Title:   Andersen's Fairy Tales

Subject:  

Author:   Hans Christian Andersen

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PDF Version:   1.2



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Bookmarks





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Andersen's Fairy Tales

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Table of Contents

Andersen's Fairy Tales.......................................................................................................................................1

Hans Christian Andersen.........................................................................................................................1

THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES ......................................................................................................1

THE SWINEHERD.................................................................................................................................4

THE REAL PRINCESS ...........................................................................................................................7

THE SHOES OF FORTUNE..................................................................................................................8

THE FIR TREE.....................................................................................................................................26

THE SNOW QUEEN............................................................................................................................31

THE LEAPFROG ................................................................................................................................49

THE ELDERBUSH...............................................................................................................................50

THE BELL .............................................................................................................................................54

THE OLD HOUSE................................................................................................................................57

THE HAPPY FAMILY.........................................................................................................................61

THE STORY OF A MOTHER ..............................................................................................................63

THE FALSE COLLAR.........................................................................................................................66

THE SHADOW.....................................................................................................................................68

THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL...............................................................................................................75

THE DREAM OF LITTLE TUK..........................................................................................................77

THE NAUGHTY BOY ..........................................................................................................................79

THE RED SHOES.................................................................................................................................80


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Andersen's Fairy Tales

Hans Christian Andersen

The Emperor's New Clothes 

The Swineherd 

The Real Princess 

The Shoes of Fortune 

The Fir Tree 

The Snow Queen 

The LeapFrog 

The Elderbush 

The Bell 

The Old House 

The Happy Family 

The Story of a Mother 

The False Collar 

The Shadow 

The Little Match Girl 

The Dream of Little Tuk 

The Naughty Boy 

The Red Shoes  

THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES

Many years ago, there was an Emperor, who was so excessively fond of new clothes, that he spent all his

money in dress. He did not trouble himself in the least about his soldiers; nor did he care to go either to the

theatre or the chase, except for the opportunities then afforded him for displaying his new clothes. He had a

different suit for each hour of the day; and as of any other king or emperor, one is accustomed to say, "he is

sitting in council," it was always said of him, "The Emperor is sitting in his wardrobe."

Time passed merrily in the large town which was his capital; strangers arrived every day at the court. One

day, two rogues, calling themselves weavers, made their appearance. They gave out that they knew how to

weave stuffs of the most beautiful colors and elaborate patterns, the clothes manufactured from which should

have the wonderful property of remaining invisible to everyone who was unfit for the office he held, or who

was extraordinarily simple in character.

"These must, indeed, be splendid clothes!" thought the Emperor. "Had I such a suit, I might at once find out

what men in my realms are unfit for their office, and also be able to distinguish the wise from the foolish!

This stuff must be woven for me immediately." And he caused large sums of money to be given to both the

weavers in order that they might begin their work directly.

So the two pretended weavers set up two looms, and affected to work very busily, though in reality they did

nothing at all. They asked for the most delicate silk and the purest gold thread; put both into their own

knapsacks; and then continued their pretended work at the empty looms until late at night.

"I should like to know how the weavers are getting on with my cloth," said the Emperor to himself, after

some little time had elapsed; he was, however, rather embarrassed, when he remembered that a simpleton, or

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one unfit for his office, would be unable to see the manufacture. To be sure, he thought he had nothing to risk

in his own person; but yet, he would prefer sending somebody else, to bring him intelligence about the

weavers, and their work, before he troubled himself in the affair. All the people throughout the city had heard

of the wonderful property the cloth was to possess; and all were anxious to learn how wise, or how ignorant,

their neighbors might prove to be.

"I will send my faithful old minister to the weavers," said the Emperor at last, after some deliberation, "he

will be best able to see how the cloth looks; for he is a man of sense, and no one can be more suitable for his

office than be is."

So the faithful old minister went into the hall, where the knaves were working with all their might, at their

empty looms. "What can be the meaning of this?" thought the old man, opening his eyes very wide. "I cannot

discover the least bit of thread on the looms." However, he did not express his thoughts aloud.

The impostors requested him very courteously to be so good as to come nearer their looms; and then asked

him whether the design pleased him, and whether the colors were not very beautiful; at the same time

pointing to the empty frames. The poor old minister looked and looked, he could not discover anything on the

looms, for a very good reason, viz: there was nothing there. "What!" thought he again. "Is it possible that I

am a simpleton? I have never thought so myself; and no one must know it now if I am so. Can it be, that I am

unfit for my office? No, that must not be said either. I will never confess that I could not see the stuff."

"Well, Sir Minister!" said one of the knaves, still pretending to work. "You do not say whether the stuff

pleases you."

"Oh, it is excellent!" replied the old minister, looking at the loom through his spectacles. "This pattern, and

the colors, yes, I will tell the Emperor without delay, how very beautiful I think them."

"We shall be much obliged to you," said the impostors, and then they named the different colors and

described the pattern of the pretended stuff. The old minister listened attentively to their words, in order that

he might repeat them to the Emperor; and then the knaves asked for more silk and gold, saying that it was

necessary to complete what they had begun. However, they put all that was given them into their knapsacks;

and continued to work with as much apparent diligence as before at their empty looms.

The Emperor now sent another officer of his court to see how the men were getting on, and to ascertain

whether the cloth would soon be ready. It was just the same with this gentleman as with the minister; he

surveyed the looms on all sides, but could see nothing at all but the empty frames.

"Does not the stuff appear as beautiful to you, as it did to my lord the minister?" asked the impostors of the

Emperor's second ambassador; at the same time making the same gestures as before, and talking of the design

and colors which were not there.

"I certainly am not stupid!" thought the messenger. "It must be, that I am not fit for my good, profitable

office! That is very odd; however, no one shall know anything about it." And accordingly he praised the stuff

he could not see, and declared that he was delighted with both colors and patterns. "Indeed, please your

Imperial Majesty," said he to his sovereign when he returned, "the cloth which the weavers are preparing is

extraordinarily magnificent."

The whole city was talking of the splendid cloth which the Emperor had ordered to be woven at his own

expense.


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And now the Emperor himself wished to see the costly manufacture, while it was still in the loom.

Accompanied by a select number of officers of the court, among whom were the two honest men who had

already admired the cloth, he went to the crafty impostors, who, as soon as they were aware of the Emperor's

approach, went on working more diligently than ever; although they still did not pass a single thread through

the looms.

"Is not the work absolutely magnificent?" said the two officers of the crown, already mentioned. "If your

Majesty will only be pleased to look at it! What a splendid design! What glorious colors!" and at the same

time they pointed to the empty frames; for they imagined that everyone else could see this exquisite piece of

workmanship.

"How is this?" said the Emperor to himself. "I can see nothing! This is indeed a terrible affair! Am I a

simpleton, or am I unfit to be an Emperor? That would be the worst thing that could happenOh! the cloth

is charming," said he, aloud. "It has my complete approbation." And he smiled most graciously, and looked

closely at the empty looms; for on no account would he say that he could not see what two of the officers of

his court had praised so much. All his retinue now strained their eyes, hoping to discover something on the

looms, but they could see no more than the others; nevertheless, they all exclaimed, "Oh, how beautiful!" and

advised his majesty to have some new clothes made from this splendid material, for the approaching

procession. "Magnificent! Charming! Excellent!" resounded on all sides; and everyone was uncommonly

gay. The Emperor shared in the general satisfaction; and presented the impostors with the riband of an order

of knighthood, to be worn in their buttonholes, and the title of "Gentlemen Weavers."

The rogues sat up the whole of the night before the day on which the procession was to take place, and had

sixteen lights burning, so that everyone might see how anxious they were to finish the Emperor's new suit.

They pretended to roll the cloth off the looms; cut the air with their scissors; and sewed with needles without

any thread in them. "See!" cried they, at last. "The Emperor's new clothes are ready!"

And now the Emperor, with all the grandees of his court, came to the weavers; and the rogues raised their

arms, as if in the act of holding something up, saying, "Here are your Majesty's trousers! Here is the scarf!

Here is the mantle! The whole suit is as light as a cobweb; one might fancy one has nothing at all on, when

dressed in it; that, however, is the great virtue of this delicate cloth."

"Yes indeed!" said all the courtiers, although not one of them could see anything of this exquisite

manufacture.

"If your Imperial Majesty will be graciously pleased to take off your clothes, we will fit on the new suit, in

front of the looking glass."

The Emperor was accordingly undressed, and the rogues pretended to array him in his new suit; the Emperor

turning round, from side to side, before the looking glass.

"How splendid his Majesty looks in his new clothes, and how well they fit!" everyone cried out. "What a

design! What colors! These are indeed royal robes!"

"The canopy which is to be borne over your Majesty, in the procession, is waiting," announced the chief

master of the ceremonies.

"I am quite ready," answered the Emperor. "Do my new clothes fit well?" asked he, turning himself round

again before the looking glass, in order that he might appear to be examining his handsome suit.


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The lords of the bedchamber, who were to carry his Majesty's train felt about on the ground, as if they were

lifting up the ends of the mantle; and pretended to be carrying something; for they would by no means betray

anything like simplicity, or unfitness for their office.

So now the Emperor walked under his high canopy in the midst of the procession, through the streets of his

capital; and all the people standing by, and those at the windows, cried out, "Oh! How beautiful are our

Emperor's new clothes! What a magnificent train there is to the mantle; and how gracefully the scarf hangs!"

in short, no one would allow that he could not see these muchadmired clothes; because, in doing so, he

would have declared himself either a simpleton or unfit for his office. Certainly, none of the Emperor's

various suits, had ever made so great an impression, as these invisible ones.

"But the Emperor has nothing at all on!" said a little child.

"Listen to the voice of innocence!" exclaimed his father; and what the child had said was whispered from one

to another.

"But he has nothing at all on!" at last cried out all the people. The Emperor was vexed, for he knew that the

people were right; but he thought the procession must go on now! And the lords of the bedchamber took

greater pains than ever, to appear holding up a train, although, in reality, there was no train to hold.

THE SWINEHERD

There was once a poor Prince, who had a kingdom. His kingdom was very small, but still quite large enough

to marry upon; and he wished to marry.

It was certainly rather cool of him to say to the Emperor's daughter, "Will you have me?" But so he did; for

his name was renowned far and wide; and there were a hundred princesses who would have answered, "Yes!"

and "Thank you kindly." We shall see what this princess said.

Listen!

It happened that where the Prince's father lay buried, there grew a rose treea most beautiful rose tree,

which blossomed only once in every five years, and even then bore only one flower, but that was a rose! It

smelt so sweet that all cares and sorrows were forgotten by him who inhaled its fragrance.

And furthermore, the Prince had a nightingale, who could sing in such a manner that it seemed as though all

sweet melodies dwelt in her little throat. So the Princess was to have the rose, and the nightingale; and they

were accordingly put into large silver caskets, and sent to her.

The Emperor had them brought into a large hall, where the Princess was playing at "Visiting," with the ladies

of the court; and when she saw the caskets with the presents, she clapped her hands for joy.

"Ah, if it were but a little pussycat!" said she; but the rose tree, with its beautiful rose came to view.

"Oh, how prettily it is made!" said all the court ladies.

"It is more than pretty," said the Emperor, "it is charming!"

But the Princess touched it, and was almost ready to cry.

"Fie, papa!" said she. "It is not made at all, it is natural!"


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"Let us see what is in the other casket, before we get into a bad humor," said the Emperor. So the nightingale

came forth and sang so delightfully that at first no one could say anything illhumored of her.

"Superbe! Charmant! exclaimed the ladies; for they all used to chatter French, each one worse than her

neighbor.

"How much the bird reminds me of the musical box that belonged to our blessed Empress," said an old

knight. "Oh yes! These are the same tones, the same execution."

"Yes! yes!" said the Emperor, and he wept like a child at the remembrance.

"I will still hope that it is not a real bird," said the Princess.

"Yes, it is a real bird," said those who had brought it. "Well then let the bird fly," said the Princess; and she

positively refused to see the Prince.

