ugly duckling." But when at last he\nbegan to write, he had the power to transfer to the page the vivid\ndramas in his mind, and this power culminated in the creation of fairy\nstories for children which he began to publish in 1835. It is usual to\nsay that Andersen, like Peter Pan, "never grew up," and it is certain\nthat he never lost the power of seeing things as children see them. Like\nmany great writers whose fame now rests on the suffrages of child\nreaders, Andersen seems at first to have felt that the\nTales were slight and beneath his dignity. They are not all\nof the same high quality. Occasionally one of them becomes "too\nsentimental and sickly sweet," but the best of them have a sturdiness\nthat is thoroughly refreshing.\n\nThe most acute analysis of the elements of Andersen\'s greatness as\nthe ideal writer for children is that made by his fellow-countryman\nGeorg Brandes in Eminent Authors of the Nineteenth Century.\nA briefer account on similar lines will be found in H. J. Boyesen\'s\nScandinavian Literature. A still briefer account, eminently\nsatisfactory for an introduction to Andersen, by Benjamin W. Wells, is\nin Warner\'s Library of the World\'s Best Literature. The\ninterested student cannot, of course, afford to neglect Andersen\'s own\nThe Story of My Life. Among the more elaborate biographies\nthe Life of Hans Christian Andersen by R. Nisbet Bain is\nprobably the best. The first translation of the Tales into\nEnglish was made by Mary Howitt in 1846 and, as far as it goes, is still\nregarded as one of the finest. However, Andersen has been very fortunate\nin his many translators. The version by H. W. Dulcken has been published\nin many cheap forms and perhaps more widely read than any other. In\naddition to the stories in the following pages, some of those most\nsuitable for use are "The Little Match Girl," "The Silver Shilling,"\n"Five Peas in the Pod," "Hans Clodhopper," and "The Snow Queen." The\nlatter is one of the longest and an undoubted masterpiece.\n\nThe first two stories following are taken from Mrs. Henderson\'s\nAndersen\'s Best Fairy Tales. (Copyright. Rand McNally &\nCo.) This little book contains thirteen stories in a very simple\ntranslation and also an excellent story of Andersen\'s life in a form\nmost attractive to children. "The Princess and the Pea" is a story for\nthe story\'s sake. The humor, perhaps slightly satirical, is based upon\nthe notion so common in the old folk tales that royal personages are\ndecidedly more delicate than the person of low degree. However, the\ntendency to think oneself of more consequence than another is not\nconfined to any one class.\n\nTHE REAL PRINCESS\n\n\nHANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN\n\n(Version by Alice Corbin Henderson)\n\nThere was once a Prince who wanted to marry a Princess. But it was\nonly a real Princess that he wanted to marry.\n\nHe traveled all over the world to find a real one. But, although\nthere were 180 plenty of princesses, whether they were\nreal princesses he could never discover. There was always\nsomething that did not seem quite right about them.\n\nAt last he had to come home again. But he was very sad, because he\nwanted to marry a real Princess.\n\nOne night there was a terrible storm. It thundered and lightened and\nthe rain poured down in torrents. In the middle of the storm there came\na knocking, knocking, knocking at the castle gate. The kind old King\nhimself went down to open the castle gate.\n\nIt was a young Princess that stood outside the gate. The wind and the\nrain had almost blown her to pieces. Water streamed out of her hair and\nout of her clothes. Water ran in at the points of her shoes and out\nagain at the heels. Yet she said that she was a real\nPrincess.\n\n"Well, we will soon find out about that!" thought the Queen.\n\nShe said nothing, but went into the bedroom, took off all the\nbedding, and put a small dried pea on the bottom of the bedstead. Then\nshe piled twenty mattresses on top of the pea, and on top of these she\nput twenty feather beds. This was where the Princess had to sleep that\nnight.\n\nIn the morning they asked her how she had slept through the\nnight.\n\n"Oh, miserably!" said the Princess. "I hardly closed my eyes the\nwhole night long! Goodness only knows what was in my bed! I slept upon\nsomething so hard that I am black and blue all over. It was\ndreadful!"\n\nSo then they knew that she was a real Princess. For, through\nthe twenty mattresses and the twenty feather beds, she had still felt\nthe pea. No one but a real Princess could have had such a\ntender skin.\n\nSo the Prince took her for his wife. He knew now that he had a\nreal Princess.\n\nAs for the pea, it was put in a museum where it may still be seen if\nno one has carried it away.\n\nNow this is a true story!\n\n193\n\nWith some dozen exceptions, all of Andersen\'s Tales are\nbased upon older stories, either upon some old folk tale or upon\nsomething that he ran across in his reading. Dr. Brandes, in his\nEminent Authors, shows in detail how "The Emperor\'s New Clothes"\ncame into being. "One day in turning over the leaves of Don Manuel\'s\nCount Lucanor, Andersen became charmed by the homely wisdom\nof the old Spanish story, with the delicate flavor of the Middle Ages\npervading it, and he lingered over chapter vii, which treats of how a\nking was served by three rogues." But Andersen\'s story is a very\ndifferent one in many ways from his Spanish original. For one thing, the\nmeaning is so universal that no one can miss it. Most of us have, in all\nlikelihood, at some time pretended to know what we do not know or to be\nwhat we are not in order to save our face, to avoid the censure or\nridicule of others. "There is much concerning which people dare not\nspeak the truth, through cowardice, through fear of acting otherwise\nthan \'all the world,\' through anxiety lest they should appear stupid.\nAnd the story is eternally new and it never ends. It has its grave side,\nbut just because of its endlessness it has also its humorous side." When\nthe absurd bubble of the grand procession is punctured by the child,\nwhose mental honesty has not yet been spoiled by the pressure of\nconvention, the Emperor "held himself stiffer than ever, and the\nchamberlains carried the invisible train." For it would never do to hold\nup the procession!\n\nTranscriber\'s Note: original reads \'Emporer\'s\'\n\n181\n\nTHE EMPEROR\'S NEW CLOTHES\n\n\nHANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN\n\n(Version by Alice Corbin Henderson)\n\nMany years ago there lived an Emperor who thought so much of new\nclothes that he spent all his money on them. He did not care for his\nsoldiers; he did not care to go to the theater. He liked to drive out in\nthe park only that he might show off his new clothes. He had a coat for\nevery hour of the day. They usually say of a king, "He is in the council\nchamber." But of the Emperor they said, "He is in the clothes\ncloset!"\n\nIt was a gay city in which the Emperor lived. And many strangers came\nto visit it every day. Among these, one day, there came two rogues who\nset themselves up as weavers. They said they knew how to weave the most\nbeautiful cloths imaginable. And not only were the colors and patterns\nused remarkably beautiful, but clothes made from this cloth could not be\nseen by any one who was unfit for the office he held or was too stupid\nfor any use.\n\n"Those would be fine clothes!" thought the Emperor. "If I wore those\nI could find out what men in my empire were not fit for the places they\nheld. I could tell the clever men from the dunces! I must have some\nclothes woven for me at once!"\n\nSo he gave the two rogues a great deal of money that they might begin\ntheir work at once.\n\nThe rogues immediately put up two looms and pretended to be working.\nBut there was nothing at all on their looms. They called for the finest\nsilks and the brightest gold, but this they put into their pockets. At\nthe empty looms they worked steadily until late into the night.\n\n"I should like to know how the weavers are getting on with my\nclothes," thought the Emperor.\n\nBut he felt a little uneasy when he thought that any one who was\nstupid or was not fit for his office would be unable to see the cloth.\nOf course he had no fears for himself; but still he thought he would\nsend some one else first, just to see how matters stood.\n\n"I will send my faithful old Minister to the weavers," thought the\nEmperor. "He can see how the stuff looks, for he is a clever man, and no\none is so careful in fulfilling duties as he is!"\n\nSo the good old Minister went into the room where the two rogues sat\nworking at the empty looms.\n\n"Mercy on us!" thought the old Minister, opening his eyes wide, "I\ncan\'t see a thing!" But he didn\'t care to say so.\n\nBoth the rascals begged him to be good enough to step a little\nnearer. They pointed to the empty looms and asked him if he did not\nthink the pattern and the coloring wonderful. The poor old Minister\nstared and stared as hard as he could, but he could not see anything,\nfor, of course, there was nothing to see!\n\n"Mercy!" he said to himself. "Is it possible that I am a dunce? I\nnever thought so! Certainly no one must know it. Am I unfit for office?\nIt will never do to say that I cannot see the stuff!"\n\n"Well, sir, why do you say nothing of it?" asked the rogue who was\npretending to weave.\n\n"Oh, it is beautiful—charming!" said the old Minister, peering\nthrough his spectacles. "What a fine pattern, and what wonderful colors!\nI shall tell the Emperor that I am very much pleased with it." 182\n\n"Well, we are glad to hear you say so," answered the two\nswindlers.\n\nThen they named all the colors of the invisible cloth upon the looms,\nand described the peculiar pattern. The old Minister listened intently,\nso that he could repeat all that was said of it to the Emperor.\n\nThe rogues now began to demand more money, more silk, and more gold\nthread in order to proceed with the weaving. All of this, of course,\nwent into their pockets. Not a single strand was ever put on the empty\nlooms at which they went on working.\n\nThe Emperor soon sent another faithful friend to see how soon the new\nclothes would be ready. But he fared no better than the Minister. He\nlooked and looked and looked, but still saw nothing but the empty\nlooms.\n\n"Isn\'t that a pretty piece of stuff?" asked both rogues, showing and\nexplaining the handsome pattern which was not there at all.\n\n"I am not stupid!" thought the man. "It must be that I am not worthy\nof my good position. That is, indeed, strange. But I must not let it be\nknown!"\n\nSo he praised the cloth he did not see, and expressed his approval of\nthe color and the design that were not there. To the Emperor he said,\n"It is charming!"\n\nSoon everybody in town was talking about the wonderful cloth that the\ntwo rogues were weaving.\n\nThe Emperor began to think now that he himself would like to see the\nwonderful cloth while it was still on the looms. Accompanied by a number\nof his friends, among whom were the two faithful officers who had\nalready beheld the imaginary stuff, he went to visit the two men who\nwere weaving, might and main, without any fiber and without any\nthread.\n\n"Isn\'t it splendid!" cried the two statesmen who had already been\nthere, and who thought the others would see something upon the empty\nlooms. "Look, your Majesty! What colors! And what a design!"\n\n"What\'s this?" thought the Emperor. "I see nothing at all! Am I a\ndunce? Am I not fit to be Emperor? That would be the worst thing that\ncould happen to me, if it were true."\n\n"Oh, it is very pretty!" said the Emperor aloud. "It has my highest\napproval!"\n\nHe nodded his head happily, and stared at the empty looms. Never\nwould he say that he could see nothing!\n\nHis friends, too, gazed and gazed, but saw no more than had the\nothers. Yet they all cried out, "It is beautiful!" and advised the\nEmperor to wear a suit made of this cloth in a great procession that was\nsoon to take place.\n\n"It is magnificent, gorgeous!" was the cry that went from mouth to\nmouth. The Emperor gave each of the rogues a royal ribbon to wear in his\nbuttonhole, and called them the Imperial Court Weavers.\n\nThe rogues were up the whole night before the morning of the\nprocession. They kept more than sixteen candles burning. The people\ncould see them hard at work, completing the new clothes of the Emperor.\nThey took yards of stuff down from the empty looms; they made cuts in\nthe air with big scissors; they sewed with needles without thread; and,\nat last, they said, "The clothes are ready!"\n\nThe Emperor himself, with his grandest courtiers, went to put on his\nnew suit. 183\n\n"See!" said the rogues, lifting their arms as if holding something.\n"Here are the trousers! Here is the coat! Here is the cape!" and so on.\n"It is as light as a spider\'s web. One might think one had nothing on.\nBut that is just the beauty of it!"\n\n"Very nice," said the courtiers. But they could see nothing; for\nthere was nothing!\n\n"Will your Imperial Majesty be graciously pleased to take off your\nclothes," asked the rogues, "so that we may put on the new ones before\nthis long mirror?"\n\nThe Emperor took off all his own clothes, and the two rogues\npretended to put on each new garment as it was ready. They wrapped him\nabout, and they tied and they buttoned. The Emperor turned round and\nround before the mirror.\n\n"How well his Majesty looks in his new clothes!" said the people.\n"How becoming they are! What a pattern! What colors! It is a beautiful\ndress!"\n\n"They are waiting outside with the canopy which is to be carried over\nyour Majesty in the procession," said the master of ceremonies.\n\n"I am ready," said the Emperor. "Don\'t the clothes fit well?" he\nasked, giving a last glance into the mirror as though he were looking at\nall his new finery.\n\nThe men who were to carry the train of the Emperor\'s cloak stooped\ndown to the floor as if picking up the train, and then held it high in\nthe air. They did not dare let it be known that they could see\nnothing.\n\nSo the Emperor marched along under the bright canopy. Everybody in\nthe streets and at the windows cried out: "How beautiful the Emperor\'s\nnew clothes are! What a fine train! And they fit to perfection!"\n\nNo one would let it be known that he could see nothing, for that\nwould have proved that he was unfit for office or that he was very, very\nstupid. None of the Emperor\'s clothes had ever been as successful as\nthese.\n\n"But he has nothing on!" said a little child.\n\n"Just listen to the innocent!" said its father.\n\nBut one person whispered to another what the child had said. "He has\nnothing on! A child says he has nothing on!"\n\n"But he has nothing on!" at last cried all the people.\n\nThe Emperor writhed, for he knew that this was true. But he realized\nthat it would never do to stop the procession. So he held himself\nstiffer than ever, and the chamberlains carried the invisible train.\n\n194\n\nIn his story "The Nightingale," Andersen suggests that the so-called\nupper class of society may become so conventionalized as to be unable to\nappreciate true beauty. Poor fishermen and the little kitchen girl in\nthe story recognize the beauty of the exquisite song of the nightingale,\nand Andersen shows his regard for royalty by having the emperor\nappreciate it twice. The last part of the story is especially\nimpressive. When Death approached the emperor and took from him the\nsymbols that had made him rank above his fellows, the emperor saw the\nrealities of life and again perceived the beauty of the nightingale\'s\nsong. This contact with real life made Death shrink away. Then the\nemperor learned Andersen\'s message to artificial society: If you would\nbehold true beauty, you must have it in your own heart.\n\n184\n\nTHE NIGHTINGALE\n\nHANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN\n\nIn China, you must know, the Emperor is a Chinaman, and all whom he\nhas about him are Chinamen too. It happened a good many years ago, but\nthat\'s just why it\'s worth while to hear the story before it is\nforgotten. The Emperor\'s palace was the most splendid in the world; it\nwas made entirely of porcelain, very costly, but so delicate and brittle\nthat one had to take care how one touched it. In the garden were to be\nseen the most wonderful flowers, and to the costliest of them silver\nbells were tied, which sounded, so that nobody should pass by without\nnoticing the flowers. Yes, everything in the Emperor\'s garden was\nadmirably arranged. And it extended so far that the gardener himself did\nnot know where the end was. If a man went on and on, he came into a\nglorious forest with high trees and deep lakes. The wood extended\nstraight down to the sea, which was blue and deep; great ships could\nsail, too, beneath the branches of the trees; and in the trees lived a\nNightingale, which sang so splendidly that even the poor fisherman, who\nhad many other things to do, stopped still and listened, when he had\ngone out at night to throw out his nets, and heard the Nightingale.\n\n"How beautiful that is!" he said; but he was obliged to attend to his\nproperty, and thus forgot the bird. But when the next night the bird\nsang again, and the fisherman heard it, he exclaimed again, "How\nbeautiful that is!"\n\nFrom all the countries of the world travelers came to the city of the\nEmperor, and admired it, and the palace and the garden, but when they\nheard the Nightingale, they said, "That is the best of all!"\n\nAnd the travelers told of it when they came home; and the learnèd men\nwrote many books about the town, the palace, and the garden. But they\ndid not forget the Nightingale; that was placed highest of all; and\nthose who were poets wrote most magnificent poems about the Nightingale\nin the wood by the deep lake.\n\nThe books went through all the world, and a few of them once came to\nthe Emperor. He sat in his golden chair, and read, and read: every\nmoment he nodded his head, for it pleased him to peruse the masterly\ndescriptions of the city, the palace, and the garden. "But the\nNightingale is the best of all," it stood written there.\n\n"What\'s that?" exclaimed the Emperor. "I don\'t know the Nightingale\nat all! Is there such a bird in my empire, and even in my garden? I\'ve\nnever heard of that. To think that I should have to learn such a thing\nfor the first time from books!"\n\nAnd hereupon he called his cavalier. This cavalier was so grand that\nif anyone lower in rank than himself dared to speak to him, or to ask\nhim any question, he answered nothing but "P!"—and that meant\nnothing.\n\n"There is said to be a wonderful bird here called a Nightingale,"\nsaid the Emperor. "They say it is the best thing in all my great empire.\nWhy have I never heard anything about it?"\n\n"I have never heard him named," replied the cavalier. "He has never\nbeen introduced at Court."\n\n"I command that he shall appear this evening, and sing before me,"\nsaid the Emperor. "All the world knows what I possess, and I do not know\nit myself!"\n\n"I have never heard him mentioned," said the cavalier. "I will seek\nfor him. I will find him."\n\nBut where was he to be found? The cavalier ran up and down all the\nstaircases, through halls and passages, but no one among all those whom\nhe met had heard talk of the Nightingale. And the cavalier ran back to\nthe Emperor, and said that it must be a fable invented by the writers of\nbooks.\n\n"Your Imperial Majesty cannot believe how much is written that is\nfiction, besides something that they call the black art."\n\n"But the book in which I read this," said the Emperor, "was sent to\nme by the high and mighty Emperor of Japan and therefore it cannot be a\nfalsehood. I will hear the Nightingale! It must be here this\nevening! It has my imperial favor; and if it does not come, all the\nCourt shall be trampled upon after the Court has supped!"\n\n"Tsing-pe!" said the cavalier; and again he ran up and down all the\nstaircases, and through all the halls and corridors; and half the Court\nran with him, for the courtiers did not like being trampled upon.\n\nThen there was a great inquiry after the wonderful Nightingale, which\nall the world knew excepting the people at Court.\n\nAt last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen, who\nsaid:\n\n"The Nightingale? I know it well; yes, it can sing gloriously. Every\nevening I get leave to carry my poor sick mother the scraps from the\ntable. She lives down by the strand; and when I get back and am tired,\nand rest in the wood, then I hear the Nightingale sing. And then the\nwater comes into my eyes, and it is just as if my mother kissed me."\n\n"Little kitchen girl," said the cavalier, "I will get you a place in\nthe Court kitchen, with permission to see the Emperor dine, if you will\nbut lead us to the Nightingale, for it is announced for this\nevening."\n\nSo they all went out into the wood where the Nightingale was\naccustomed to sing; half the Court went forth. When they were in the\nmidst of their journey a cow began to low.\n\n"Oh!" cried the Court pages, "now we have it! That shows a wonderful\npower in so small a creature! I have certainly heard it before."\n\n"No, those are cows lowing," said the little kitchen girl. "We are a\nlong way from the place yet."\n\nNow the frogs began to croak in the marsh.\n\n"Glorious!" said the Chinese Court preacher. "Now I hear it—it sounds\njust like little church bells."\n\n"No, those are frogs," said the little kitchen maid. "But now I think\nwe shall soon hear it."\n\nAnd then the Nightingale began to sing.\n\n"That is it!" exclaimed the little girl. "Listen, listen! and yonder\nit sits."\n\nAnd she pointed to a little gray bird up in the boughs.\n\n"Is it possible?" cried the cavalier. "I should never have thought it\nlooked like that! How simple it looks! It must certainly have lost its\ncolor at seeing such grand people around."\n\n"Little Nightingale!" called the little kitchen maid, quite loudly,\n"our gracious Emperor wishes you to sing before him."\n\n"With the greatest pleasure!" replied the Nightingale, and began to\nsing most delightfully.\n\n"It sounds just like glass bells!" said the cavalier. "And look at\nits little throat, how it\'s working! It\'s wonderful that we should never\nhave heard it before. That bird will be a great success at Court."\n\n"Shall I sing once more before the Emperor?" inquired the\nNightingale, for it thought the Emperor was present.\n\n"My excellent little Nightingale," said the cavalier, "I have great\npleasure in inviting you to a Court festival this evening, when you\nshall charm his Imperial Majesty with your beautiful singing."\n\n"My song sounds best in the green wood," replied the Nightingale;\nstill it came willingly when it heard what the Emperor wished.\n\nThe palace was festively adorned. The walls and the flooring, which\nwere of porcelain, gleamed in the rays of thousands of golden lamps. The\nmost glorious flowers, which could ring clearly, had been placed in the\npassages. There was a running to and fro, and a thorough draught, and\nall the bells rang so loudly that one could not hear one\'s self\nspeak.\n\nIn the midst of the great hall, where the Emperor sat, a golden perch\nhad been placed, on which the Nightingale was to sit. The whole Court\nwas there, and the little cook-maid had got leave to stand behind the\ndoor, as she had now received the title of a real Court cook. All were\nin full dress, and all looked at the little gray bird, to which the\nEmperor nodded.\n\nAnd the Nightingale sang so gloriously that the tears came into the\nEmperor\'s eyes, and the tears ran down over his cheeks; then the\nNightingale sang still more sweetly, that went straight to the heart.\nThe Emperor was so much pleased that he said the Nightingale should have\nhis golden slipper to wear round its neck. But the Nightingale declined\nthis with thanks, saying it had already received a sufficient\nreward.\n\n"I have seen tears in the Emperor\'s eyes—that is the real treasure to\nme. An Emperor\'s tears have a peculiar power. I am rewarded enough!" And\nthen it sang again with a sweet, glorious voice.