However, he was not to be discouraged; he daubed his face over brown and black; pulled his cap over his

ears, and knocked at the door.

"Good day to my lord, the Emperor!" said he. "Can I have employment at the palace?"

"Why, yes," said the Emperor. "I want some one to take care of the pigs, for we have a great many of them."

So the Prince was appointed "Imperial Swineherd." He had a dirty little room close by the pigsty; and there

he sat the whole day, and worked. By the evening he had made a pretty little kitchenpot. Little bells were

hung all round it; and when the pot was boiling, these bells tinkled in the most charming manner, and played

the old melody,

"Ach! du lieber Augustin, Alles ist weg, weg, weg!"*

* "Ah! dear Augustine! All is gone, gone, gone!"

But what was still more curious, whoever held his finger in the smoke of the kitchenpot, immediately smelt

all the dishes that were cooking on every hearth in the citythis, you see, was something quite different

from the rose.

Now the Princess happened to walk that way; and when she heard the tune, she stood quite still, and seemed

pleased; for she could play "Lieber Augustine"; it was the only piece she knew; and she played it with one

finger.

"Why there is my piece," said the Princess. "That swineherd must certainly have been well educated! Go in

and ask him the price of the instrument."

So one of the courtladies must run in; however, she drew on wooden slippers first.

"What will you take for the kitchenpot?" said the lady.

"I will have ten kisses from the Princess," said the swineherd.

"Yes, indeed!" said the lady.


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"I cannot sell it for less," rejoined the swineherd.

"He is an impudent fellow!" said the Princess, and she walked on; but when she had gone a little way, the

bells tinkled so prettily

"Ach! du lieber Augustin, Alles ist weg, weg, weg!"

"Stay," said the Princess. "Ask him if he will have ten kisses from the ladies of my court."

"No, thank you!" said the swineherd. "Ten kisses from the Princess, or I keep the kitchenpot myself."

"That must not be, either!" said the Princess. "But do you all stand before me that no one may see us."

And the courtladies placed themselves in front of her, and spread out their dressesthe swineherd got ten

kisses, and the Princessthe kitchenpot.

That was delightful! The pot was boiling the whole evening, and the whole of the following day. They knew

perfectly well what was cooking at every fire throughout the city, from the chamberlain's to the cobbler's; the

courtladies danced and clapped their hands.

"We know who has soup, and who has pancakes for dinner today, who has cutlets, and who has eggs. How

interesting!"

"Yes, but keep my secret, for I am an Emperor's daughter."

The swineherdthat is to saythe Prince, for no one knew that he was other than an illfavored swineherd,

let not a day pass without working at something; he at last constructed a rattle, which, when it was swung

round, played all the waltzes and jig tunes, which have ever been heard since the creation of the world.

"Ah, that is superbe!" said the Princess when she passed by. "I have never heard prettier compositions! Go in

and ask him the price of the instrument; but mind, he shall have no more kisses!"

"He will have a hundred kisses from the Princess!" said the lady who had been to ask.

"I think he is not in his right senses!" said the Princess, and walked on, but when she had gone a little way,

she stopped again. "One must encourage art," said she, "I am the Emperor's daughter. Tell him he shall, as on

yesterday, have ten kisses from me, and may take the rest from the ladies of the court."

"Ohbut we should not like that at all!" said they. "What are you muttering?" asked the Princess. "If I can

kiss him, surely you can. Remember that you owe everything to me." So the ladies were obliged to go to him

again.

"A hundred kisses from the Princess," said he, "or else let everyone keep his own!"

"Stand round!" said she; and all the ladies stood round her whilst the kissing was going on.

"What can be the reason for such a crowd close by the pigsty?" said the Emperor, who happened just then to

step out on the balcony; he rubbed his eyes, and put on his spectacles. "They are the ladies of the court; I

must go down and see what they are about!" So he pulled up his slippers at the heel, for he had trodden them

down.


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As soon as he had got into the courtyard, he moved very softly, and the ladies were so much engrossed with

counting the kisses, that all might go on fairly, that they did not perceive the Emperor. He rose on his tiptoes.

"What is all this?" said he, when he saw what was going on, and he boxed the Princess's ears with his slipper,

just as the swineherd was taking the eightysixth kiss.

"March out!" said the Emperor, for he was very angry; and both Princess and swineherd were thrust out of

the city.

The Princess now stood and wept, the swineherd scolded, and the rain poured down.

"Alas! Unhappy creature that I am!" said the Princess. "If I had but married the handsome young Prince! Ah!

how unfortunate I am!"

And the swineherd went behind a tree, washed the black and brown color from his face, threw off his dirty

clothes, and stepped forth in his princely robes; he looked so noble that the Princess could not help bowing

before him.

"I am come to despise thee," said he. "Thou would'st not have an honorable Prince! Thou could'st not prize

the rose and the nightingale, but thou wast ready to kiss the swineherd for the sake of a trumpery plaything.

Thou art rightly served."

He then went back to his own little kingdom, and shut the door of his palace in her face. Now she might well

sing,

"Ach! du lieber Augustin, Alles ist weg, weg, weg!"

THE REAL PRINCESS

There was once a Prince who wished to marry a Princess; but then she must be a real Princess. He travelled

all over the world in hopes of finding such a lady; but there was always something wrong. Princesses he

found in plenty; but whether they were real Princesses it was impossible for him to decide, for now one thing,

now another, seemed to him not quite right about the ladies. At last he returned to his palace quite cast down,

because he wished so much to have a real Princess for his wife.

One evening a fearful tempest arose, it thundered and lightened, and the rain poured down from the sky in

torrents: besides, it was as dark as pitch. All at once there was heard a violent knocking at the door, and the

old King, the Prince's father, went out himself to open it.

It was a Princess who was standing outside the door. What with the rain and the wind, she was in a sad

condition; the water trickled down from her hair, and her clothes clung to her body. She said she was a real

Princess.

"Ah! we shall soon see that!" thought the old Queenmother; however, she said not a word of what she was

going to do; but went quietly into the bedroom, took all the bedclothes off the bed, and put three little peas

on the bedstead. She then laid twenty mattresses one upon another over the three peas, and put twenty feather

beds over the mattresses.

Upon this bed the Princess was to pass the night.


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The next morning she was asked how she had slept. "Oh, very badly indeed!" she replied. "I have scarcely

closed my eyes the whole night through. I do not know what was in my bed, but I had something hard under

me, and am all over black and blue. It has hurt me so much!"

Now it was plain that the lady must be a real Princess, since she had been able to feel the three little peas

through the twenty mattresses and twenty feather beds. None but a real Princess could have had such a

delicate sense of feeling.

The Prince accordingly made her his wife; being now convinced that he had found a real Princess. The three

peas were however put into the cabinet of curiosities, where they are still to be seen, provided they are not

lost.

Wasn't this a lady of real delicacy?

THE SHOES OF FORTUNE

I. A Beginning

Every author has some peculiarity in his descriptions or in his style of writing. Those who do not like him,

magnify it, shrug up their shoulders, and exclaimthere he is again! I, for my part, know very well how I

can bring about this movement and this exclamation. It would happen immediately if I were to begin here, as

I intended to do, with: "Rome has its Corso, Naples its Toledo""Ah! that Andersen; there he is again!" they

would cry; yet I must, to please my fancy, continue quite quietly, and add: "But Copenhagen has its East

Street."

Here, then, we will stay for the present. In one of the houses not far from the new market a party was

inviteda very large party, in order, as is often the case, to get a return invitation from the others. One half

of the company was already seated at the cardtable, the other half awaited the result of the stereotype

preliminary observation of the lady of the house:

"Now let us see what we can do to amuse ourselves."

They had got just so far, and the conversation began to crystallise, as it could but do with the scanty stream

which the commonplace world supplied. Amongst other things they spoke of the middle ages: some praised

that period as far more interesting, far more poetical than our own too sober present; indeed Councillor Knap

defended this opinion so warmly, that the hostess declared immediately on his side, and both exerted

themselves with unwearied eloquence. The Councillor boldly declared the time of King Hans to be the

noblest and the most happy period.*

* A.D. 14821513

While the conversation turned on this subject, and was only for a moment interrupted by the arrival of a

journal that contained nothing worth reading, we will just step out into the antechamber, where cloaks,

mackintoshes, sticks, umbrellas, and shoes, were deposited. Here sat two female figures, a young and an old

one. One might have thought at first they were servants come to accompany their mistresses home; but on

looking nearer, one soon saw they could scarcely be mere servants; their forms were too noble for that, their

skin too fine, the cut of their dress too striking. Two fairies were they; the younger, it is true, was not Dame

Fortune herself, but one of the waitingmaids of her handmaidens who carry about the lesser good things that

she distributes; the other looked extremely gloomyit was Care. She always attends to her own serious

business herself, as then she is sure of having it done properly.


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They were telling each other, with a confidential interchange of ideas, where they had been during the day.

The messenger of Fortune had only executed a few unimportant commissions, such as saving a new bonnet

from a shower of rain, etc.; but what she had yet to perform was something quite unusual.

"I must tell you," said she, "that today is my birthday; and in honor of it, a pair of walkingshoes or

galoshes has been entrusted to me, which I am to carry to mankind. These shoes possess the property of

instantly transporting him who has them on to the place or the period in which he most wishes to be; every

wish, as regards time or place, or state of being, will be immediately fulfilled, and so at last man will be

happy, here below."

"Do you seriously believe it?" replied Care, in a severe tone of reproach. "No; he will be very unhappy, and

will assuredly bless the moment when he feels that he has freed himself from the fatal shoes."

"Stupid nonsense!" said the other angrily. "I will put them here by the door. Some one will make a mistake

for certain and take the wrong oneshe will be a happy man."

Such was their conversation.

II. What Happened to the Councillor

It was late; Councillor Knap, deeply occupied with the times of King Hans, intended to go home, and

malicious Fate managed matters so that his feet, instead of finding their way to his own galoshes, slipped into

those of Fortune. Thus caparisoned the good man walked out of the welllighted rooms into East Street. By

the magic power of the shoes he was carried back to the times of King Hans; on which account his foot very

naturally sank in the mud and puddles of the street, there having been in those days no pavement in

Copenhagen.

"Well! This is too bad! How dirty it is here!" sighed the Councillor. "As to a pavement, I can find no traces of

one, and all the lamps, it seems, have gone to sleep."

The moon was not yet very high; it was besides rather foggy, so that in the darkness all objects seemed

mingled in chaotic confusion. At the next corner hung a votive lamp before a Madonna, but the light it gave

was little better than none at all; indeed, he did not observe it before he was exactly under it, and his eyes fell

upon the bright colors of the pictures which represented the wellknown group of the Virgin and the infant

Jesus.

"That is probably a waxwork show," thought he; "and the people delay taking down their sign in hopes of a

late visitor or two."

A few persons in the costume of the time of King Hans passed quickly by him.

"How strange they look! The good folks come probably from a masquerade!"

Suddenly was heard the sound of drums and fifes; the bright blaze of a fire shot up from time to time, and its

ruddy gleams seemed to contend with the bluish light of the torches. The Councillor stood still, and watched

a most strange procession pass by. First came a dozen drummers, who understood pretty well how to handle

their instruments; then came halberdiers, and some armed with crossbows. The principal person in the

procession was a priest. Astonished at what he saw, the Councillor asked what was the meaning of all this

mummery, and who that man was.

"That's the Bishop of Zealand," was the answer.


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"Good Heavens! What has taken possession of the Bishop?" sighed the Councillor, shaking his bead. It

certainly could not be the Bishop; even though he was considered the most absent man in the whole kingdom,

and people told the drollest anecdotes about him. Reflecting on the matter, and without looking right or left,

the Councillor went through East Street and across the HabroPlatz. The bridge leading to Palace Square was

not to be found; scarcely trusting his senses, the nocturnal wanderer discovered a shallow piece of water, and

here fell in with two men who very comfortably were rocking to and fro in a boat.

"Does your honor want to cross the ferry to the Holme?" asked they.

"Across to the Holme!" said the Councillor, who knew nothing of the age in which he at that moment was.