\n\n"That\'s the most amiable coquetry I ever saw!" said the ladies who\nstood round about, and then they took water in their mouths to gurgle\nwhen anyone spoke to them. They thought they should be nightingales too.\nAnd the lackeys and chambermaids reported that they were satisfied also;\nand that was saying a good deal, for they are the most difficult to\nplease. In short, the Nightingale achieved a real success.\n\nIt was now to remain at Court, to have its own cage, with liberty to\ngo out twice every day and once at night. Twelve servants were appointed\nwhen the Nightingale went out, each of whom had a silken string fastened\nto the bird\'s legs, which they held very tight. There was really no\npleasure in an excursion of that kind.\n\nThe whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and whenever two people\nmet, one said nothing but "Nightin," and the other said "gale"; and then\nthey both sighed, and understood one another. Eleven pedlars\' children\nwere named after the bird, but not one of them could sing a note.\n\nOne day the Emperor received a large parcel, on which was written,\n"The Nightingale."\n\n"There we have a new book about this celebrated bird," said the\nEmperor. 187\n\nBut it was not a book, but a little work of art, contained in a\nbox—an artificial nightingale, which was to sing like a natural one, and\nwas brilliantly ornamented with diamonds, sapphires, and rubies. So soon\nas the artificial bird was wound up, he could sing one of the pieces\nthat he really sang, and then his tail moved up and down, and shone with\nsilver and gold. Round his neck hung a little ribbon, and on that was\nwritten, "The Emperor of China\'s nightingale is poor compared to that of\nthe Emperor of Japan."\n\n"That is capital!" said they all, and he who had brought the\nartificial bird immediately received the title, Imperial\nHead-Nightingale-Bringer.\n\n"Now they must sing together; what a duet that will be!" cried the\ncourtiers.\n\nAnd so they had to sing together; but it did not sound very well, for\nthe real Nightingale sang its own way, and the artificial bird sang\nwaltzes.\n\n"That\'s not his fault," said the playmaster; "he\'s quite perfect, and\nvery much in my style."\n\nNow the artificial bird was to sing alone. It had just as much\nsuccess as the real one, and then it was much handsomer to look at—it\nshone like bracelets and breastpins.\n\nThree and thirty times over did it sing the same piece, and yet was\nnot tired. The people would gladly have heard it again, but the Emperor\nsaid that the living Nightingale ought to sing something now. But where\nwas it? No one had noticed that it had flown away out of the open\nwindow, back to the green wood.\n\n"But what has become of that?" asked the Emperor.\n\nAnd all the courtiers abused the Nightingale, and declared that it\nwas a very ungrateful creature.\n\n"We have the best bird after all," said they.\n\nAnd so the artificial bird had to sing again, and that was the\nthirty-fourth time that they listened to the same piece. For all that\nthey did not know it quite by heart, for it was so very difficult. And\nthe playmaster praised the bird particularly; yes, he declared that it\nwas better than a nightingale, not only with regard to its plumage and\nthe many beautiful diamonds, but inside as well.\n\n"For you see, ladies and gentlemen, and above all, your Imperial\nMajesty, with a real nightingale one can never calculate what is coming,\nbut in this artificial bird, everything is settled. One can explain it;\none can open it and make people understand where the waltzes come from,\nhow they go, and how one follows up another."\n\n"Those are quite our own ideas," they all said.\n\nAnd the speaker received permission to show the bird to the people on\nthe next Sunday. The people were to hear it sing too, the Emperor\ncommanded: and they did hear it, and were as much pleased as if they had\nall got tipsy upon tea, for that\'s quite the Chinese fashion, and they\nall said, "Oh!" and held up their forefingers and nodded. But the poor\nfisherman, who had heard the real Nightingale, said:\n\n"It sounds pretty enough, and the melodies resemble each other, but\nthere\'s something wanting, though I know not what!"\n\nThe real Nightingale was banished from the country and empire. The\nartificial bird had its place on a silken 188 cushion close to the Emperor\'s\nbed; all the presents it had received, gold and precious stones, were\nranged about it; in title it had advanced to be the High Imperial\nAfter-Dinner-Singer, and in rank to Number One on the left hand; for the\nEmperor considered that side the most important on which the heart is\nplaced, and even in an Emperor the heart is on the left side; and the\nplaymaster wrote a work of five and twenty volumes about the artificial\nbird; it was very learnèd and very long, full of the most difficult\nChinese words; but yet all the people declared that they had read it and\nunderstood it, for fear of being considered stupid, and having their\nbodies trampled on.\n\nSo a whole year went by. The Emperor, the Court, and all the other\nChinese knew every little twitter in the artificial bird\'s song by\nheart. But just for that reason it pleased them best—they could sing\nwith it themselves, and they did so. The street boys sang,\n"Tsi-tsi-tsi-glug-glug!" and the Emperor himself sang it too. Yes, that\nwas certainly famous.\n\nBut one evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and\nthe Emperor lay in bed listening to it, something inside the bird said,\n"Whizz!" Something cracked. "Whir-r-r!" All the wheels ran round, and\nthen the music stopped.\n\nThe Emperor immediately sprang out of bed, and caused his body\nphysician to be called; but what could he do? Then they sent\nfor a watchmaker, and after a good deal of talking and investigation,\nthe bird was put into something like order, but the watchmaker said that\nthe bird must be carefully treated, for the barrels were worn, and it\nwould be impossible to put new ones in in such a manner that the music\nwould go. There was a great lamentation; only once in the year was it\npermitted to let the bird sing, and that was almost too much. But then\nthe playmaster made a little speech full of heavy words, and said this\nwas just as good as before—and so of course it was as good as\nbefore.\n\nNow five years had gone by, and a real grief came upon the whole\nnation. The Chinese were really fond of their Emperor, and now he was\nill, and could not, it was said, live much longer. Already a new Emperor\nhad been chosen, and the people stood out in the street and asked the\ncavalier how the Emperor did.\n\n"P!" said he, and shook his head.\n\nCold and pale lay the Emperor in his great, gorgeous bed; the whole\nCourt thought him dead, and each one ran to pay homage to the new ruler.\nThe chamberlains ran out to talk it over, and the ladies\' maids had a\ngreat coffee party. All about, in all the halls and passages, cloth had\nbeen laid down so that no footstep could be heard, and therefore it was\nquiet there, quite quiet. But the Emperor was not dead yet; stiff and\npale he lay on the gorgeous bed, with the long velvet curtains and the\nheavy gold tassels; high up, a window stood open, and the moon shone in\nupon the Emperor and the artificial bird.\n\nThe poor Emperor could scarcely breathe; it was just as if something\nlay upon his chest; he opened his eyes, and then he saw that it was\nDeath who sat upon his chest, and had put on his golden crown, and held\nin one hand the Emperor\'s sword, in the other his beautiful banner. And\nall around, from among the folds of the splendid velvet curtains,\nstrange heads peered forth; a few very 189 ugly, the rest quite lovely and\nmild. These were all the Emperor\'s bad and good deeds, that stood before\nhim now that Death sat upon his heart.\n\n"Do you remember this?" whispered one to the other. "Do you remember\nthat?" and then they told him so much that the perspiration ran from his\nforehead.\n\n"I did not know that!" said the Emperor. "Music! music! the great\nChinese drum!" he cried, "so that I need not hear all they say!"\n\nAnd they continued speaking, and Death nodded like a Chinaman to all\nthey said.\n\n"Music! music!" cried the Emperor. "You little precious golden bird,\nsing, sing! I have given you gold and costly presents; I have even hung\nmy golden slipper around your neck—sing now, sing!"\n\nBut the bird stood still; no one was there to wind him up, and he\ncould not sing without that; but Death continued to stare at the Emperor\nwith his great, hollow eyes, and it was quiet, fearfully quiet.\n\nThen there sounded from the window, suddenly, the most lovely song.\nIt was the little live Nightingale, that sat outside on a spray. It had\nheard of the Emperor\'s sad plight, and had come to sing to him of\ncomfort and hope. As it sang the specters grew paler and paler; the\nblood ran quicker and more quickly through the Emperor\'s weak limbs; and\neven Death listened, and said:\n\n"Go on, little Nightingale, go on!"\n\n"But will you give me that splendid golden sword? Will you give me\nthat rich banner? Will you give me the Emperor\'s crown?"\n\nAnd Death gave up each of these treasures for a song. And the\nNightingale sang on and on; and it sang of the quiet churchyard where\nthe white roses grow, where the elder blossoms smell sweet, and where\nthe fresh grass is moistened by the tears of survivors. Then Death felt\na longing to see his garden, and floated out at the window in the form\nof a cold white mist.\n\n"Thanks! thanks!" said the Emperor. "You heavenly little bird; I know\nyou well. I banished you from my country and empire, and yet you have\ncharmed away the evil faces from my couch, and banished Death from my\nheart! How can I reward you?"\n\n"You have rewarded me!" replied the Nightingale. "I have drawn tears\nfrom your eyes, when I sang the first time—I shall never forget that.\nThose are the jewels that rejoice a singer\'s heart. But now sleep, and\ngrow fresh and strong again. I will sing you something."\n\nAnd it sang, and the Emperor fell into a sweet slumber. Ah! how mild\nand refreshing that sleep was! The sun shone upon him through the\nwindows when he awoke refreshed and restored: not one of his servants\nhad yet returned, for they all thought he was dead; only the Nightingale\nstill sat beside him and sang.\n\n"You must always stay with me," said the Emperor. "You shall sing as\nyou please; and I\'ll break the artificial bird into a thousand\npieces."\n\n"Not so," replied the Nightingale. "It did well as long as it could;\nkeep it as you have done till now. I cannot build my nest in the palace\nto dwell in it, but let me come when I feel the wish; then I will sit in\nthe evening on the spray yonder by the window, and sing you something,\nso that you may be glad and thoughtful at once. I will sing of those who\nare happy and of those who suffer. 190 I will sing of good and of evil\nthat remains hidden round about you. The little singing bird flies far\naround, to the poor fisherman, to the peasant\'s roof, to everyone who\ndwells far away from you and from your Court. I love your heart more\nthan your crown, and yet the crown has an air of sanctity about it. I\nwill come and sing to you—but one thing you must promise me."\n\n"Every thing!" said the Emperor; and he stood there in his imperial\nrobes, which he had put on himself, and pressed the sword which was\nheavy with gold to his heart.\n\n"One thing I beg of you: tell no one that you have a little bird who\ntells you everything. Then it will go all the better."\n\nAnd the Nightingale flew away.\n\nThe servants came in to look at their dead Emperor, and—yes, there he\nstood, and the Emperor said, "Good-morning!"\n\n195\n\nThis story is a favorite for the Christmas season. It is loosely\nconstructed, and rambles along for some time after it might have been\nexpected to finish. Such rambling is often very attractive to childish\nlisteners, as it allows the introduction of unexpected incidents. Miss\nKready has some interesting suggestions about dramatizing this story in\nher Study of Fairy Tales, pp. 151-153. The translation is\nDulcken\'s.\n\nTHE FIR TREE\n\nHANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN\n\nOut in the forest stood a pretty little Fir Tree. It had a good\nplace; it could have sunlight, air there was in plenty, and all around\ngrew many larger comrades—pines as well as firs. But the little Fir Tree\nwished ardently to become greater. It did not care for the warm sun and\nthe fresh air; it took no notice of the peasant children, who went about\ntalking together, when they had come out to look for strawberries and\nraspberries. Often they came with a whole pot-full, or had strung\nberries on a straw; then they would sit down by the little Fir Tree and\nsay, "How pretty and small that one is!" and the Fir Tree did not like\nto hear that at all.\n\nNext year he had grown a great joint, and the following year he was\nlonger still, for in fir trees one can always tell by the number of\nrings they have how many years they have been growing.\n\n"Oh, if I were only as great a tree as the other!" sighed the little\nFir, "then I would spread my branches far around, and look out from my\ncrown into the wide world. The birds would then build nests in my\nboughs, and when the wind blew I could nod just as grandly as the others\nyonder."\n\nIt took no pleasure in the sunshine, in the birds, and in the red\nclouds that went sailing over him morning and evening.\n\nWhen it was winter, and the snow lay all around, white and sparkling,\na hare would often come jumping along, and spring right over the little\nFir Tree. Oh! this made him so angry. But two winters went by, and when\nthe third came the little Tree had grown so tall that the hare was\nobliged to run round it.\n\n"Oh! to grow, to grow, and become old; that\'s the only fine thing in\nthe world," thought the Tree.\n\nIn the autumn woodcutters always came and felled a few of the largest\ntrees; that was done this year too, and the little Fir Tree, that was\nnow quite well grown, shuddered with fear, for the 191 great\nstately trees fell to the ground with a crash, and their branches were\ncut off, so that the trees looked quite naked, long, and slender—they\ncould hardly be recognized. But then they were laid upon wagons, and\nhorses dragged them away out of the wood. Where were they going? What\ndestiny awaited them?\n\nIn the spring, when the Swallows and the Stork came, the Tree asked\nthem, "Do you know where they were taken? Did you not meet them?"\n\nThe Swallows knew nothing about it, but the Stork looked thoughtful,\nnodded his head, and said:\n\n"Yes, I think so. I met many new ships when I flew out of Egypt; on\nthe ships were stately masts; I fancy these were the trees. They smelt\nlike fir. I can assure you they\'re stately—very stately."\n\n"Oh that I were only big enough to go over the sea! What kind of\nthing is this sea, and how does it look?"\n\n"It would take too long to explain all that," said the Stork, and he\nwent away.\n\n"Rejoice in thy youth," said the Sunbeams; "rejoice in thy fresh\ngrowth, and in the young life that is within thee."\n\nAnd the wind kissed the Tree, and the dew wept tears upon it; but the\nFir Tree did not understand that.\n\nWhen Christmas-time approached, quite young trees were felled,\nsometimes trees which were neither so old nor so large as this Fir Tree,\nthat never rested, but always wanted to go away. These young trees,\nwhich were always the most beautiful, kept all their branches; they were\nput upon wagons, and horses dragged them away out of the wood.\n\n"Where are they all going?" asked the Fir Tree. "They are not greater\nthan I—indeed, one of them was much smaller. Why do they keep all their\nbranches? Whither are they taken?"\n\n"We know that! We know that!" chirped the Sparrows. "Yonder in the\ntown we looked in at the windows. We know where they go. Oh! they are\ndressed up in the greatest pomp and splendor that can be imagined. We\nhave looked in at the windows, and have perceived that they are planted\nin the middle of a warm room, and adorned with the most beautiful\nthings—gilt apples, honey-cakes, playthings, and many hundred\ncandles."\n\n"And then?" asked the Fir Tree, and trembled through all its\nbranches. "And then? What happens then?"\n\n"Why, we have not seen anything more. But it was incomparable."\n\n"Perhaps I may be destined to tread this glorious path one day!"\ncried the Fir Tree, rejoicingly. "That is even better than traveling\nacross the sea. How painfully I long for it! If it were only Christmas\nnow! Now I am great and grown up, like the rest who were led away last\nyear. Oh, if I were only on the carriage! If I were only in the warm\nroom, among all the pomp and splendor! And then? Yes, then something\neven better will come, something far more charming, or else why should\nthey adorn me so? There must be something grander, something greater\nstill to come; but what? Oh! I\'m suffering, I\'m longing! I don\'t know\nmyself what is the matter with me!"\n\n"Rejoice in us," said Air and Sunshine. "Rejoice in thy fresh youth\nhere in the woodland."\n\nBut the Fir Tree did not rejoice at all, but it grew and grew; winter\nand summer it stood there, green, dark green. The 192 people\nwho saw it said, "That\'s a handsome tree!" and at Christmas time it was\nfelled before any one of the others. The ax cut deep into its marrow,\nand the tree fell to the ground with a sigh; it felt a pain, a sensation\nof faintness, and could not think at all of happiness, for it was sad at\nparting from its home, from the place where it had grown up; it knew\nthat it should never again see the dear old companions, the little\nbushes and flowers all around—perhaps not even the birds. The parting\nwas not at all agreeable.\n\nThe Tree only came to itself when it was unloaded in a yard, with\nother trees, and heard a man say:\n\n"This one is famous; we want only this one!"\n\nNow two servants came in gay liveries, and carried the Fir Tree into\na large, beautiful saloon. All around the walls hung pictures, and by\nthe great stove stood large Chinese vases with lions on the covers;\nthere were rocking-chairs, silken sofas, great tables covered with\npicture books, and toys worth a hundred times a hundred dollars, at\nleast the children said so. And the Fir Tree was put into a great tub\nfilled with sand; but no one could see that it was a tub, for it was\nhung round with green cloth, and stood on a large, many-colored carpet.\nOh, how the Tree trembled! What was to happen now? The servants, and the\nyoung ladies also, decked it out. On one branch they hung little nets,\ncut out of colored paper; every net was filled with sweetmeats; golden\napples and walnuts hung down, as if they grew there, and more than a\nhundred little candles, red, white, and blue, were fastened to the\ndifferent boughs. Dolls that looked exactly like real people—the tree\nhad never seen such before—swung among the foliage, and high on the\nsummit of the Tree was fixed a tinsel star. It was splendid,\nparticularly splendid.\n\n"This evening," said all, "this evening it will shine."\n\n"Oh," thought the Tree, "that it were evening already! Oh, that the\nlights may be soon lit up! When may that be done? I wonder if trees will\ncome out of the forest to look at me? Will the sparrows fly against the\npanes? Shall I grow fast here, and stand adorned in summer and\nwinter?"\n\nYes, he did not guess badly. But he had a complete backache from mere\nlonging, and the backache is just as bad for a Tree as the headache for\na person.\n\nAt last the candles were lighted. What a brilliance, what splendor!\nThe Tree trembled so in all its branches that one of the candles set\nfire to a green twig, and it was scorched.\n\n"Heaven preserve us!" cried the young ladies; and they hastily put\nthe fire out.\n\nNow the Tree might not even tremble. Oh, that was terrible! It was so\nafraid of setting fire to some of its ornaments, and it was quite\nbewildered with all the brilliance. And now the folding doors were\nthrown open, and a number of children rushed in as if they would have\noverturned the whole Tree; the older people followed more deliberately.\nThe little ones stood quite silent, but only for a minute; then they\nshouted till the room rang: they danced gleefully round the Tree, and\none present after another was plucked from it.\n\n"What are they about?" thought the Tree. "What\'s going to be\ndone?"\n\nAnd the candles burned down to the twigs, and as they burned down\nthey 193 were extinguished, and then the children received\npermission to plunder the Tree. Oh! they rushed in upon it, so that\nevery branch cracked again: if it had not been fastened by the top and\nby the golden star to the ceiling, it would have fallen down.\n\nThe children danced about with their pretty toys. No one looked at\nthe Tree except one old man, who came up and peeped among the branches,\nbut only to see if a fig or an apple had not been forgotten.\n\n"A story! A story!" shouted the children; and they drew a little fat\nman toward the tree; and he sat down just beneath it—"for then we shall\nbe in the green wood," said he, "and the tree may have the advantage of\nlistening to my tale. But I can only tell one. Will you hear the story\nof Ivede-Avede, or of Klumpey-Dumpey, who fell downstairs, and still was\nraised up to honor and married the Princess?"\n\n"Ivede-Avede!" cried some, "Klumpey-Dumpey!" cried others, and there\nwas a great crying and shouting. Only the Fir Tree was quite silent, and\nthought, "Shall I not be in it? Shall I have nothing to do in it?" But\nhe had been in the evening\'s amusement, and had done what was required\nof him.\n\nAnd the fat man told about Klumpey-Dumpey who fell downstairs, and\nyet was raised to honor and married the Princess. And the children\nclapped their hands, and cried, "Tell another! tell another!" for they\nwanted to hear about Ivede-Avede; but they only got the story of\nKlumpey-Dumpey. The Fir Tree stood quite silent and thoughtful; never\nhad the birds in the wood told such a story as that. Klumpey-Dumpey fell\ndownstairs, and yet came to honor and married the Princess!\n\n"Yes, so it happens in the world!" thought the Fir Tree, and believed\nit must be true, because that was such a nice man who told it. "Well,\nwho can know? Perhaps I shall fall downstairs, too, and marry a\nPrincess!" And it looked forward with pleasure to being adorned again,\nthe next evening, with candles and toys, gold and fruit. "To-morrow I\nshall not tremble," it thought.\n\n"I will rejoice in all my splendor. To-morrow I shall hear the story\nof Klumpey-Dumpey again, and perhaps that of Ivede-Avede, too."\n\nAnd the Tree stood all night quiet and thoughtful.\n\nIn the morning the servants and the chambermaid came in.\n\n"Now my splendor will begin afresh," thought the Tree. But they\ndragged him out of the room, and upstairs to the garret, and here they\nput him in a dark corner where no daylight shone.\n\n"What\'s the meaning of this?" thought the Tree. "What am I to do\nhere? What is to happen?"\n\nAnd he leaned against the wall, and thought, and thought. And he had\ntime enough, for days and nights went by, and nobody came up; and when\nat length someone came, it was only to put some great boxes in a corner.\nNow the Tree stood quite hidden away, and the supposition is that it was\nquite forgotten.\n\n"Now it\'s winter outside," thought the Tree. "The earth is hard and\ncovered with snow, and people cannot plant me; therefore I suppose I\'m\nto be sheltered here until spring comes. How considerate that is! How\ngood people are! If it were only not so dark 194 here,\nand so terribly solitary!—not even a little hare? That was pretty out\nthere in the wood, when the snow lay thick and the hare sprang past;\nyes, even when he jumped over me; but then I did not like it. It is\nterribly lonely up here!"\n\n"Piep! piep!" said a little Mouse, and crept forward, and then came\nanother little one. They smelt at the Fir Tree, and then slipped among\nthe branches.\n\n"It\'s horribly cold," said the two little Mice, "or else it would be\ncomfortable here. Don\'t you think so, you old Fir Tree?"