"No, I am going to Christianshafen, to Little Market Street."

Both men stared at him in astonishment.

"Only just tell me where the bridge is," said he. "It is really unpardonable that there are no lamps here; and it

is as dirty as if one had to wade through a morass."

The longer he spoke with the boatmen, the more unintelligible did their language become to him.

"I don't understand your Bornholmish dialect," said he at last, angrily, and turning his back upon them. He

was unable to find the bridge: there was no railway either. "It is really disgraceful what a state this place is

in," muttered he to himself. Never had his age, with which, however, he was always grumbling, seemed so

miserable as on this evening. "I'll take a hackneycoach!" thought he. But where were the hackneycoaches?

Not one was to be seen.

"I must go back to the New Market; there, it is to be hoped, I shall find some coaches; for if I don't, I shall

never get safe to Christianshafen."

So off he went in the direction of East Street, and had nearly got to the end of it when the moon shone forth.

"God bless me! What wooden scaffolding is that which they have set up there?" cried he involuntarily, as he

looked at East Gate, which, in those days, was at the end of East Street.

He found, however, a little sidedoor open, and through this he went, and stepped into our New Market of

the present time. It was a huge desolate plain; some wild bushes stood up here and there, while across the

field flowed a broad canal or river. Some wretched hovels for the Dutch sailors, resembling great boxes, and

after which the place was named, lay about in confused disorder on the opposite bank.

"I either behold a fata morgana, or I am regularly tipsy," whimpered out the Councillor. "But what's this?"

He turned round anew, firmly convinced that he was seriously ill. He gazed at the street formerly so well

known to him, and now so strange in appearance, and looked at the houses more attentively: most of them

were of wood, slightly put together; and many had a thatched roof.

"NoI am far from well," sighed he; "and yet I drank only one glass of punch; but I cannot suppose itit

was, too, really very wrong to give us punch and hot salmon for supper. I shall speak about it at the first

opportunity. I have half a mind to go back again, and say what I suffer. But no, that would be too silly; and

Heaven only knows if they are up still."

He looked for the house, but it had vanished.


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"It is really dreadful," groaned he with increasing anxiety; "I cannot recognise East Street again; there is not a

single decent shop from one end to the other! Nothing but wretched huts can I see anywhere; just as if I were

at Ringstead. Ohl I am ill! I can scarcely bear myself any longer. Where the deuce can the house be? It must

be here on this very spot; yet there is not the slightest idea of resemblance, to such a degree has everything

changed this night! At all events here are some people up and stirring. Oh! oh! I am certainly very ill."

He now hit upon a halfopen door, through a chink of which a faint light shone. It was a sort of hostelry of

those times; a kind of publichouse. The room had some resemblance to the clayfloored halls in Holstein; a

pretty numerous company, consisting of seamen, Copenhagen burghers, and a few scholars, sat here in deep

converse over their pewter cans, and gave little heed to the person who entered.

"By your leave!" said the Councillor to the Hostess, who came bustling towards him. "I've felt so queer all of

a sudden; would you have the goodness to send for a hackneycoach to take me to Christianshafen?"

The woman examined him with eyes of astonishment, and shook her head; she then addressed him in

German. The Councillor thought she did not understand Danish, and therefore repeated his wish in German.

This, in connection with his costume, strengthened the good woman in the belief that he was a foreigner. That

he was ill, she comprehended directly; so she brought him a pitcher of water, which tasted certainly pretty

strong of the sea, although it had been fetched from the well.

The Councillor supported his head on his hand, drew a long breath, and thought over all the wondrous things

he saw around him.

"Is this the Daily News of this evening?" be asked mechanically, as he saw the Hostess push aside a large

sheet of paper.

The meaning of this councillorship query remained, of course, a riddle to her, yet she handed him the paper

without replying. It was a coarse woodcut, representing a splendid meteor "as seen in the town of Cologne,"

which was to be read below in bright letters.

"That is very old!" said the Councillor, whom this piece of antiquity began to make considerably more

cheerful. "Pray how did you come into possession of this rare print? It is extremely interesting, although the

whole is a mere fable. Such meteorous appearances are to be explained in this waythat they are the

reflections of the Aurora Borealis, and it is highly probable they are caused principally by electricity."

Those persons who were sitting nearest him and beard his speech, stared at him in wonderment; and one of

them rose, took off his hat respectfully, and said with a serious countenance, "You are no doubt a very

learned man, Monsieur."

"Oh no," answered the Councillor, "I can only join in conversation on this topic and on that, as indeed one

must do according to the demands of the world at present."

"Modestia is a fine virtue," continued the gentleman; "however, as to your speech, I must say mihi secus

videtur: yet I am willing to suspend my judicium."

"May I ask with whom I have the pleasure of speaking?" asked the Councillor.

"I am a Bachelor in Theologia," answered the gentleman with a stiff reverence.

This reply fully satisfied the Councillor; the title suited the dress. "He is certainly," thought he, "some village

schoolmastersome queer old fellow, such as one still often meets with in Jutland."


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"This is no locus docendi, it is true," began the clerical gentleman; "yet I beg you earnestly to let us profit by

your learning. Your reading in the ancients is, sine dubio, of vast extent?"

"Oh yes, I've read a something, to be sure," replied the Councillor. "I like reading all useful works; but I do

not on that account despise the modern ones; 'tis only the unfortunate 'Tales of Everyday Life' that I cannot

bearwe have enough and more than enough such in reality."

"'Tales of Everyday Life?'" said our Bachelor inquiringly.

"I mean those new fangled novels, twisting and writhing themselves in the dust of commonplace, which also

expect to find a reading public."

"Oh," exclaimed the clerical gentleman smiling, "there is much wit in them; besides they are read at court.

The King likes the history of Sir Iffven and Sir Gaudian particularly, which treats of King Arthur, and his

Knights of the Round Table; he has more than once joked about it with his high vassals."

"I have not read that novel," said the Councillor; "it must be quite a new one, that Heiberg has published

lately."

"No," answered the theologian of the time of King Hans: "that book is not written by a Heiberg, but was

imprinted by Godfrey von Gehmen."

"Oh, is that the author's name?" said the Councillor. "It is a very old name, and, as well as I recollect, he was

the first printer that appeared in Denmark."

"Yes, he is our first printer," replied the clerical gentleman hastily.

So far all went on well. Some one of the worthy burghers now spoke of the dreadful pestilence that had raged

in the country a few years back, meaning that of 1484. The Councillor imagined it was the cholera that was

meant, which people made so much fuss about; and the discourse passed off satisfactorily enough. The war of

the buccaneers of 1490 was so recent that it could not fail being alluded to; the English pirates had, they said,

most shamefully taken their ships while in the roadstead; and the Councillor, before whose eyes the

Herostratic* event of 1801 still floated vividly, agreed entirely with the others in abusing the rascally English.

With other topics he was not so fortunate; every moment brought about some new confusion, and threatened

to become a perfect Babel; for the worthy Bachelor was really too ignorant, and the simplest observations of

the Councillor sounded to him too daring and phantastical. They looked at one another from the crown of the

head to the soles of the feet; and when matters grew to too high a pitch, then the Bachelor talked Latin, in the

hope of being better understoodbut it was of no use after all.

* Herostratus, or Eratostratusan Ephesian, who wantonly set fire to the famous temple of Diana, in order to

commemorate his name by so uncommon an action.

"What's the matter?" asked the Hostess, plucking the Councillor by the sleeve; and now his recollection

returned, for in the course of the conversation he had entirely forgotten all that had preceded it.

"Merciful God, where am I!" exclaimed he in agony; and while he so thought, all his ideas and feelings of

overpowering dizziness, against which he struggled with the utmost power of desperation, encompassed him

with renewed force. "Let us drink claret and mead, and Bremen beer," shouted one of the guests"and you

shall drink with us!"


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Two maidens approached. One wore a cap of two staring colors, denoting the class of persons to which she

belonged. They poured out the liquor, and made the most friendly gesticulations; while a cold perspiration

trickled down the back of the poor Councillor.

"What's to be the end of this! What's to become of me!" groaned he; but he was

forced, in spite of his opposition, to drink with the rest. They took hold of the worthy man; who, hearing on

every side that he was intoxicated, did not in the least doubt the truth of this certainly not very polite

assertion; but on the contrary, implored the ladies and gentlemen present to procure him a hackneycoach:

they, however, imagined he was talking Russian.

Never before, he thought, had he been in such a coarse and ignorant company; one might almost fancy the

people had turned heathens again. "It is the most dreadful moment of my life: the whole world is leagued

against me!" But suddenly it occurred to him that he might stoop down under the table, and then creep

unobserved out of the door. He did so; but just as he was going, the others remarked what he was about; they

laid hold of him by the legs; and now, happily for him, off fell his fatal shoesand with them the charm was

at an end.

The Councillor saw quite distinctly before him a lantern burning, and behind this a large handsome house.

All seemed to him in proper order as usual; it was East Street, splendid and elegant as we now see it. He lay

with his feet towards a doorway, and exactly opposite sat the watchman asleep.

"Gracious Heaven!" said he. "Have I lain here in the street and dreamed? Yes; 'tis East Street! How splendid

and light it is! But really it is terrible what an effect that one glass of punch must have had on me!"

Two minutes later, he was sitting in a hackneycoach and driving to Frederickshafen. He thought of the

distress and agony he had endured, and praised from the very bottom of his heart the happy realityour own

timewhich, with all its deficiencies, is yet much better than that in which, so much against his inclination,

he had lately been.

III. The Watchman's Adventure

"Why, there is a pair of galoshes, as sure as I'm alive!" said the watchman, awaking from a gentle slumber.

"They belong no doubt to the lieutenant who lives over the way. They lie close to the door."

The worthy man was inclined to ring and deliver them at the house, for there was still a light in the window;

but he did not like disturbing the other people in their beds, and so very considerately he left the matter alone.

"Such a pair of shoes must be very warm and comfortable," said he; "the leather is so soft and supple." They

fitted his feet as though they had been made for him. "'Tis a curious world we live in," continued he,

soliloquizing. "There is the lieutenant, now, who might go quietly to bed if he chose, where no doubt he

could stretch himself at his ease; but does he do it? No; he saunters up and down his room, because, probably,

he has enjoyed too many of the good things of this world at his dinner. That's a happy fellow! He has neither

an infirm mother, nor a whole troop of everlastingly hungry children to torment him. Every evening he goes

to a party, where his nice supper costs him nothing: would to Heaven I could but change with him! How

happy should I be!"

While expressing his wish, the charm of the shoes, which he had put on, began to work; the watchman

entered into the being and nature of the lieutenant. He stood in the handsomely furnished apartment, and held

between his fingers a small sheet of rosecolored paper, on which some verses were writtenwritten indeed

by the officer himself; for who has not', at least once in his life, had a lyrical moment? And if one then marks


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down one's thoughts, poetry is produced. But here was written:

OH, WERE I RICH!

"Oh, were I rich! Such was my wish, yea such When hardly three feet high, I longed for much. Oh, were I

rich! an officer were I, With sword, and uniform, and plume so high. And the time came, and officer was I!

But yet I grew not rich. Alas, poor me! Have pity, Thou, who all man's wants dost see.

"I sat one evening sunk in dreams of bliss, A maid of seven years old gave me a kiss, I at that time was rich in

poesy And tales of old, though poor as poor could be; But all she asked for was this poesy. Then was I rich,

but not in gold, poor me! As Thou dost know, who all men's hearts canst see.

"Oh, were I rich! Oft asked I for this boon. The child grew up to womanhood full soon. She is so pretty,

clever, and so kind Oh, did she know what's hidden in my mind A tale of old. Would she to me were kind!.

But I'm condemned to silence! oh, poor me! As Thou dost know, who all men's hearts canst see.

"Oh, were I rich in calm and peace of mind, My grief you then would not here written find! O thou, to whom

I do my heart devote, Oh read this page of glad days now remote, A dark, dark tale, which I tonight devote!

Dark is the future now. Alas, poor me! Have pity Thou, who all men's pains dost see."