\n\n"I\'m not old at all," said the Fir Tree. "There are many much older\nthan I."\n\n"Where do you come from?" asked the Mice. "And what do you know?"\nThey were dreadfully inquisitive. "Tell us about the most beautiful spot\non earth. Have you been there? Have you been in the store room, where\ncheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from the ceiling, where one\ndances on tallow candles, and goes in thin and comes out fat?"\n\n"I don\'t know that," replied the Tree; "but I know the wood, where\nthe sun shines and the birds sing."\n\nAnd then it told all about its youth.\n\nAnd the little Mice had never heard anything of the kind; and they\nlistened and said:\n\n"What a number of things you have seen! How happy you must have\nbeen!"\n\n"I?" replied the Fir Tree; and it thought about what it had told.\n"Yes, those were really quite happy times." But then he told of the\nChristmas Eve, when he had been hung with sweetmeats and candles.\n\n"Oh!" said the little Mice, "how happy you have been, you old Fir\nTree!"\n\n"I\'m not old at all," said the Tree. "I only came out of the wood\nthis winter. I\'m only rather backward in my growth."\n\n"What splendid stories you can tell!" said the little Mice.\n\nAnd next night they came with four other little Mice, to hear what\nthe Tree had to relate; and the more it said, the more clearly did it\nremember everything, and thought, "Those were quite merry days! But they\nmay come again. Klumpey-Dumpey fell downstairs, and yet he married the\nPrincess. Perhaps I may marry a Princess too!" And the Fir Tree thought\nof a pretty little Birch Tree that grew out in the forest; for the Fir\nTree, that Birch was a real Princess.\n\n"Who\'s Klumpey-Dumpey?" asked the little Mice.\n\nAnd then the Fir Tree told the whole story. It could remember every\nsingle word; and the little Mice were ready to leap to the very top of\nthe tree with pleasure. Next night a great many more Mice came, and on\nSunday two Rats even appeared; but these thought the story was not\npretty, and the little Mice were sorry for that, for now they also did\nnot like it so much as before.\n\n"Do you only know one story?" asked the Rats.\n\n"Only that one," replied the Tree. "I heard that on the happiest\nevening of my life; I did not think then how happy I was."\n\n"That\'s a very miserable story. Don\'t you know any about bacon and\ntallow candles—a store-room story?"\n\n"No," said the Tree.\n\n"Then we\'d rather not hear you," said the Rats.\n\nAnd they went back to their own people. The little Mice at last\nstayed 195 away also; and then the Tree sighed and said:\n\n"It was very nice when they sat round me, the merry little Mice, and\nlistened when I spoke to them. Now that\'s past too. But I shall remember\nto be pleased when they take me out."\n\nBut when did that happen? Why, it was one morning that people came\nand rummaged in the garret: the boxes were put away, and the Tree\nbrought out; they certainly threw him rather roughly on the floor, but a\nservant dragged him away at once to the stairs, where the daylight\nshone.\n\n"Now life is beginning again!" thought the Tree.\n\nIt felt the fresh air and the first sunbeams, and now it was out in\nthe courtyard. Everything passed so quickly that the Tree quite forgot\nto look at itself, there was so much to look at all round. The courtyard\nwas close to a garden, and here everything was blooming; the roses hung\nfresh and fragrant over the little paling, the linden trees were in\nblossom, and the swallows cried, "Quinze-wit! quinze-wit! my husband\'s\ncome!" But it was not the Fir Tree that they meant.\n\n"Now I shall live!" said the Tree, rejoicingly, and spread its\nbranches far out; but, alas! they were all withered and yellow; and it\nlay in the corner among nettles and weeds. The tinsel star was still\nupon it, and shone in the bright sunshine.\n\nIn the courtyard a couple of the merry children were playing who had\ndanced round the tree at Christmas time, and had rejoiced over it. One\nof the youngest ran up and tore off the golden star.\n\n"Look what is sticking to the ugly old fir tree!" said the child, and\nhe trod upon the branches till they cracked again under his boots.\n\nAnd the Tree looked at all the blooming flowers and the splendor of\nthe garden, and then looked at itself, and wished it had remained in the\ndark corner of the garret; it thought of its fresh youth in the wood, of\nthe merry Christmas Eve, and of the little Mice which had listened so\npleasantly to the story of Klumpey-Dumpey.\n\n"Past! past!" said the old Tree. "Had I but rejoiced when I could\nhave done so! Past! past!"\n\nAnd the servant came and chopped the Tree into little pieces; a whole\nbundle lay there; it blazed brightly under the great brewing copper, and\nit sighed deeply, and each sigh was like a little shot; and the children\nwho were at play there ran up and seated themselves at the fire, looked\ninto it, and cried "Puff! puff!" But at each explosion, which was a deep\nsigh, the Tree thought of a summer day in the woods, or of a winter\nnight there, when the stars beamed; he thought of Christmas Eve and of\nKlumpey-Dumpey, the only story he had ever heard or knew how to tell;\nand then the Tree was burned.\n\nThe boys played in the garden, and the youngest had on his breast a\ngolden star, which the Tree had worn on its happiest evening. Now that\nwas past, and the Tree\'s life was past, and the story is past too: past!\npast!—and that\'s the way with all stories.\n\n196\n\nThe tale that follows was one of the author\'s earliest stories,\npublished in 1835. It is clearly based upon an old folk tale, one\nvariant of which is "The Blue Light" from the Grimm collection (No.\n174). "It was 196 a lucky stroke," says Brandes, "that made\nAndersen the poet of children. After long fumbling, after unsuccessful\nefforts, which must necessarily throw a false and ironic light on the\nself-consciousness of a poet whose pride based its justification mainly\non the expectancy of a future which he felt slumbering within his soul,\nafter wandering about for long years, Andersen … one evening found\nhimself in front of a little insignificant yet mysterious door, the door\nof the nursery story. He touched it, it yielded, and he saw, burning in\nthe obscurity within, the little \'Tinder-Box\' that became his Aladdin\'s\nlamp. He struck fire with it, and the spirits of the lamp—the dogs with\neyes as large as tea-cups, as mill-wheels, as the round tower in\nCopenhagen—stood before him and brought him the three giant chests,\ncontaining all the copper, silver, and gold treasure stories of the\nnursery story. The first story had sprung into existence, and the\n\'Tinder-Box\' drew all the others onward in its train. Happy is he who\nhas found his \'tinder-box.\'" The translation is by H. W. Dulcken.\n\nTHE TINDER-BOX\n\nHANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN\n\nThere came a soldier marching along the high road—one, two! one,\ntwo! He had his knapsack on his back and a saber by his side, for\nhe had been in the wars, and now he wanted to go home. And on the way he\nmet with an old witch; she was very hideous, and her under lip hung down\nupon her breast. She said, "Good evening, soldier. What a fine sword you\nhave, and what a big knapsack! You\'re a proper soldier! Now you shall\nhave as much money as you like to have."\n\n"I thank you, you old witch!" said the soldier.\n\n"Do you see that great tree?" quoth the witch; and she pointed to a\ntree which stood beside them. "It\'s quite hollow inside. You must climb\nto the top, and then you\'ll see a hole, through which you can let\nyourself down and get deep into the tree. I\'ll tie a rope round your\nbody, so that I can pull you up again when you call me."\n\n"What am I to do down in the tree?" asked the soldier.\n\n"Get money," replied the witch. "Listen to me. When you come down to\nthe earth under the tree, you will find yourself in a great hall: it is\nquite light, for above three hundred lamps are burning there. Then you\nwill see three doors; those you can open, for the keys are hanging\nthere. If you go into the first chamber, you\'ll see a great chest in the\nmiddle of the floor; on this chest sits a dog, and he\'s got a pair of\neyes as big as two tea-cups. But you need not care for that. I\'ll give\nyou my blue-checked apron, and you can spread it out upon the floor;\nthen go up quickly and take the dog, and set him on my apron; then open\nthe chest, and take as many shillings as you like. They are of copper:\nif you prefer silver, you must go into the second chamber. But there\nsits a dog with a pair of eyes as big as mill-wheels. But do not you\ncare for that. Set him upon my apron, and take some of the money. And if\nyou want gold, you can have that too—in fact, as much as you can\ncarry—if you go into the third chamber. But the dog that sits on the\nmoney-chest there has two eyes as big as round towers. He is a fierce\ndog, you may be sure; but you needn\'t be afraid, for all that. Only set\nhim on my apron, and he won\'t hurt you; and take out of the chest as\nmuch gold as you like."\n\n"That\'s not so bad," said the soldier. "But what am I to give you,\nold witch? for you will not do it for nothing, I fancy."\n\n"No," replied the witch, "not a single shilling will I have. You\nshall only bring me an old tinder-box which my grandmother forgot when\nshe was down there last."\n\n"Then tie the rope round my body," cried the soldier.\n\n"Here it is," said the witch, "and here\'s my blue-checked apron."\n\nThen the soldier climbed up into the tree, let himself slip down into\nthe hole, and stood, as the witch had said, in the great hall where the\nthree hundred lamps were burning.\n\nNow he opened the first door. Ugh! there sat the dog with eyes as big\nas tea-cups, staring at him. "You\'re a nice fellow!" exclaimed the\nsoldier; and he set him on the witch\'s apron, and took as many copper\nshillings as his pockets would hold, and then locked the chest, set the\ndog on it again, and went into the second chamber. Aha! there sat the\ndog with eyes as big as mill-wheels.\n\n"You should not stare so hard at me," said the soldier; "you might\nstrain your eyes." And he set the dog upon the witch\'s apron. And when\nhe saw the silver money in the chest, he threw away all the copper money\nhe had, and filled his pocket and his knapsack with silver only. Then he\nwent into the third chamber. Oh, but that was horrid! The dog there\nreally had eyes as big as towers, and they turned round and round in his\nhead like wheels.\n\n"Good evening!" said the soldier; and he touched his cap, for he had\nnever seen such a dog as that before. When he had looked at him a little\nmore closely, he thought, "That will do," and lifted him down to the\nfloor, and opened the chest. Mercy! what a quantity of gold was there!\nHe could buy with it the whole town, and the sugar sucking-pigs of the\ncake woman, and all the tin soldiers, whips, and rocking-horses in the\nwhole world. Yes, that was a quantity of money! Now the soldier threw\naway all the silver coin with which he had filled his pockets and his\nknapsack, and took gold instead: yes, all his pockets, his knapsack, his\nboots, and his cap were filled, so that he could scarcely walk. Now\nindeed he had plenty of money. He put the dog on the chest, shut the\ndoor, and then called up through the tree, "Now pull me up, you old\nwitch."\n\n"Have you the tinder-box?" asked the witch.\n\n"Plague on it!" exclaimed the soldier, "I had clean forgotten that."\nAnd he went and brought it.\n\nThe witch drew him up, and he stood on the high road again, with\npockets, boots, knapsack, and cap full of gold.\n\n"What are you going to do with the tinder-box?" asked the\nsoldier.\n\n"That\'s nothing to you," retorted the witch. "You\'ve had your\nmoney—just give me the tinder-box."\n\n"Nonsense!" said the soldier. "Tell me directly what you\'re going to\ndo with it, or I\'ll draw my sword and cut off your head."\n\n"No!" cried the witch.\n\nSo the soldier cut off her head. There she lay! But he tied up all\nhis money in her apron, took it on his back like a bundle, put the\ntinder-box in his pocket, and went straight off toward the town.\n\nThat was a splendid town! And he put up at the very best inn and\nasked for the finest rooms, and ordered his 198\nfavorite dishes, for now he was rich, as he had so much money. The\nservant who had to clean his boots certainly thought them a remarkably\nold pair for such a rich gentleman; but he had not bought any new ones\nyet. The next day he procured proper boots and handsome clothes. Now our\nsoldier had become a fine gentleman; and the people told him of all the\nsplendid things which were in their city, and about the King, and what a\npretty Princess the King\'s daughter was.\n\n"Where can one get to see her?" asked the soldier.\n\n"She is not to be seen at all," said they, all together; "she lives\nin a great copper castle, with a great many walls and towers round about\nit; no one but the King may go in and out there, for it has been\nprophesied that she shall marry a common soldier, and the King can\'t\nbear that."\n\n"I should like to see her," thought the soldier; but he could not get\nleave to do so. Now he lived merrily, went to the theater, drove in the\nKing\'s garden, and gave much money to the poor; and this was very kind\nof him, for he knew from old times how hard it is when one has not a\nshilling. Now he was rich, had fine clothes, and gained many friends,\nwho all said he was a rare one, a true cavalier; and that pleased the\nsoldier well. But as he spent money every day and never earned any, he\nhad at last only two shillings left; and he was obliged to turn out of\nthe fine rooms in which he had dwelt, and had to live in a little garret\nunder the roof, and clean his boots for himself, and mend them with a\ndarning-needle. None of his friends came to see him, for there were too\nmany stairs to climb.\n\nIt was quite dark one evening, and he could not even buy himself a\ncandle, when it occurred to him that there was a candle-end in the\ntinder-box which he had taken out of the hollow tree into which the\nwitch had helped him. He brought out the tinder-box and the candle-end;\nbut as soon as he struck fire and the sparks rose up from the flint, the\ndoor flew open, and the dog who had eyes as big as a couple of tea-cups,\nand whom he had seen in the tree, stood before him, and said:\n\n"What are my lord\'s commands?"\n\n"What is this?" said the soldier. "That\'s a famous tinder-box, if I\ncan get everything with it that I want! Bring me some money," said he to\nthe dog: and whisk! the dog was gone, and whisk! he\nwas back again, with a great bag full of shillings in his mouth.\n\nNow the soldier knew what a capital tinder-box this was. If he struck\nit once, the dog came who sat upon the chest of copper money; if he\nstruck it twice, the dog came who had the silver; and if he struck it\nthree times, then appeared the dog who had the gold. Now the soldier\nmoved back into the fine rooms, and appeared again in handsome clothes;\nand all his friends knew him again, and cared very much for him\nindeed.\n\nOnce he thought to himself, "It is a very strange thing that one\ncannot get to see the Princess. They all say she is very beautiful; but\nwhat is the use of that, if she has always to sit in the great copper\ncastle with the many towers? Can I not get to see her at all? Where is\nmy tinder-box?" And so he struck a light, and whisk! came the\ndog with eyes as big as tea-cups.\n\n"It is midnight, certainly," said the soldier, "but I should very\nmuch like 199 to see the Princess, only for one little\nmoment."\n\nAnd the dog was outside the door directly, and, before the soldier\nthought it, came back with the Princess. She sat upon the dog\'s back and\nslept; and everyone could see she was a real Princess, for she was so\nlovely. The soldier could not refrain from kissing her, for he was a\nthorough soldier. Then the dog ran back again with the Princess. But\nwhen morning came, and the King and Queen were drinking tea, the\nPrincess said she had had a strange dream, the night before, about a dog\nand a soldier—that she had ridden upon the dog, and the soldier had\nkissed her.\n\n"That would be a fine history!" said the Queen.\n\nSo one of the old Court ladies had to watch the next night by the\nPrincess\'s bed, to see if this was really a dream, or what it might be.\n\nThe soldier had a great longing to see the lovely Princess again; so\nthe dog came in the night, took her away, and ran as fast as he could.\nBut the old lady put on water-boots, and ran just as fast after him.\nWhen she saw that they both entered a great house, she thought, "Now I\nknow where it is"; and with a bit of chalk she drew a great cross on the\ndoor. Then she went home and lay down, and the dog came up with the\nPrincess; but when he saw that there was a cross drawn on the door where\nthe soldier lived, he took a piece of chalk too, and drew crosses on all\nthe doors in the town. And that was cleverly done, for now the lady\ncould not find the right door, because all the doors had crosses upon\nthem.\n\nIn the morning early came the King and the Queen, the old Court lady\nand all the officers, to see where it was the Princess had been. "Here\nit is!" said the King, when he saw the first door with a cross upon it.\n"No, my dear husband, it is there!" said the Queen, who descried another\ndoor which also showed a cross. "But there is one, and there is one!"\nsaid all, for wherever they looked there were crosses on the doors. So\nthey saw that it would avail them nothing if they searched on.\n\nBut the Queen was an exceedingly clever woman, who could do more than\nride in a coach. She took her great gold scissors, cut a piece of silk\ninto pieces, and made a neat little bag: this bag she filled with fine\nwheat flour, and tied it on the Princess\'s back; and when that was done,\nshe cut a little hole in the bag, so that the flour would be scattered\nalong all the way which the Princess should take.\n\nIn the night the dog came again, took the Princess on his back, and\nran with her to the soldier, who loved her very much, and would gladly\nhave been a prince, so that he might have her for his wife. The dog did\nnot notice at all how the flour ran out in a stream from the castle to\nthe windows of the soldier\'s house, where he ran up the wall with the\nPrincess. In the morning the King and Queen saw well enough where their\ndaughter had been, and they took the soldier and put him in prison.\n\nThere he sat. Oh, but it was dark and disagreeable there! And they\nsaid to him, "To-morrow you shall be hanged." That was not amusing to\nhear, and he had left his tinder-box at the inn. In the morning he could\nsee, through the iron grating of the little window, how the people were\nhurrying out of the town to see him hanged. He heard the 200 drums\nbeat and saw the soldiers marching. All the people were running out, and\namong them was a shoemaker\'s boy with leather apron and slippers, and he\ngalloped so fast that one of his slippers flew off, and came right\nagainst the wall where the soldier sat looking through the iron\ngrating.\n\n"Halloo, you shoemaker\'s boy! you needn\'t be in such a hurry," cried\nthe soldier to him: "it will not begin till I come. But if you will run\nto where I lived, and bring me my tinder-box, you shall have four\nshillings; but you must put your best leg foremost."\n\nThe shoemaker\'s boy wanted to get the four shillings, so he went and\nbrought the tinder-box, and—well, we shall hear now what happened.\n\nOutside the town a great gallows had been built, and around it stood\nthe soldiers and many hundred thousand people. The King and Queen sat on\na splendid throne, opposite to the Judges and the whole Council. The\nsoldier already stood upon the ladder; but as they were about to put the\nrope round his neck, he said that before a poor criminal suffered his\npunishment an innocent request was always granted to him. He wanted very\nmuch to smoke a pipe of tobacco, as it would be the last pipe he should\nsmoke in this world. The King would not say "No" to this; so the soldier\ntook his tinder-box and struck fire. One—two—three—! and there suddenly\nstood all the dogs—the one with eyes as big as tea-cups, the one with\neyes as large as mill-wheels, and the one whose eyes were as big as\nround towers.\n\n"Help me now, so that I may not be hanged," said the soldier. And the\ndogs fell upon the Judge and all the Council, seized one by the leg and\nanother by the nose, and tossed them all many feet into the air, so that\nthey fell down and were all broken to pieces.\n\n"I won\'t!" cried the King; but the biggest dog took him and the Queen\nand threw them after the others. Then the soldiers were afraid, and the\npeople cried, "Little soldier, you shall be our King, and marry the\nbeautiful Princess!"\n\nSo they put the soldier into the King\'s coach, and all the three dogs\ndarted on in front and cried "Hurrah!" and the boys whistled through\ntheir fingers, and the soldiers presented arms. The Princess came out of\nthe copper castle, and became Queen, and she liked that well enough. The\nwedding lasted a week, and the three dogs sat at the table too, and\nopened their eyes wider than ever at all they saw.\n\n197\n\nThe following is one of Andersen\'s early stories, published in 1838.\nIt has always been a great favorite. Whimsically odd couples, in this\ncase so constant in their devotion to each other, seemed to appeal to\nAndersen. The romance of the Whip Top and the Ball in the little story\n"The Lovers" deals with another odd couple. "Constant" or "steadfast"\nare terms sometimes used in the different versions instead of "hardy,"\nand, if they seem better to carry the meaning intended, teachers should\nfeel free to substitute one of them in telling or reading the story. The\ntranslation is by H. W. Dulcken.\n\nTHE HARDY TIN SOLDIER\n\nHANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN\n\nThere were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers; they were all brothers,\nfor they had all been born of one old tin spoon. 201 They\nshouldered their muskets, and looked straight before them; their uniform\nwas red and blue, and very splendid. The first thing they had heard in\nthe world, when the lid was taken off their box, had been the words,\n"Tin soldiers!" These words were uttered by a little boy, clapping his\nhands: the soldiers had been given to him, for it was his birthday; and\nnow he put them upon the table. Each soldier was exactly like the rest;\nbut one of them had been cast last of all, and there had not been enough\ntin to finish him; but he stood as firmly upon his one leg as the others\non their two; and it was just this Soldier who became remarkable.\n\nOn the table on which they had been placed stood many other\nplaythings, but the toy that attracted most attention was a neat castle\nof cardboard. Through the little windows one could see straight into the\nhall. Before the castle some little trees were placed round a little\nlooking-glass, which was to represent a clear lake. Waxen swans swam on\nthis lake, and were mirrored in it. This was all very pretty; but the\nprettiest of all was a little lady, who stood at the open door of the\ncastle; she was also cut out in paper, but she had a dress of the\nclearest gauze, and a little narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders, that\nlooked like a scarf; and in the middle of this ribbon was a shining\ntinsel rose as big as her whole face. The little lady stretched out both\nher arms, for she was a dancer; and then she lifted one leg so high that\nthe Tin Soldier could not see it at all, and thought that, like himself,\nshe had but one leg.\n\n"That would be the wife for me," thought he; "but she is very grand.\nShe lives in a castle, and I have only a box, and there are\nfive-and-twenty of us in that. It is no place for her. But I must try to\nmake acquaintance with her."\n\nAnd then he lay down at full length behind a snuff-box which was on\nthe table; there he could easily watch the little dainty lady, who\ncontinued to stand upon one leg without losing her balance.