Such verses as these people write when they are in love! But no man in his senses ever thinks of printing

them. Here one of the sorrows of life, in which there is real poetry, gave itself vent; not that barren grief

which the poet may only hint at, but never depict in its detailmisery and want: that animal necessity, in

short, to snatch at least at a fallen leaf of the breadfruit tree, if not at the fruit itself. The higher the position

in which one finds oneself transplanted, the greater is the suffering. Everyday necessity is the stagnant pool of

lifeno lovely picture reflects itself therein. Lieutenant, love, and lack of moneythat is a symbolic

triangle, or much the same as the half of the shattered die of Fortune. This the lieutenant felt most poignantly,

and this was the reason he leant his head against the window, and sighed so deeply.

"The poor watchman out there in the street is far happier than I. He knows not what I term privation. He has a

home, a wife, and children, who weep with him over his sorrows, who rejoice with him when he is glad. Oh,

far happier were I, could I exchange with him my beingwith his desires and with his hopes perform the

weary pilgrimage of life! Oh, he is a hundred times happier than I!"

In the same moment the watchman was again watchman. It was the shoes that caused the metamorphosis by

means of which, unknown to himself, he took upon him the thoughts and feelings of the officer; but, as we

have just seen, he felt himself in his new situation much less contented, and now preferred the very thing

which but some minutes before he had rejected. So then the watchman was again watchman.

"That was an unpleasant dream," said he; "but 'twas droll enough altogether. I fancied that I was the

lieutenant over there: and yet the thing was not very much to my taste after all. I missed my good old mother

and the dear little ones; who almost tear me to pieces for sheer love."

He seated himself once more and nodded: the dream continued to haunt him, for he still had the shoes on his

feet. A falling star shone in the dark firmament.

"There falls another star," said he: "but what does it matter; there are always enough left. I should not much

mind examining the little glimmering things somewhat nearer, especially the moon; for that would not slip so

easily through a man's fingers. When we dieso at least says the student, for whom my wife does the

washingwe shall fly about as light as a feather from one such a star to the other. That's, of course, not true:

but 'twould be pretty enough if it were so. If I could but once take a leap up there, my body might stay here


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on the steps for what I care."

Beholdthere are certain things in the world to which one ought never to give utterance except with the

greatest caution; but doubly careful must one be when we have the Shoes of Fortune on our feet. Now just

listen to what happened to the watchman.

As to ourselves, we all know the speed produced by the employment of steam; we have experienced it either

on railroads, or in boats when crossing the sea; but such a flight is like the travelling of a sloth in comparison

with the velocity with which light moves. It flies nineteen million times faster than the best racehorse; and

yet electricity is quicker still. Death is an electric shock which our heart receives; the freed soul soars

upwards on the wings of electricity. The sun's light wants eight minutes and some seconds to perform a

journey of more than twenty million of our Danish* miles; borne by electricity, the soul wants even some

minutes less to accomplish the same flight. To it the space between the heavenly bodies is not greater than the

distance between the homes of our friends in town is for us, even if they live a short way from each other;

such an electric shock in the heart, however, costs us the use of the body here below; unless, like the

watchman of East Street, we happen to have on the Shoes of Fortune.

*A Danish mile is nearly 4 3/4 English.

In a few seconds the watchman had done the fiftytwo thousand of our miles up to the moon, which, as

everyone knows, was formed out of matter much lighter than our earth; and is, so we should say, as soft as

newlyfallen snow. He found himself on one of the many circumjacent mountainridges with which we are

acquainted by means of Dr. Madler's "Map of the Moon." Within, down it sunk perpendicularly into a

caldron, about a Danish mile in depth; while below lay a town, whose appearance we can, in some measure,

realize to ourselves by beating the white of an egg in a glass Of water. The matter of which it was built was

just as soft, and formed similar towers, and domes, and pillars, transparent and rocking in the thin air; while

above his head our earth was rolling like a large fiery ball.

He perceived immediately a quantity of beings who were certainly what we call "men"; yet they looked

different to us. A far more, correct imagination than that of the pseudoHerschel* had created them; and if

they had been placed in rank and file, and copied by some skilful painter's hand, one would, without doubt,

have exclaimed involuntarily, "What a beautiful arabesque!"

*This relates to a book published some years ago in Germany, and said to be by Herschel, which contained a

description of the moon and its inhabitants, written with such a semblance of truth that many were deceived

by the imposture.

Probably a translation of the celebrated Moon hoax, written by Richard A. Locke, and originally published in

New York.

They had a language too; but surely nobody can expect that the soul of the watchman should understand it.

Be that as it may, it did comprehend it; for in our souls there germinate far greater powers than we poor

mortals, despite all our cleverness, have any notion of. Does she not show usshe the queen in the land of

enchantmenther astounding dramatic talent in all our dreams? There every acquaintance appears and

speaks upon the stage, so entirely in character, and with the same tone of voice, that none of us, when awake,

were able to imitate it. How well can she recall persons to our mind, of whom we have not thought for years;

when suddenly they step forth "every inch a man," resembling the real personages, even to the finest features,

and become the heroes or heroines of our world of dreams. In reality, such remembrances are rather

unpleasant: every sin, every evil thought, may, like a clock with alarm or chimes, be repeated at pleasure;

then the question is if we can trust ourselves to give an account of every unbecoming word in our heart and

on our lips.


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The watchman's spirit understood the language of the inhabitants of the moon pretty well. The Selenites*

disputed variously about our earth, and expressed their doubts if it could be inhabited: the air, they said, must

certainly be too dense to allow any rational dweller in the moon the necessary free respiration. They

considered the moon alone to be inhabited: they imagined it was the real heart of the universe or planetary

system, on which the genuine Cosmopolites, or citizens of the world, dwelt. What strange things menno,

what strange things Selenites sometimes take into their heads!

*Dwellers in the moon.

About politics they had a good deal to say. But little Denmark must take care what it is about, and not run

counter to the moon; that great realm, that might in an illhumor bestir itself, and dash down a hailstorm in

our faces, or force the Baltic to overflow the sides of its gigantic basin.

We will, therefore, not listen to what was spoken, and on no condition run in the possibility of telling tales

out of school; but we will rather proceed, like good quiet citizens, to East Street, and observe what happened

meanwhile to the body of the watchman.

He sat lifeless on the steps: the morningstar,* that is to say, the heavy wooden staff, headed with iron

spikes, and which had nothing else in common with its sparkling brother in the sky, had glided from his hand;

while his eyes were fixed with glassy stare on the moon, looking for the good old fellow of a spirit which still

haunted it.

*The watchmen in Germany, had formerly, and in some places they still carry with them, on their rounds at

night, a sort of mace or club, known in ancient times by the above denomination.

"What's the hour, watchman?" asked a passerby. But when the watchman gave no reply, the merry roysterer,

who was now returning home from a noisy drinking bout, took it into his bead to try what a tweak of the nose

would do, on which the supposed sleeper lost his balance, the body lay motionless, stretched out on the

pavement: the man was dead. When the patrol came up, all his comrades, who comprehended nothing of the

whole affair, were seized with a dreadful fright, for dead be was, and he remained so. The proper authorities

were informed of the circumstance, people talked a good deal about it, and in the morning the body was

carried to the hospital.

Now that would be a very pretty joke, if the spirit when it came back and looked for the body in East Street,

were not to find one. No doubt it would, in its anxiety, run off to the police, and then to the "Hue and Cry"

office, to announce that "the finder will be handsomely rewarded," and at last away to the hospital; yet we

may boldly assert that the soul is shrewdest when it shakes off every fetter, and every sort of

leadingstringthe body only makes it stupid.

The seemingly dead body of the watchman wandered, as we have said, to the hospital, where it was brought

into the general viewingroom: and the first thing that was done here was naturally to pull off the

galosheswhen the spirit, that was merely gone out on adventures, must have returned with the quickness of

lightning to its earthly tenement. It took its direction towards the body in a straight line; and a few seconds

after, life began to show itself in the man. He asserted that the preceding night had been the worst that ever

the malice of fate had allotted him; he would not for two silver marks again go through what he had endured

while moonstricken; but now, however, it was over.

The same day he was discharged from the hospital as perfectly cured; but the Shoes meanwhile remained

behind.

IV. A Moment of Head ImportanceAn Evening's "Dramatic Readings"A Most Strange Journey


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Every inhabitant of Copenhagen knows, from personal inspection, how the entrance to Frederick's Hospital

looks; but as it is possible that others, who are not Copenhagen people, may also read this little work, we will

beforehand give a short description of it.

The extensive building is separated from the street by a pretty high railing, the thick iron bars of which are so

far apart, that in all seriousness, it is said, some very thin fellow had of a night occasionally squeezed himself

through to go and pay his little visits in the town. The part of the body most difficult to manage on such

occasions was, no doubt, the head; here, as is so often the case in the world, longheaded people get through

best. So much, then, for the introduction.

One of the young men, whose head, in a physical sense only, might be said to be of the thickest, had the

watch that evening.The rain poured down in torrents; yet despite these two obstacles, the young man was

obliged to go out, if it were but for a quarter of an hour; and as to telling the doorkeeper about it, that, he

thought, was quite unnecessary, if, with a whole skin, he were able to slip through the railings. There, on the

floor lay the galoshes, which the watchman had forgotten; he never dreamed for a moment that they were

those of Fortune; and they promised to do him good service in the wet; so he put them on. The question now

was, if he could squeeze himself through the grating, for he had never tried before. Well, there he stood.

"Would to Heaven I had got my head through!" said he, involuntarily; and instantly through it slipped, easily

and without pain, notwithstanding it was pretty large and thick. But now the rest of the body was to be got

through!

"Ah! I am much too stout," groaned he aloud, while fixed as in a vice. "I had thought the head was the most

difficult part of the matteroh! oh! I really cannot squeeze myself through!"

He now wanted to pull his overhasty head back again, but he could not. For his neck there was room

enough, but for nothing more. His first feeling was of anger; his next that his temper fell to zero. The Shoes

of Fortune had placed him in the most dreadful situation; and, unfortunately, it never occurred to him to wish

himself free. The pitchblack clouds poured down their contents in still heavier torrents; not a creature was to

be seen in the streets. To reach up to the bell was what he did not like; to cry aloud for help would have

availed him little; besides, how ashamed would he have been to be found caught in a trap, like an outwitted

fox! How was he to twist himself through! He saw clearly that it was his irrevocable destiny to remain a

prisoner till dawn, or, perhaps, even late in the morning; then the smith must be fetched to file away the bars;

but all that would not be done so quickly as he could think about it. The whole Charity School, just opposite,

would be in motion; all the new booths, with their not very courtierlike swarm of seamen, would join them

out of curiosity, and would greet him with a wild "hurrah!" while he was standing in his pillory: there would

be a mob, a hissing, and rejoicing, and jeering, ten times worse than in the rows about the Jews some years

ago"Oh, my blood is mounting to my brain; 'tis enough to drive one mad! I shall go wild! I know not what

to do. Oh! were I but loose; my dizziness would then cease; oh, were my head but loose!"

You see he ought to have said that sooner; for the moment he expressed the wish his head was free; and cured

of all his paroxysms of love, he hastened off to his room, where the pains consequent on the fright the Shoes

had prepared for him, did not so soon take their leave.

But you must not think that the affair is over now; it grows much worse.

The night passed, the next day also; but nobody came to fetch the Shoes.

In the evening "Dramatic Readings" were to be given at the little theatre in King Street. The house was filled

to suffocation; and among other pieces to be recited was a new poem by H. C. Andersen, called, My Aunt's

Spectacles; the contents of which were pretty nearly as follows:


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"A certain person had an aunt, who boasted of particular skill in fortunetelling with cards, and who was

constantly being stormed by persons that wanted to have a peep into futurity. But she was full of mystery

about her art, in which a certain pair of magic spectacles did her essential service. Her nephew, a merry boy,

who was his aunt's darling, begged so long for these spectacles, that, at last, she lent him the treasure, after

having informed him, with many exhortations, that in order to execute the interesting trick, he need only

repair to some place where a great many persons were assembled; and then, from a higher position, whence

he could overlook the crowd, pass the company in review before him through his spectacles. Immediately 'the

inner man' of each individual would be displayed before him, like a game of cards, in which he unerringly

might read what the future of every person presented was to be. Well pleased the little magician hastened

away to prove the powers of the spectacles in the theatre; no place seeming to him more fitted for such a trial.