\n\nWhen the evening came all the other tin soldiers were put into their\nbox, and the people in the house went to bed. Now the toys began to play\nat "visiting," and at "war," and "giving balls." The tin soldiers\nrattled in their box, for they wanted to join, but could not lift the\nlid. The nutcracker threw somersaults, and the pencil amused itself on\nthe table; there was so much noise that the canary woke up, and began to\nspeak too, and even in verse. The only two who did not stir from their\nplaces were the Tin Soldier and the Dancing Lady: she stood straight up\non the point of one of her toes, and stretched out both her arms; and he\nwas just as enduring on his one leg; and he never turned his eyes away\nfrom her.\n\nNow the clock struck twelve—and, bounce! the lid flew off the\nsnuff-box; but there was no snuff in it, but a little black Goblin: you\nsee, it was a trick.\n\n"Tin Soldier!" said the Goblin, "don\'t stare at things that don\'t\nconcern you."\n\nBut the Tin Soldier pretended not to hear him.\n\n"Just you wait till to-morrow!" said the Goblin.\n\nBut when the morning came, and the children got up, the Tin Soldier\nwas placed in the window; and whether it was the Goblin or the draught\nthat did it, all at once the window flew open, 202 and the\nSoldier fell head over heels out of the third story. That was a terrible\npassage! He put his leg straight up, and stuck with helmet downward and\nhis bayonet between the paving-stones.\n\nThe servant-maid and the little boy came down directly to look for\nhim, but though they almost trod upon him, they could not see him. If\nthe Soldier had cried out "Here I am!" they would have found him; but he\ndid not think it fitting to call out loudly, because he was in\nuniform.\n\nNow it began to rain; the drops soon fell thicker, and at last it\ncame down into a complete stream. When the rain was past, two street\nboys came by.\n\n"Just look!" said one of them, "there lies a Tin Soldier. He must\ncome out and ride in the boat."\n\nAnd they made a boat out of a newspaper, and put the Tin Soldier in\nthe middle of it, and so he sailed down the gutter, and the two boys ran\nbeside him and clapped their hands. Goodness preserve us! how the waves\nrose in that gutter, and how fast the stream ran! But then it had been a\nheavy rain. The paper boat rocked up and down, and sometimes turned\nround so rapidly that the Tin Soldier trembled; but he remained firm,\nand never changed countenance, and looked straight before him, and\nshouldered his musket.\n\nAll at once the boat went into a long drain, and it became as dark as\nif he had been in his box.\n\n"Where am I going now?" he thought. "Yes, yes, that\'s the Goblin\'s\nfault. Ah! if the little lady only sat here with me in the boat, it\nmight be twice as dark for what I should care."\n\nSuddenly there came a great Water Rat, which lived under the\ndrain.\n\n"Have you a passport?" said the Rat. "Give me your passport."\n\nBut the Tin Soldier kept silence, and held his musket tighter than\never.\n\nThe boat went on, but the Rat came after it. Hu! how he gnashed his\nteeth, and called out to the bits of straw and wood:\n\n"Hold him! hold him! He hasn\'t paid toll—he hasn\'t shown his\npassport!"\n\nBut the stream became stronger and stronger. The Tin Soldier could\nsee the bright daylight where the arch ended; but he heard a roaring\nnoise which might well frighten a bolder man. Only think—just where the\ntunnel ended, the drain ran into a great canal; and for him that would\nhave been as dangerous as for us to be carried down a great\nwaterfall.\n\nNow he was already so near it that he could not stop. The boat was\ncarried out, the poor Tin Soldier stiffening himself as much as he\ncould, and no one could say that he moved an eyelid. The boat whirled\nround three or four times, and was full of water to the very edge—it\nmust sink. The Tin Soldier stood up to his neck in water, and the boat\nsank deeper and deeper, and the paper was loosened more and more; and\nnow the water closed over the soldier\'s head. Then he thought of the\npretty little Dancer, and how he should never see her again; and it\nsounded in the soldier\'s ears:\n\nFarewell, farewell, thou warrior brave,\n\nFor this day\nthou must die!\n\nTranscriber\'s Note: original reads \'warrier\'\n\nAnd now the paper parted, and the Tin Soldier fell out; but at that\nmoment he was snapped up by a great fish.\n\nOh, how dark it was in that fish\'s body! It was darker yet than in the\n203 drain tunnel; and then it was very narrow too.\nBut the Tin Soldier remained unmoved, and lay at full length shouldering\nhis musket.\n\nThe fish swam to and fro; he made the most wonderful movements, and\nthen became quite still. At last something flashed through him like\nlightning. The daylight shone quite clear, and a voice said aloud, "The\nTin Soldier!" The fish had been caught, carried to market, bought, and\ntaken into the kitchen, where the cook cut him open with a large knife.\nShe seized the Soldier round the body with both her hands and carried\nhim into the room, where all were anxious to see the remarkable man who\nhad traveled about in the inside of a fish; but the Tin Soldier was not\nat all proud. They placed him on the table, and there—no! What curious\nthings may happen in the world. The Tin Soldier was in the very room in\nwhich he had been before! He saw the same children, and the same toys\nstood on the table; and there was the pretty castle with the graceful\nlittle Dancer. She was still balancing herself on one leg, and held the\nother extended in the air. She was hardy too. That moved the Tin\nSoldier; he was very nearly weeping tin tears, but that would not have\nbeen proper. He looked at her, but they said nothing to each other.\n\nThen one of the little boys took the Tin Soldier and flung him into\nthe stove. He gave no reason for doing this. It must have been the fault\nof the Goblin in the snuff-box.\n\nThe Tin Soldier stood there quite illuminated, and felt a heat that\nwas terrible; but whether this heat proceeded from the real fire or from\nlove he did not know. The colors had quite gone off from him; but\nwhether that had happened on the journey, or had been caused by grief,\nno one could say. He looked at the little lady, she looked at him, and\nhe felt that he was melting; but he still stood firm, shouldering his\nmusket. Then suddenly the door flew open, and the draught of air caught\nthe Dancer, and she flew like a sylph just into the stove to the Tin\nSoldier, and flashed up in a flame, and she was gone. Then the Tin\nSoldier melted down into a lump; and when the servant-maid took the\nashes out next day, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart.\nBut of the Dancer nothing remained but the tinsel rose, and that was\nburned as black as a coal.\n\n198\n\n"The Ugly Duckling" has always been regarded as one of Andersen\'s\nmost exquisite stories. No one can fail to notice the parallel that\nsuggests itself between the successive stages in the duckling\'s history\nand those in Andersen\'s own life. In this story, remarks Dr. Brandes,\n"there is the quintessence of the author\'s entire life (melancholy,\nhumor, martyrdom, triumph) and of his whole nature: the gift of\nobservation and the sparkling intellect which he used to avenge himself\nupon folly and wickedness, the varied faculties which constitute his\ngenius." The standards of judgment used by the ducks, the turkey, the\nhen, and the cat are all delightfully and humorously satirical of human\nstupidity and shortsightedness. The translation used is by H. W.\nDulcken.\n\nTHE UGLY DUCKLING\n\nHANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN\n\nIt was glorious out in the country. It was summer, and the cornfields\nwere yellow, and the oats were green; the hay 204 had\nbeen put up in stacks in the green meadows, and the stork went about on\nhis long red legs, and chattered Egyptian, for this was the language he\nhad learned from his good mother. All around the fields and meadows were\ngreat forests, and in the midst of these forests lay deep lakes. Yes, it\nwas really glorious out in the country. In the midst of the sunshine\nthere lay an old farm, surrounded by deep canals, and from the wall down\nto the water grew great burdocks, so high that little children could\nstand upright under the loftiest of them. It was just as wild there as\nin the deepest wood. Here sat a Duck upon her nest, for she had to hatch\nher young ones; but she was almost tired out before the little ones\ncame; and then she so seldom had visitors. The other ducks liked better\nto swim about in the canals than to run up to sit down under a burdock\nand cackle with her.\n\nAt last one eggshell after another burst open. "Piep! piep!" it\ncried, and in all the eggs there were little creatures that stuck out\ntheir heads.\n\n"Rap! rap!" they said; and they all came rapping out as fast as they\ncould, looking all round them under the green leaves; and the mother let\nthem look as much as they chose, for green is good for the eyes.\n\n"How wide the world is!" said the young ones, for they certainly had\nmuch more room now than when they were in the eggs.\n\n"Do you think this is all the world!" asked the mother. "That extends\nfar across the other side of the garden, quite into the parson\'s field,\nbut I have never been there yet. I hope you are all together," she\ncontinued, and stood up. "No, I have not all. The largest egg still lies\nthere. How long is that to last? I am really tired of it." And she sat\ndown again.\n\n"Well, how goes it?" asked an old Duck who had come to pay her a\nvisit.\n\n"It lasts a long time with that one egg," said the Duck who sat\nthere. "It will not burst. Now, only look at the others; are they not\nthe prettiest ducks one could possibly see? They are all like their\nfather; the bad fellow never comes to see me."\n\n"Let me see the egg which will not burst," said the old visitor.\n"Believe me, it is a turkey\'s egg. I was once cheated in that way, and\nhad much anxiety and trouble with the young ones, for they are afraid of\nthe water. I could not get them to venture in. I quacked and clucked,\nbut it was of no use. Let me see the egg. Yes, that\'s a turkey\'s egg!\nLet it lie there, and you teach the other children to swim."\n\n"I think I will sit on it a little longer," said the Duck. "I\'ve sat\nso long now that I can sit a few days more."\n\n"Just as you please," said the old Duck; and she went away.\n\nAt last the great egg burst. "Piep! piep!" said the little one, and\ncrept forth. It was very large and very ugly. The Duck looked at it.\n\n"It\'s a very large duckling," said she; "none of the others look like\nthat; can it really be a turkey chick? Now we shall soon find out. It\nmust go into the water, even if I have to thrust it in myself."\n\nThe next day the weather was splendidly bright, and the sun shone on\nall the green trees. The Mother-Duck went down to the water with all her\nlittle ones. Splash! she jumped into the water. "Quack! quack!" she\nsaid, and then one duckling after another plunged in. The 205 water\nclosed over their heads, but they came up in an instant, and swam\ncapitally; their legs went of themselves, and there they were, all in\nthe water. The ugly gray Duckling swam with them.\n\n"No, it\'s not a turkey," said she; "look how well it can use its\nlegs, and how upright it holds itself. It is my own child! On the whole\nit\'s quite pretty, if one looks at it rightly. Quack! quack! come with\nme, and I\'ll lead you out into the great world, and present you in the\npoultry-yard; but keep close to me, so that no one may tread on you; and\ntake care of the cats!"\n\nAnd so they came into the poultry-yard. There was a terrible riot\ngoing on in there, for two families were quarreling about an eel\'s head,\nand the cat got it after all.