He begged permission of the worthy audience, and set his spectacles on his nose. A motley phantasmagoria

presents itself before him, which he describes in a few satirical touches, yet without expressing his opinion

openly: he tells the people enough to set them all thinking and guessing; but in order to hurt nobody, he

wraps his witty oracular judgments in a transparent veil, or rather in a lurid thundercloud, shooting forth

bright sparks of wit, that they may fall in the powdermagazine of the expectant audience."

The humorous poem was admirably recited, and the speaker much applauded. Among the audience was the

young man of the hospital, who seemed to have forgotten his adventure of the preceding night. He had on the

Shoes; for as yet no lawful owner had appeared to claim them; and besides it was so very dirty outofdoors,

they were just the thing for him, he thought.

The beginning of the poem he praised with great generosity: he even found the idea original and effective.

But that the end of it, like the Rhine, was very insignificant, proved, in his opinion, the author's want of

invention; he was without genius, etc. This was an excellent opportunity to have said something clever.

Meanwhile he was haunted by the ideahe should like to possess such a pair of spectacles himself; then,

perhaps, by using them circumspectly, one would be able to look into people's hearts, which, he thought,

would be far more interesting than merely to see what was to happen next year; for that we should all know in

proper time, but the other never.

"I can now," said he to himself, "fancy the whole row of ladies and gentlemen sitting there in the front row; if

one could but see into their heartsyes, that would be a revelationa sort of bazar. In that lady yonder, so

strangely dressed, I should find for certain a large milliner's shop; in that one the shop is empty, but it wants

cleaning plain enough. But there would also be some good stately shops among them. Alas!" sighed he, "I

know one in which all is stately; but there sits already a spruce young shopman, which is the only thing that's

amiss in the whole shop. All would be splendidly decked out, and we should hear, 'Walk in, gentlemen, pray

walk in; here you will find all you please to want.' Ah! I wish to Heaven I could walk in and take a trip right

through the hearts of those present!"

And behold! to the Shoes of Fortune this was the cue; the whole man shrunk together and a most uncommon

journey through the hearts of the front row of spectators, now began. The first heart through which he came,

was that of a middleaged lady, but he instantly fancied himself in the room of the "Institution for the cure of

the crooked and deformed," where casts of misshapen limbs are displayed in naked reality on the wall. Yet

there was this difference, in the institution the casts were taken at the entry of the patient; but here they were

retained and guarded in the heart while the sound persons went away. They were, namely, casts of female

friends, whose bodily or mental deformities were here most faithfully preserved.

With the snakelike writhings of an idea he glided into another female heart; but this seemed to him like a

large holy fane.* The white dove of innocence fluttered over the altar. How gladly would he have sunk upon

his knees; but he must away to the next heart; yet he still heard the pealing tones of the organ, and he himself

seemed to have become a newer and a better man; he felt unworthy to tread the neighboring sanctuary which


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a poor garret, with a sick bedrid mother, revealed. But God's warm sun streamed through the open window;

lovely roses nodded from the wooden flowerboxes on the roof, and two skyblue birds sang rejoicingly,

while the sick mother implored God's richest blessings on her pious daughter.

* temple

He now crept on hands and feet through a butcher's shop; at least on every side, and above and below, there

was nought but flesh. It was the heart of a most respectable rich man, whose name is certain to be found in

the Directory.

He was now in the heart of the wife of this worthy gentleman. It was an old, dilapidated, mouldering dovecot.

The husband's portrait was used as a weathercock, which was connected in some way or other with the

doors, and so they opened and shut of their own accord, whenever the stern old husband turned round.

Hereupon he wandered into a boudoir formed entirely of mirrors, like the one in Castle Rosenburg; but here

the glasses magnified to an astonishing degree. On the floor, in the middle of the room, sat, like a

DalaiLama, the insignificant "Self" of the person, quite confounded at his own greatness. He then imagined

he had got into a needlecase full of pointed needles of every size.

"This is certainly the heart of an old maid," thought he. But he was mistaken. It was the heart of a young

military man; a man, as people said, of talent and feeling.

In the greatest perplexity, he now came out of the last heart in the row; he was unable to put his thoughts in

order, and fancied that his too lively imagination had run away with him.

"Good Heavens!" sighed he. "I have surely a disposition to madness'tis dreadfully hot here; my blood boils

in my veins and my head is burning like a coal." And he now remembered the important event of the evening

before, how his head had got jammed in between the iron railings of the hospital. "That's what it is, no

doubt," said he. "I must do something in time: under such circumstances a Russian bath might do me good. I

only wish I were already on the upper bank"*

*In these Russian (vapor) baths the person extends himself on a bank or form, and as he gets accustomed to

the heat, moves to another higher up towards the ceiling, where, of course, the vapor is warmest. In this

manner he ascends gradually to the highest.

And so there he lay on the uppermost bank in the vaporbath; but with all his clothes on, in his boots and

galoshes, while the hot drops fell scalding from the ceiling on his face.

"Holloa!" cried he, leaping down. The bathing attendant, on his side, uttered a loud cry of astonishment when

he beheld in the bath, a man completely dressed.

The other, however, retained sufficient presence of mind to whisper to him, "'Tis a bet, and I have won it!"

But the first thing he did as soon as he got home, was to have a large blister put on his chest and back to draw

out his madness.

The next morning he had a sore chest and a bleeding back; and, excepting the fright, that was all that he had

gained by the Shoes of Fortune.

V. Metamorphosis of the CopyingClerk


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The watchman, whom we have certainly not forgotten, thought meanwhile of the galoshes he had found and

taken with him to the hospital; he now went to fetch them; and as neither the lieutenant, nor anybody else in

the street, claimed them as his property, they were delivered over to the policeoffice.*

* As on the continent, in all law and police practices nothing is verbal, but any circumstance, however

trifling, is reduced to writing, the labor, as well as the number of papers that thus accumulate, is enormous. In

a policeoffice, consequently, we find copyingclerks among many other scribes of various denominations,

of which, it seems, our hero was one.

"Why, I declare the Shoes look just like my own," said one of the clerks, eying the newlyfound treasure,

whose hidden powers, even he, sharp as he was, was not able to discover. "One must have more than the eye

of a shoemaker to know one pair from the other," said he, soliloquizing; and putting, at the same time, the

galoshes in search of an owner, beside his own in the corner.

"Here, sir!" said one of the men, who panting brought him a tremendous pile of papers.

The copyingclerk turned round and spoke awhile with the man about the reports and legal documents in

question; but when he had finished, and his eye fell again on the Shoes, he was unable to say whether those to

the left or those to the right belonged to him. "At all events it must be those which are wet," thought he; but

this time, in spite of his cleverness, he guessed quite wrong, for it was just those of Fortune which played as it

were into his hands, or rather on his feet. And why, I should like to know, are the police never to be wrong?

So he put them on quickly, stuck his papers in his pocket, and took besides a few under his arm, intending to

look them through at home to make the necessary notes. It was noon; and the weather, that had threatened

rain, began to clear up, while gaily dressed holiday folks filled the streets. "A little trip to Fredericksburg

would do me no great harm," thought he; "for I, poor beast of burden that I am, have so much to annoy me,

that I don't know what a good appetite is. 'Tis a bitter crust, alas! at which I am condemned to gnaw!"

Nobody could be more steady or quiet than this young man; we therefore wish him joy of the excursion with

all our heart; and it will certainly be beneficial for a person who leads so sedentary a life. In the park he met a

friend, one of our young poets, who told him that the following day he should set out on his longintended

tour.

"So you are going away again!" said the clerk. "You are a very free and happy being; we others are chained

by the leg and held fast to our desk."

"Yes; but it is a chain, friend, which ensures you the blessed bread of existence," answered the poet. "You

need feel no care for the coming morrow: when you are old, you receive a pension."

"True," said the clerk, shrugging his shoulders; "and yet you are the better off. To sit at one's ease and

poetisethat is a pleasure; everybody has something agreeable to say to you, and you are always your own

master. No, friend, you should but try what it is to sit from one year's end to the other occupied with and

judging the most trivial matters."

The poet shook his head, the copyingclerk did the same. Each one kept to his own opinion, and so they

separated.

"It's a strange race, those poets!" said the clerk, who was very fond of soliloquizing. "I should like some day,

just for a trial, to take such nature upon me, and be a poet myself; I am very sure I should make no such

miserable verses as the others. Today, methinks, is a most delicious day for a poet. Nature seems anew to

celebrate her awakening into life. The air is so unusually clear, the clouds sail on so buoyantly, and from the

green herbage a fragrance is exhaled that fills me with delight, For many a year have I not felt as at this


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moment."

We see already, by the foregoing effusion, that he is become a poet; to give further proof of it, however,

would in most cases be insipid, for it is a most foolish notion to fancy a poet different from other men.

Among the latter there may be far more poetical natures than many an acknowledged poet, when examined

more closely, could boast of; the difference only is, that the poet possesses a better mental memory, on which

account he is able to retain the feeling and the thought till they can be embodied by means of words; a faculty

which the others do not possess. But the transition from a commonplace nature to one that is richly endowed,

demands always a more or less breakneck leap over a certain abyss which yawns threateningly below; and

thus must the sudden change with the clerk strike the reader.

"The sweet air!" continued he of the policeoffice, in his dreamy imaginings; "how it reminds me of the

violets in the garden of my aunt Magdalena! Yes, then I was a little wild boy, who did not go to school very

regularly. O heavens! 'tis a long time since I have thought on those times. The good old soul! She lived

behind the Exchange. She always had a few twigs or green shoots in waterlet the winter rage without as it

might. The violets exhaled their sweet breath, whilst I pressed against the windowpanes covered with

fantastic frostwork the copper coin I had heated on the stove, and so made peepholes. What splendid vistas

were then opened to my view! What changewhat magnificence! Yonder in the canal lay the ships frozen up,

and deserted by their whole crews, with a screaming crow for the sole occupant. But when the spring, with a

gentle stirring motion, announced her arrival, a new and busy life arose; with songs and hurrahs the ice was

sawn asunder, the ships were fresh tarred and rigged, that they might sail away to distant lands. But I have

remained heremust always remain here, sitting at my desk in the office, and patiently see other people

fetch their passports to go abroad. Such is my fate! Alas!"sighed he, and was again silent. "Great Heaven!

What is come to me! Never have I thought or felt like this before! It must be the summer air that affects me

with feelings almost as disquieting as they are refreshing."

He felt in his pocket for the papers. "These policereports will soon stem the torrent of my ideas, and

effectually hinder any rebellious overflowing of the timeworn banks of official duties"; he said to himself

consolingly, while his eye ran over the first page. "DAME TIGBRITH, tragedy in five acts." "What is that?

And yet it is undeniably my own handwriting. Have I written the tragedy? Wonderful, very wonderful!

And thiswhat have I here? 'INTRIGUE ON THE RAMPARTS; or THE DAY OF REPENTANCE:

vaudeville with new songs to the most favorite airs.' The deuce! Where did I get all this rubbish? Some one

must have slipped it slyly into my pocket for a joke. There is too a letter to me; a crumpled letter and the seal

broken."

Yes; it was not a very polite epistle from the manager of a theatre, in which both pieces were flatly refused.

"Hem! hem!" said the clerk breathlessly, and quite exhausted he seated himself on a bank. His thoughts were

so elastic, his heart so tender; and involuntarily he picked one of the nearest flowers. It is a simple daisy, just

bursting out of the bud. What the botanist tells us after a number of imperfect lectures, the flower proclaimed

in a minute. It related the mythus of its birth, told of the power of the sunlight that spread out its delicate

leaves, and forced them to impregnate the air with their incenseand then he thought of the manifold

struggles of life, which in like manner awaken the budding flowers of feeling in our bosom. Light and air

contend with chivalric emulation for the love of the fair flower that bestowed her chief favors on the latter;

full of longing she turned towards the light, and as soon as it vanished, rolled her tender leaves together and

slept in the embraces of the air. "It is the light which adorns me," said the flower.

"But 'tis the air which enables thee to breathe," said the poet's voice.

Close by stood a boy who dashed his stick into a wet ditch. The drops of water splashed up to the green leafy

roof, and the clerk thought of the million of ephemera which in a single drop were thrown up to a height, that


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was as great doubtless for their size, as for us if we were to be hurled above the clouds. While he thought of

this and of the whole metamorphosis he had undergone, he smiled and said, "I sleep and dream; but it is

wonderful how one can dream so naturally, and know besides so exactly that it is but a dream. If only

tomorrow on awaking, I could again call all to mind so vividly! I seem in unusually good spirits; my

perception of things is clear, I feel as light and cheerful as though I were in heaven; but I know for a

certainty, that if tomorrow a dim remembrance of it should swim before my mind, it will then seem nothing

but stupid nonsense, as I have often experienced alreadyespecially before I enlisted under the banner of the

police, for that dispels like a whirlwind all the visions of an unfettered imagination. All we hear or say in a

dream that is fair and beautiful is like the gold of the subterranean spirits; it is rich and splendid when it is

given us, but viewed by daylight we find only withered leaves. Alas!" he sighed quite sorrowful, and gazed at

the chirping birds that hopped contentedly from branch to branch, "they are much better off than I! To fly

must be a heavenly art; and happy do I prize that creature in which it is innate. Yes! Could I exchange my

nature with any other creature, I fain would be such a happy little lark!"

He had hardly uttered these hasty words when the skirts and sleeves of his coat folded themselves together

into wings; the clothes became feathers, and the galoshes claws. He observed it perfectly, and laughed in his

heart. "Now then, there is no doubt that I am dreaming; but I never before was aware of such mad freaks as

these." And up he flew into the green roof and sang; but in the song there was no poetry, for the spirit of the

poet was gone. The Shoes, as is the case with anybody who does what he has to do properly, could only

attend to one thing at a time. He wanted to be a poet, and he was one; he now wished to be a merry chirping

bird: but when he was metamorphosed into one, the former peculiarities ceased immediately. "It is really

pleasant enough," said he: "the whole day long I sit in the office amid the driest lawpapers, and at night I fly

in my dream as a lark in the gardens of Fredericksburg; one might really write a very pretty comedy upon it."

He now fluttered down into the grass, turned his head gracefully on every side, and with his bill pecked the

pliant blades of grass, which, in comparison to his present size, seemed as majestic as the palmbranches of

northern Africa.

Unfortunately the pleasure lasted but a moment. Presently black night overshadowed our enthusiast, who had

so entirely missed his part of copyingclerk at a policeoffice; some vast object seemed to be thrown over

him. It was a large oilskin cap, which a sailorboy of the quay had thrown over the struggling bird; a coarse

hand sought its way carefully in under the broad rim, and seized the clerk over the back and wings. In the first

moment of fear, he called, indeed, as loud as he could"You impudent little blackguard! I am a

copyingclerk at the policeoffice; and you know you cannot insult any belonging to the constabulary force

without a chastisement. Besides, you goodfornothing rascal, it is strictly forbidden to catch birds in the

royal gardens of Fredericksburg; but your blue uniform betrays where you come from." This fine tirade

sounded, however, to the ungodly sailorboy like a mere "Pippipi." He gave the noisy bird a knock on his

beak, and walked on.

He was soon met by two schoolboys of the upper classthat is to say as individuals, for with regard to

learning they were in the lowest class in the school; and they bought the stupid bird. So the copyingclerk

came to Copenhagen as guest, or rather as prisoner in a family living in Gother Street.

"'Tis well that I'm dreaming," said the clerk, "or I really should get angry. First I was a poet; now sold for a

few pence as a lark; no doubt it was that accursed poetical nature which has metamorphosed me into such a

poor harmless little creature. It is really pitiable, particularly when one gets into the hands of a little

blackguard, perfect in all sorts of cruelty to animals: all I should like to know is, how the story will end."

The two schoolboys, the proprietors now of the transformed clerk, carried him into an elegant room. A stout

stately dame received them with a smile; but she expressed much dissatisfaction that a common fieldbird, as

she called the lark, should appear in such high society. For today, however, she would allow it; and they

must shut him in the empty cage that was standing in the window. "Perhaps he will amuse my good Polly,"


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added the lady, looking with a benignant smile at a large green parrot that swung himself backwards and

forwards most comfortably in his ring, inside a magnificent brasswired cage. "Today is Polly's birthday,"

said she with stupid simplicity: "and the little brown fieldbird must wish him joy."

Mr. Polly uttered not a syllable in reply, but swung to and fro with dignified condescension; while a pretty

canary, as yellow as gold, that had lately been brought from his sunny fragrant home, began to sing aloud.

"Noisy creature! Will you be quiet!" screamed the lady of the house, covering the cage with an embroidered

white pocket handkerchief.

"Chirp, chirp!" sighed he. "That was a dreadful snowstorm"; and he sighed again, and was silent.

The copyingclerk, or, as the lady said, the brown fieldbird, was put into a small cage, close to the Canary,

and not far from "my good Polly." The only human sounds that the Parrot could bawl out were, "Come, let us

be men!" Everything else that he said was as unintelligible to everybody as the chirping of the Canary, except

to the clerk, who was now a bird too: he understood his companion perfectly.

"I flew about beneath the green palms and the blossoming almondtrees," sang the Canary; "I flew around,

with my brothers and sisters, over the beautiful flowers, and over the glassy lakes, where the bright

waterplants nodded to me from below. There, too, I saw many splendidlydressed paroquets, that told the

drollest stories, and the wildest fairy tales without end."

"Oh! those were uncouth birds," answered the Parrot. "They had no education, and talked of whatever came

into their head.

If my mistress and all her friends can laugh at what I say, so may you too, I should think. It is a great fault to

have no taste for what is witty or amusingcome, let us be men."

"Ah, you have no remembrance of love for the charming maidens that danced beneath the outspread tents

beside the bright fragrant flowers? Do you no longer remember the sweet fruits, and the cooling juice in the

wild plants of our nevertobeforgotten home?" said the former inhabitant of the Canary Isles, continuing

his dithyrambic.

"Oh, yes," said the Parrot; "but I am far better off here. I am well fed, and get friendly treatment. I know I am

a clever fellow; and that is all I care about. Come, let us be men. You are of a poetical nature, as it is

calledI, on the contrary, possess profound knowledge and inexhaustible wit. You have genius; but

clearsighted, calm discretion does not take such lofty flights, and utter such high natural tones. For this they

have covered you overthey never do the like to me; for I cost more. Besides, they are afraid of my beak;

and I have always a witty answer at hand. Come, let us be men!"

"O warm spicy land of my birth," sang the Canary bird; "I will sing of thy darkgreen bowers, of the calm

bays where the pendent boughs kiss the surface of the water; I will sing of the rejoicing of all my brothers and

sisters where the cactus grows in wanton luxuriance."

"Spare us your elegiac tones," said the Parrot giggling. "Rather speak of something at which one may laugh

heartily. Laughing is an infallible sign of the highest degree of mental development. Can a dog, or a horse

laugh? No, but they can cry. The gift of laughing was given to man alone. Ha! ha! ha!" screamed Polly, and

added his stereotype witticism. "Come, let us be men!"

"Poor little Danish greybird," said the Canary; "you have been caught too. It is, no doubt, cold enough in

your woods, but there at least is the breath of liberty; therefore fly away. In the hurry they have forgotten to


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shut your cage, and the upper window is open. Fly, my friend; fly away. Farewell!"

Instinctively the Clerk obeyed; with a few strokes of his wings he was out of the cage; but at the same

moment the door, which was only ajar, and which led to the next room, began to creak, and supple and

creeping came the large tomcat into the room, and began to pursue him. The frightened Canary fluttered

about in his cage; the Parrot flapped his wings, and cried, "Come, let us be men!" The Clerk felt a mortal

fright, and flew through the window, far away over the houses and streets. At last he was forced to rest a

little.

The neighboring house had a something familiar about it; a window stood open; he flew in; it was his own

room. He perched upon the table.

"Come, let us be men!" said he, involuntarily imitating the chatter of the Parrot, and at the same moment he

was again a copyingclerk; but he was sitting in the middle of the table.

"Heaven help me!" cried he. "How did I get up hereand so buried in sleep, too? After all, that was a very

unpleasant, disagreeable dream that haunted me! The whole story is nothing but silly, stupid nonsense!"

VI. The Best That the Galoshes Gave

The following day, early in the morning, while the Clerk was still in bed, someone knocked at his door. It

was his neighbor, a young Divine, who lived on the same floor. He walked in.

"Lend me your Galoshes," said he; "it is so wet in the garden, though the sun is shining most invitingly. I

should like to go out a little."

He got the Galoshes, and he was soon below in a little duodecimo garden, where between two immense walls

a plumtree and an appletree were standing. Even such a little garden as this was considered in the

metropolis of Copenhagen as a great luxury.

The young man wandered up and down the narrow paths, as well as the prescribed limits would allow; the

clock struck six; without was heard the horn of a postboy.

"To travel! to travel!" exclaimed he, overcome by most painful and passionate remembrances. "That is the

happiest thing in the world! That is the highest aim of all my wishes! Then at last would the agonizing

restlessness be allayed, which destroys my existence! But it must be far, far away! I would behold

magnificent Switzerland; I would travel to Italy, and"

It was a good thing that the power of the Galoshes worked as instantaneously as lightning in a

powdermagazine would do, otherwise the poor man with his overstrained wishes would have travelled

about the world too much for himself as well as for us. In short, he was travelling. He was in the middle of

Switzerland, but packed up with eight other passengers in the inside of an eternallycreaking diligence; his

head ached till it almost split, his weary neck could hardly bear the heavy load, and his feet, pinched by his

torturing boots, were terribly swollen. He was in an intermediate state between sleeping and waking; at

variance with himself, with his company, with the country, and with the government. In his right pocket he

had his letter of credit, in the left, his passport, and in a small leathern purse some double louis d'or, carefully

sewn up in the bosom of his waistcoat. Every dream proclaimed that one or the other of these valuables was

lost; wherefore he started up as in a fever; and the first movement which his hand made, described a magic

triangle from the right pocket to the left, and then up towards the bosom, to feel if he had them all safe or not.

From the roof inside the carriage, umbrellas, walkingsticks, hats, and sundry other articles were depending,

and hindered the view, which was particularly imposing. He now endeavored as well as he was able to dispel


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his gloom, which was caused by outward chance circumstances merely, and on the bosom of nature imbibe

the milk of purest human enjoyment.

Grand, solemn, and dark was the whole landscape around. The gigantic pineforests, on the pointed crags,

seemed almost like little tufts of heather, colored by the surrounding clouds. It began to snow, a cold wind

blew and roared as though it were seeking a bride.

"Augh!" sighed he, "were we only on the other side the Alps, then we should have summer, and I could get

my letters of credit cashed. The anxiety I feel about them prevents me enjoying Switzerland. Were I but on

the other side!"

And so saying he was on the other side in Italy, between Florence and Rome. Lake Thracymene, illumined by

the evening sun, lay like flaming gold between the darkblue mountainridges; here, where Hannibal

defeated Flaminius, the rivers now held each other in their green embraces; lovely, halfnaked children

tended a herd of black swine, beneath a group of fragrant laureltrees, hard by the roadside. Could we

render this inimitable picture properly, then would everybody exclaim, "Beautiful, unparalleled Italy!" But

neither the young Divine said so, nor anyone of his grumbling companions in the coach of the vetturino.