\n\n"See, that\'s how it goes in the world!" said the Mother-Duck; and she\nwhetted her beak, for she, too, wanted the eel\'s head. "Only use your\nlegs," she said. "See that you bustle about, and bow your heads before\nthe old Duck yonder. She\'s the grandest of all here; she\'s of Spanish\nblood—that\'s why she\'s so fat; and do you see, she has a red rag round\nher leg; that\'s something particularly fine, and the greatest\ndistinction a duck can enjoy; it signifies that one does not want to\nlose her, and that she\'s to be recognized by man and beast. Shake\nyourselves—don\'t turn in your toes; a well-brought-up Duck turns its\ntoes quite out, just like father and mother, so! Now bend your necks and\nsay \'Rap!\'"\n\nAnd they did so; but the other Ducks round about looked at them, and\nsaid quite boldly:\n\n"Look there! now we\'re to have these hanging on, as if there were not\nenough of us already! And—fie—! how that Duckling yonder looks; we won\'t\nstand that!" And one duck flew up immediately, and bit it in the\nneck.\n\n"Let it alone," said the mother; "it does no harm to anyone."\n\n"Yes, but it\'s too large and peculiar," said the Duck who had bitten\nit; "and therefore it must be buffeted."\n\n"Those are pretty children that the mother has there," said the old\nDuck with the rag round her leg. "They\'re all pretty but that one; that\nwas a failure. I wish she could alter it."\n\n"That cannot be done, my lady," replied the Mother-Duck. "It is not\npretty, but it has a really good disposition, and swims as well as any\nother; I may even say it swims better. I think it will grow up pretty,\nand become smaller in time; it has lain too long in the egg, and\ntherefore is not properly shaped." And then she pinched it in the neck,\nand smoothed its feathers. "Moreover, it is a drake," she said, "and\ntherefore it is not of so much consequence. I think he will be very\nstrong; he makes his way already."\n\n"The other ducklings are graceful enough," said the old Duck. "Make\nyourself at home; and if you find an eel\'s head, you may bring it\nme."\n\nAnd now they were at home. But the poor Duckling which had crept last\nout of the egg, and looked so ugly, was bitten and pushed and jeered, as\nmuch by the ducks as by the chickens.\n\n"It is too big!" they all said. And the turkey-cock, who had been\nborn with spurs, and therefore thought himself an Emperor, blew himself\nup like a ship in full sail, and bore straight down upon it; then he\ngobbled, and grew quite red in the face. The poor Duckling did not know\nwhere it should stand or walk; 206 it was quite melancholy,\nbecause it looked ugly and was scoffed at by the whole yard.\n\nSo it went on the first day; and afterward it became worse and worse.\nThe poor Duckling was hunted about by every one; even its brothers and\nsisters were quite angry with it, and said, "If the cat would only catch\nyou, you ugly creature!" And the mother said, "If you were only far\naway!" And the ducks bit it, and the chickens beat it, and the girl who\nhad to feed the poultry kicked at it with her foot.\n\nThen it ran and flew over the fence, and the little birds in the\nbushes flew up in fear.\n\n"That is because I am so ugly!" thought the Duckling; and it shut its\neyes, but flew no farther; thus it came out into the great moor, where\nthe Wild Ducks lived. Here it lay the whole night long; and it was weary\nand downcast.\n\nToward morning the Wild Ducks flew up, and looked at their new\ncompanion.\n\n"What sort of a one are you?" they asked; and the Duckling turned in\nevery direction, and bowed as well as it could. "You are remarkably\nugly!" said the Wild Ducks. "But that is very indifferent to us, so long\nas you do not marry into our family."\n\nPoor thing! It certainly did not think of marrying, and only hoped to\nobtain leave to lie among the reeds and drink some of the\nswamp-water.\n\nThus it lay two whole days; then came thither two Wild Geese, or,\nproperly speaking, two wild ganders. It was not long since each had\ncrept out of an egg, and that\'s why they were so saucy.\n\n"Listen, comrade," said one of them. "You\'re so ugly that I like you.\nWill you go with us, and become a bird of passage? Near here, in another\nmoor, there are a few sweet lovely wild geese, all unmarried, and all\nable to say, \'Rap!\' You\'ve a chance of making your fortune, ugly as you\nare!"\n\n"Piff! paff!" resounded through the air; and the two ganders fell\ndown dead in the swamp, and the water became blood-red. "Piff! paff!" it\nsounded again, and whole flocks of wild geese rose up from the reeds.\nAnd then there was another report. A great hunt was going on. The\nhunters were lying in wait all round the moor, and some were even\nsitting up in the branches of the trees, which spread far over the\nreeds. The blue smoke rose up like clouds among the dark trees, and was\nwafted far away across the water; and the hunting dogs came—splash,\nsplash!—into the swamp, and the rushes and the reeds bent down on every\nside. That was a fright for the poor Duckling! It turned its head, and\nput it under its wing; but at that moment a frightful great dog stood\nclose by the Duckling. His tongue hung far out of his mouth and his eyes\ngleamed horrible and ugly; he thrust out his nose close against the\nDuckling, showed his sharp teeth, and—splash, splash!—on he went without\nseizing it.\n\n"Oh, Heaven be thanked!" sighed the Duckling. "I am so ugly that even\nthe dog does not like to bite me!"\n\nAnd so it lay quite quiet, while the shots rattled through the reeds\nand gun after gun was fired. At last, late in the day, silence was\nrestored; but the poor Duckling did not dare to rise up; it waited\nseveral hours before it looked round, and then hastened away out of the\nmoor as fast as it could. It ran on over field and meadow; there was\nsuch a storm raging that it was difficult to get from one place to\nanother. 207\n\nToward evening the Duck came to a little miserable peasant\'s hut.\nThis hut was so dilapidated that it did not know on which side it should\nfall; and that\'s why it remained standing. The storm whistled round the\nDuckling in such a way that the poor creature was obliged to sit down,\nto stand against it; and the tempest grew worse and worse. Then the\nDuckling noticed that one of the hinges of the door had given way, and\nthe door hung so slanting that the Duckling could slip through the crack\ninto the room; and it did so.\n\nHere lived a woman with her Tom Cat and her Hen. And the Tom Cat,\nwhom she called Sonnie, could arch his back and purr. He could even give\nout sparks; but for that one had to stroke his fur the wrong way. The\nHen had quite little short legs, and therefore she was called\nChickabiddy-shortshanks; she laid good eggs, and the woman loved her as\nher own child.\n\nIn the morning the strange Duckling was at once noticed, and the Tom\nCat began to purr, and the Hen to cluck.\n\n"What\'s this?" said the woman, and looked all round; but she could\nnot see well, and therefore she thought the Duckling was a fat duck that\nhad strayed. "This is a rare prize," she said. "Now I shall have duck\'s\neggs. I hope it is not a drake. We must try that."\n\nAnd so the Duckling was admitted on trial for three weeks; but no\neggs came. And the Tom Cat was master of the house, and the Hen was the\nlady, and they always said, "We and the world!" for they thought they\nwere half the world, and by far the better half. The Duckling thought\none might have a different opinion, but the Hen would not allow it.\n\n"Can you lay eggs?" she asked.\n\n"No."\n\n"Then you\'ll have the goodness to hold your tongue."\n\nAnd the Tom Cat said, "Can you curve your back, and purr, and give\nout sparks?"\n\n"No."\n\n"Then you cannot have any opinion of your own when sensible people\nare speaking."\n\nAnd the Duckling sat in a corner and was melancholy; then the fresh\nair and the sunshine streamed in; and it was seized with such a strange\nlonging to swim on the water that it could not help telling the Hen of\nit.\n\n"What are you thinking of?" cried the Hen. "You have nothing to do;\nthat\'s why you have these fancies. Purr or lay eggs, and they will pass\nover."\n\n"But it is so charming to swim on the water!" said the Duckling, "so\nrefreshing to let it close above one\'s head, and to dive down to the\nbottom."\n\n"Yes, that must be a mighty pleasure, truly," quoth the Hen. "I fancy\nyou must have gone crazy. Ask the Cat about it—he\'s the cleverest animal\nI know—ask him if he likes to swim on the water, or to dive down: I\nwon\'t speak about myself. Ask our mistress, the old woman; no one in the\nworld is cleverer than she. Do you think she has any desire to swim, and\nto let the water close above her head?"\n\n"You don\'t understand me," said the Duckling.\n\n"We don\'t understand you? Then pray who is to understand you? You\nsurely don\'t pretend to be cleverer than the Tom Cat and the old woman—I\nwon\'t say anything of myself. Don\'t be conceited, child, and be grateful\nfor all the kindness you have received. Did 208 you not\nget into a warm room, and have you not fallen into company from which\nyou may learn something? But you are a chatterer, and it is not pleasant\nto associate with you. You may believe me, I speak for your good. I tell\nyou disagreeable things, and by that one may always know one\'s true\nfriends. Only take care that you learn to lay eggs, or to purr and give\nout sparks!"\n\n"I think I will go out into the wide world," said the Duckling.\n\n"Yes, do go," replied the Hen.\n\nAnd the Duckling went away. It swam on the water, and dived, but it\nwas slighted by every creature because of its ugliness.\n\nNow came the autumn. The leaves in the forest turned yellow and\nbrown; the wind caught them so that they danced about, and up in the air\nit was very cold. The clouds hung low, heavy with hail and snow-flakes,\nand on the fence stood the raven, crying, "Croak! croak!" for mere cold;\nyes, it was enough to make one feel cold to think of this. The poor\nlittle Duckling certainly had not a good time. One evening—the sun was\njust setting in his beauty—there came a whole flock of great handsome\nbirds out of the bushes; they were dazzlingly white, with long flexible\nnecks; they were swans. They uttered a very peculiar cry, spread forth\ntheir glorious great wings, and flew away from that cold region to\nwarmer lands, to fair open lakes. They mounted so high, so high! and the\nugly little Duckling felt quite strange as it watched them. It turned\nround and round in the water like a wheel, stretched out its neck toward\nthem, and uttered such a strange loud cry as frightened itself. Oh! it\ncould not forget those beautiful, happy birds; and so soon as it could\nsee them no longer, it dived down to the very bottom, and when it came\nup again, it was quite beside itself. It knew not the name of those\nbirds, and knew not whither they were flying; but it loved them more\nthan it had ever loved anyone. It was not at all envious of them. How\ncould it think of wishing to possess such loveliness as they had? It\nwould have been glad if only the ducks would have endured its\ncompany—the poor ugly creature!\n\nAnd the winter grew cold, very cold! The Duckling was forced to swim\nabout in the water, to prevent the surface from freezing entirely; but\nevery night the hole in which it swam about became smaller and smaller.\nIt froze so hard that the icy covering crackled again; and the Duckling\nwas obliged to use its legs continually to prevent the hole from\nfreezing up. At last it became exhausted, and lay quite still, and thus\nfroze fast into the ice.\n\nEarly in the morning a peasant came by, and when he saw what had\nhappened, he took his wooden shoe, broke the ice-crust to pieces, and\ncarried the Duckling home to his wife. Then it came to itself again. The\nchildren wanted to play with it; but the Duckling thought they would do\nit an injury, and in its terror fluttered up into the milk-pan, so that\nthe milk spurted down into the room. The woman clapped her hands, at\nwhich the Duckling flew down into the butter-tub, and then into the\nmeal-barrel and out again. How it looked then! The woman screamed, and\nstruck at it with the fire-tongs; the children tumbled over one another\nin their efforts to catch the Duckling; and they laughed and screamed\nfinely. Happily the door stood open, and the poor creature was able to\nslip out between the shrubs into the newly- 209fall