The poisonous flies and gnats swarmed around by thousands; in vain one waved myrtlebranches about like

mad; the audacious insect population did not cease to sting; nor was there a single person in the

wellcrammed carriage whose face was not swollen and sore from their ravenous bites. The poor horses,

tortured almost to death, suffered most from this truly Egyptian plague; the flies alighted upon them in large

disgusting swarms; and if the coachman got down and scraped them off, hardly a minute elapsed before they

were there again. The sun now set: a freezing cold, though of short duration pervaded the whole creation; it

was like a horrid gust coming from a burialvault on a warm summer's daybut all around the mountains

retained that wonderful green tone which we see in some old pictures, and which, should we not have seen a

similar play of color in the South, we declare at once to be unnatural. It was a glorious prospect; but the

stomach was empty, the body tired; all that the heart cared and longed for was good nightquarters; yet how

would they be? For these one looked much more anxiously than for the charms of nature, which every where

were so profusely displayed.

The road led through an olivegrove, and here the solitary inn was situated. Ten or twelve crippledbeggars

had encamped outside. The healthiest of them resembled, to use an expression of Marryat's, "Hunger's eldest

son when he had come of age"; the others were either blind, had withered legs and crept about on their hands,

or withered arms and fingerless hands. It was the most wretched misery, dragged from among the filthiest

rags. "Excellenza, miserabili!" sighed they, thrusting forth their deformed limbs to view. Even the hostess,

with bare feet, uncombed hair, and dressed in a garment of doubtful color, received the guests grumblingly.

The doors were fastened with a loop of string; the floor of the rooms presented a stone paving half torn up;

bats fluttered wildly about the ceiling; and as to the smell thereinnothat was beyond description.

"You had better lay the cloth below in the stable," said one of the travellers; "there, at all events, one knows

what one is breathing."

The windows were quickly opened, to let in a little fresh air. Quicker, however, than the breeze, the withered,

sallow arms of the beggars were thrust in, accompanied by the eternal whine of "Miserabili, miserabili,

excellenza!" On the walls were displayed innumerable inscriptions, written in nearly every language of

Europe, some in verse, some in prose, most of them not very laudatory of "bella Italia."

The meal was served. It consisted of a soup of salted water, seasoned with pepper and rancid oil. The last

ingredient played a very prominent part in the salad; stale eggs and roasted cocks'combs furnished the grand

dish of the repast; the wine even was not without a disgusting tasteit was like a medicinal draught.


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At night the boxes and other effects of the passengers were placed against the rickety doors. One of the

travellers kept watch ' while the others slept. The sentry was our young Divine. How close it was in the

chamber! The heat oppressive to suffocationthe gnats hummed and stung unceasinglythe "miserabili"

without whined and moaned in their sleep.

"Travelling would be agreeable enough," said he groaning, "if one only had no body, or could send it to rest

while the spirit went on its pilgrimage unhindered, whither the voice within might call it. Wherever I go, I am

pursued by a longing that is insatiablethat I cannot explain to myself, and that tears my very heart. I want

something better than what is but what is fled in an instant. But what is it, and where is it to be found? Yet, I

know in reality what it is I wish for. Oh! most happy were I, could I but reach one aimcould but reach the

happiest of all!"

And as he spoke the word he was again in his home; the long white curtains hung down from the windows,

and in the middle of the floor stood the black coffin; in it he lay in the sleep of death. His wish was

fulfilledthe body rested, while the spirit went unhindered on its pilgrimage. "Let no one deem himself

happy before his end," were the words of Solon; and here was a new and brilliant proof of the wisdom of the

old apothegm.

Every corpse is a sphynx of immortality; here too on the black coffin the sphynx gave us no answer to what

he who lay within had written two days before:

"O mighty Death! thy silence teaches nought, Thou leadest only to the near grave's brink; Is broken now the

ladder of my thoughts? Do I instead of mounting only sink?

Our heaviest grief the world oft seeth not, Our sorest pain we hide from stranger eyes: And for the sufferer

there is nothing left But the green mound that o'er the coffin lies."

Two figures were moving in the chamber. We knew them both; it was the fairy of Care, and the emissary of

Fortune. They both bent over the corpse.

"Do you now see," said Care, "what happiness your Galoshes have brought to mankind?"

"To him, at least, who slumbers here, they have brought an imperishable blessing," answered the other.

"Ah no!" replied Care. "He took his departure himself; he was not called away. His mental powers here

below were not strong enough to reach the treasures lying beyond this life, and which his destiny ordained he

should obtain. I will now confer a benefit on him."

And she took the Galoshes from his feet; his sleep of death was ended; and he who had been thus called back

again to life arose from his dread couch in all the vigor of youth. Care vanished, and with her the Galoshes.

She has no doubt taken them for herself, to keep them to all eternity.

THE FIR TREE

Out in the woods stood a nice little Fir Tree. The place he had was a very good one: the sun shone on him: as

to fresh air, there was enough of that, and round him grew many largesized comrades, pines as well as firs.

But the little Fir wanted so very much to be a grownup tree.

He did not think of the warm sun and of the fresh air; he did not care for the little cottage children that ran

about and prattled when they were in the woods looking for wildstrawberries. The children often came with

a whole pitcher full of berries, or a long row of them threaded on a straw, and sat down near the young tree


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and said, "Oh, how pretty he is! What a nice little fir!" But this was what the Tree could not bear to hear.

At the end of a year he had shot up a good deal, and after another year he was another long bit taller; for with

fir trees one can always tell by the shoots how many years old they are.

"Oh! Were I but such a high tree as the others are," sighed he. "Then I should be able to spread out my

branches, and with the tops to look into the wide world! Then would the birds build nests among my

branches: and when there was a breeze, I could bend with as much stateliness as the others!"

Neither the sunbeams, nor the birds, nor the red clouds which morning and evening sailed above him, gave

the little Tree any pleasure.

In winter, when the snow lay glittering on the ground, a hare would often come leaping along, and jump right

over the little Tree. Oh, that made him so angry! But two winters were past, and in the third the Tree was so

large that the hare was obliged to go round it. "To grow and grow, to get older and be tall," thought the

Tree"that, after all, is the most delightful thing in the world!"

In autumn the woodcutters always came and felled some of the largest trees. This happened every year; and

the young Fir Tree, that had now grown to a very comely size, trembled at the sight; for the magnificent great

trees fell to the earth with noise and cracking, the branches were lopped off, and the trees looked long and

bare; they were hardly to be recognised; and then they were laid in carts, and the horses dragged them out of

the wood.

Where did they go to? What became of them?

In spring, when the swallows and the storks came, the Tree asked them, "Don't you know where they have

been taken? Have you not met them anywhere?"

The swallows did not know anything about it; but the Stork looked musing, nodded his head, and said, "Yes;

I think I know; I met many ships as I was flying hither from Egypt; on the ships were magnificent masts, and

I venture to assert that it was they that smelt so of fir. I may congratulate you, for they lifted themselves on

high most majestically!"

"Oh, were I but old enough to fly across the sea! But how does the sea look in reality? What is it like?"

"That would take a long time to explain," said the Stork, and with these words off he went.

"Rejoice in thy growth!" said the Sunbeams. "Rejoice in thy vigorous growth, and in the fresh life that

moveth within thee!"

And the Wind kissed the Tree, and the Dew wept tears over him; but the Fir understood it not.

When Christmas came, quite young trees were cut down: trees which often were not even as large or of the

same age as this Fir Tree, who could never rest, but always wanted to be off. These young trees, and they

were always the finest looking, retained their branches; they were laid on carts, and the horses drew them out

of the wood.

"Where are they going to?" asked the Fir. "They are not taller than I; there was one indeed that was

considerably shorter; and why do they retain all their branches? Whither are they taken?"


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"We know! We know!" chirped the Sparrows. "We have peeped in at the windows in the town below! We

know whither they are taken! The greatest splendor and the greatest magnificence one can imagine await

them. We peeped through the windows, and saw them planted in the middle of the warm room and

ornamented with the most splendid things, with gilded apples, with gingerbread, with toys, and many

hundred lights!

"And then?" asked the Fir Tree, trembling in every bough. "And then? What happens then?"

"We did not see anything more: it was incomparably beautiful."

"I would fain know if I am destined for so glorious a career," cried the Tree, rejoicing. "That is still better

than to cross the sea! What a longing do I suffer! Were Christmas but come! I am now tall, and my branches

spread like the others that were carried off last year! Oh! were I but already on the cart! Were I in the warm

room with all the splendor and magnificence! Yes; then something better, something still grander, will surely

follow, or wherefore should they thus ornament me? Something better, something still grander must

followbut what? Oh, how I long, how I suffer! I do not know myself what is the matter with me!"

"Rejoice in our presence!" said the Air and the Sunlight. "Rejoice in thy own fresh youth!"

But the Tree did not rejoice at all; he grew and grew, and was green both winter and summer. People that saw

him said, "What a fine tree!" and towards Christmas he was one of the first that was cut down. The axe struck

deep into the very pith; the Tree fell to the earth with a sigh; he felt a pangit was like a swoon; he could not

think of happiness, for he was sorrowful at being separated from his home, from the place where he had

sprung up. He well knew that he should never see his dear old comrades, the little bushes and flowers around

him, anymore; perhaps not even the birds! The departure was not at all agreeable.

The Tree only came to himself when he was unloaded in a courtyard with the other trees, and heard a man

say, "That one is splendid! We don't want the others." Then two servants came in rich livery and carried the

Fir Tree into a large and splendid drawingroom. Portraits were hanging on the walls, and near the white

porcelain stove stood two large Chinese vases with lions on the covers. There, too, were large easychairs,

silken sofas, large tables full of picturebooks and full of toys, worth hundreds and hundreds of crownsat

least the children said so. And the Fir Tree was stuck upright in a cask that was filled with sand; but no one

could see that it was a cask, for green cloth was hung all round it, and it stood on a large gailycolored

carpet. Oh! how the Tree quivered! What was to happen? The servants, as well as the young ladies, decorated

it. On one branch there hung little nets cut out of colored paper, and each net was filled with sugarplums; and

among the other boughs gilded apples and walnuts were suspended, looking as though they had grown there,

and little blue and white tapers were placed among the leaves. Dolls that looked for all the world like

menthe Tree had never beheld such beforewere seen among the foliage, and at the very top a large star

of gold tinsel was fixed. It was really splendidbeyond description splendid.

"This evening!" they all said. "How it will shine this evening!"

"Oh!" thought the Tree. "If the evening were but come! If the tapers were but lighted! And then I wonder

what will happen! Perhaps the other trees from the forest will come to look at me! Perhaps the sparrows will

beat against the windowpanes! I wonder if I shall take root here, and winter and summer stand covered with

ornaments!"

He knew very much about the matterbut he was so impatient that for sheer longing he got a pain in his

back, and this with trees is the same thing as a headache with us.


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The candles were now lightedwhat brightness! What splendor! The Tree trembled so in every bough that

one of the tapers set fire to the foliage. It blazed up famously.

"Help! Help!" cried the young ladies, and they quickly put out the fire.

Now the Tree did not even dare tremble. What a state he was in! He was so uneasy lest he should lose

something of his splendor, that he was quite bewildered amidst the glare and brightness; when suddenly both

foldingdoors opened and a troop of children rushed in as if they would upset the Tree. The older persons

followed quietly; the little ones stood quite still. But it was only for a moment; then they shouted that the

whole place reechoed with their rejoicing; they danced round the Tree, and one present after the other was

pulled off.

"What are they about?" thought the Tree. "What is to happen now!" And the lights burned down to the very

branches, and as they burned down they were put out one after the other, and then the children had

permission to plunder the Tree. So they fell upon it with such violence that all its branches cracked; if it had

not been fixed firmly in the ground, it would certainly have tumbled down.

The children danced about with their beautiful playthings; no one looked at the Tree except the old nurse,

who peeped between the branches; but it was only to see if there was a fig or an apple left that had been

forgotten.

"A story! A story!" cried the children, drawing a little fat man towards the Tree. He seated himself under it

and said, "Now we are in the shade, and the Tree can listen too. But I shall tell only one story. Now which

will you have; that about IvedyAvedy, or about HumpyDumpy, who tumbled downstairs, and yet after all

came to the throne and married the princess?"

"IvedyAvedy," cried some; "HumpyDumpy," cried the others. There was such a bawling and

screamingthe Fir Tree alone was silent, and he thought to himself, "Am I not to bawl with the rest? Am I

to do nothing whatever?" for he was one of the company, and had done what he had to do.

And the man told about HumpyDumpy that tumbled down, who notwithstanding came to the throne, and at

last married the princess. And the children clapped their hands, and cried. "Oh, go on! Do go on!" They

wanted to hear about IvedyAvedy too, but the little man only told them about HumpyDumpy. The Fir Tree

stood quite still and absorbed in thought; the birds in the wood had never related the like of this.

"HumpyDumpy fell downstairs, and yet he married the princess! Yes, yes! That's the way of the world!"

thought the Fir Tree, and believed it all, because the man who told the story was so goodlooking. "Well,

well! who knows, perhaps I may fall downstairs, too, and get a princess as wife! And he looked forward with

joy to the morrow, when he hoped to be decked out again with lights, playthings, fruits, and tinsel.

"I won't tremble tomorrow!" thought the Fir Tree. "I will enjoy to the full all my splendor! Tomorrow I

shall hear again the story of HumpyDumpy, and perhaps that of IvedyAvedy too." And the whole night the

Tree stood still and in deep thought.

In the morning the servant and the housemaid came in.

"Now then the splendor will begin again," thought the Fir. But they dragged him out of the room, and up the

stairs into the loft: and here, in a dark corner, where no daylight could enter, they left him. "What's the

meaning of this?" thought the Tree. "What am I to do here? What shall I hear now, I wonder?" And he leaned

against the wall lost in reverie. Time enough had he too for his reflections; for days and nights passed on, and

nobody came up; and when at last somebody did come, it was only to put some great trunks in a corner, out

of the way. There stood the Tree quite hidden; it seemed as if he had been entirely forgotten.


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"'Tis now winter outofdoors!" thought the Tree. "The earth is hard and covered with snow; men cannot

plant me now, and therefore I have been put up here under shelter till the springtime comes! How thoughtful

that is! How kind man is, after all! If it only were not so dark here, and so terribly lonely! Not even a hare!

And out in the woods it was so pleasant, when the snow was on the ground, and the hare leaped by;

yeseven when he jumped over me; but I did not like it then! It is really terribly lonely here!"

"Squeak! Squeak!" said a little Mouse, at the same moment, peeping out of his hole. And then another little

one came. They snuffed about the Fir Tree, and rustled among the branches.

"It is dreadfully cold," said the Mouse. "But for that, it would be delightful here, old Fir, wouldn't it?"

"I am by no means old," said the Fir Tree. "There's many a one considerably older than I am."

"Where do you come from," asked the Mice; "and what can you do?" They were so extremely curious. "Tell

us about the most beautiful spot on the earth. Have you never been there? Were you never in the larder,

where cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from above; where one dances about on tallow candles: that

place where one enters lean, and comes out again fat and portly?"

"I know no such place," said the Tree. "But I know the wood, where the sun shines and where the little birds

sing." And then he told all about his youth; and the little Mice had never heard the like before; and they

listened and said,

"Well, to be sure! How much you have seen! How happy you must have been!"

"I!" said the Fir Tree, thinking over what he had himself related. "Yes, in reality those were happy times."

And then he told about Christmaseve, when he was decked out with cakes and candles.

"Oh," said the little Mice, "how fortunate you have been, old Fir Tree!"

"I am by no means old," said he. "I came from the wood this winter; I am in my prime, and am only rather

short for my age."

"What delightful stories you know," said the Mice: and the next night they came with four other little Mice,

who were to hear what the Tree recounted: and the more he related, the more he remembered himself; and it

appeared as if those times had really been happy times. "But they may still comethey may still come!

HumpyDumpy fell downstairs, and yet he got a princess!" and he thought at the moment of a nice little

Birch Tree growing out in the woods: to the Fir, that would be a real charming princess.

"Who is HumpyDumpy?" asked the Mice. So then the Fir Tree told the whole fairy tale, for he could

remember every single word of it; and the little Mice jumped for joy up to the very top of the Tree. Next

night two more Mice came, and on Sunday two Rats even; but they said the stories were not interesting,

which vexed the little Mice; and they, too, now began to think them not so very amusing either.

"Do you know only one story?" asked the Rats.

"Only that one," answered the Tree. "I heard it on my happiest evening; but I did not then know how happy I

was."

"It is a very stupid story! Don't you know one about bacon and tallow candles? Can't you tell any larder

stories?"


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"No," said the Tree.

"Then goodbye," said the Rats; and they went home.

At last the little Mice stayed away also; and the Tree sighed: "After all, it was very pleasant when the sleek

little Mice sat round me, and listened to what I told them. Now that too is over. But I will take good care to

enjoy myself when I am brought out again."

But when was that to be? Why, one morning there came a quantity of people and set to work in the loft. The

trunks were moved, the tree was pulled out and thrownrather hard, it is truedown on the floor, but a man

drew him towards the stairs, where the daylight shone.

"Now a merry life will begin again," thought the Tree. He felt the fresh air, the first sunbeamand now he

was out in the courtyard. All passed so quickly, there was so much going on around him, the Tree quite forgot

to look to himself. The court adjoined a garden, and all was in flower; the roses hung so fresh and odorous

over the balustrade, the lindens were in blossom, the Swallows flew by, and said, "Quirrevit! My husband is

come!" but it was not the Fir Tree that they meant.

"Now, then, I shall really enjoy life," said he exultingly, and spread out his branches; but, alas, they were all

withered and yellow! It was in a corner that he lay, among weeds and nettles. The golden star of tinsel was

still on the top of the Tree, and glittered in the sunshine.

In the courtyard some of the merry children were playing who had danced at Christmas round the Fir Tree,

and were so glad at the sight of him. One of the youngest ran and tore off the golden star.

"Only look what is still on the ugly old Christmas tree!" said he, trampling on the branches, so that they all

cracked beneath his feet.

And the Tree beheld all the beauty of the flowers, and the freshness in the garden; he beheld himself, and

wished he had remained in his dark corner in the loft; he thought of his first youth in the wood, of the merry

Christmaseve, and of the little Mice who had listened with so much pleasure to the story of

HumpyDumpy.

"'Tis over'tis past!" said the poor Tree. "Had I but rejoiced when I had reason to do so! But now 'tis past,

'tis past!"

And the gardener's boy chopped the Tree into small pieces; there was a whole heap lying there. The wood

flamed up splendidly under the large brewing copper, and it sighed so deeply! Each sigh was like a shot.

The boys played about in the court, and the youngest wore the gold star on his breast which the Tree had had

on the happiest evening of his life. However, that was over nowthe Tree gone, the story at an end. All, all

was overevery tale must end at last.

THE SNOW QUEEN

FIRST STORY. Which Treats of a Mirror and of the Splinters

Now then, let us begin. When we are at the end of the story, we shall know more than we know now: but to

begin.


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Once upon a time there was a wicked sprite, indeed he was the most mischievous of all sprites. One day he

was in a very good humor, for he had made a mirror with the power of causing all that was good and

beautiful when it was reflected therein, to look poor and mean; but that which was goodfornothing and

looked ugly was shown magnified and increased in ugliness. In this mirror the most beautiful landscapes

looked like boiled spinach, and the best persons were turned into frights, or appeared to stand on their heads;

their faces were so distorted that they were not to be recognised; and if anyone had a mole, you might be sure

that it would be magnified and spread over both nose and mouth.

"That's glorious fun!" said the sprite. If a good thought passed through a man's mind, then a grin was seen in

the mirror, and the sprite laughed heartily at his clever discovery. All the little sprites who went to his

schoolfor he kept a sprite schooltold each other that a miracle had happened; and that now only, as they

thought, it would be possible to see how the world really looked. They ran about with the mirror; and at last

there was not a land or a person who was not represented distorted in the mirror. So then they thought they

would fly up to the sky, and have a joke there. The higher they flew with the mirror, the more terribly it

grinned: they could hardly hold it fast. Higher and higher still they flew, nearer and nearer to the stars, when

suddenly the mirror shook so terribly with grinning, that it flew out of their hands and fell to the earth, where

it was dashed in a hundred million and more pieces. And now it worked much more evil than before; for

some of these pieces were hardly so large as a grain of sand, and they flew about in the wide world, and when

they got into people's eyes, there they stayed; and then people saw everything perverted, or only had an eye

for that which was evil. This happened because the very smallest bit had the same power which the whole

mirror had possessed. Some persons even got a splinter in their heart, and then it made one shudder, for their

heart became like a lump of ice. Some of the broken pieces were so large that they were used for

windowpanes, through which one could not see one's friends. Other pieces were put in spectacles; and that

was a sad affair when people put on their glasses to see well and rightly. Then the wicked sprite laughed till

he almost choked, for all this tickled his fancy. The fine splinters still flew about in the air: and now we shall

hear what happened next.

SECOND STORY. A Little Boy and a Little Girl

In a large town, where there are so many houses, and so many people, that there is no roof left for everybody

to have a little garden; and where, on this account, most. persons are obliged to content themselves with

flowers in pots; there lived two little children, who had a garden somewhat larger than a flowerpot. They

were not brother and sister; but they cared for each other as much as if they were. Their parents lived exactly

opposite. They inhabited two garrets; and where the roof of the one house joined that of the other, and the

gutter ran along the extreme end of it, there was to each house a small window: one needed only to step over

the gutter to get from one window to the other.

The children's parents had large wooden boxes there, in which vegetables for the kitchen were planted, and

little rosetrees besides: there was a rose in each box, and they grew splendidly. They now thought of placing

the boxes across the gutter, so that they nearly reached from one window to the other, and looked just like

two walls of flowers. The tendrils of the peas hung down over the boxes; and the rosetrees shot up long

branches, twined round the windows, and then bent towards each other: it was almost like a triumphant arch

of foliage and flowers. The boxes were very high, and the children knew that they must not creep over them;

so they often obtained permission to get out of the windows to each other, and to sit on their little stools

among the roses, where they could play delight fully. In winter there was an end of this pleasure. The

windows were often frozen over; but then they heated copper farthings on the stove, and laid the hot farthing

on the windowpane, and then they had a capital peephole, quite nicely rounded; and out of each peeped a

gentle friendly eyeit was the little boy and the little girl who were looking out. His name was Kay, hers

was Gerda. In summer, with one jump, they could get to each other; but in winter they were obliged first to

go down the long stairs, and then up the long stairs again: and outofdoors there was quite a snowstorm.


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"It is the white bees that are swarming," said Kay's old grandmother.

"Do the white bees choose a queen?" asked the little boy; for he knew that the honeybees always have one.

"Yes," said the grandmother, "she flies where the swarm hangs in the thickest clusters. She is the largest of

all; and she can never remain quietly on the earth, but goes up again into the black clouds. Many a winter's

night she flies through the streets of the town, and peeps in at the windows; and they then freeze in so

wondrous a manner that they look like flowers."

"Yes, I have seen it," said both the children; and so they knew that it was true.

"Can the Snow Queen come in?" said the little girl.

"Only let her come in!" said the little boy. "Then I'd put her on the stove, and she'd melt."

And then his grandmother patted his head and told him other stories.

In the evening, when little Kay was at home, and half undressed, he climbed up on the chair by the window,

and peeped out of the little hole. A few snowflakes were falling, and one, the largest of all, remained lying

on the edge of a flowerpot.

The flake of snow grew larger and larger; and at last it was like a young lady, dressed in the finest white

gauze, made of a million little flakes like stars. She was so beautiful and delicate, but she was of ice, of

dazzling, sparkling ice; yet she lived; her eyes gazed fixedly, like two stars; but there was neither quiet nor

repose in them. She nodded towards the window, and beckoned with her hand. The little boy was frightened,

and jumped down from the chair; it seemed to him as if, at the same moment, a large bird flew past the

window.

The next day it was a sharp frostand then the spring came; the sun shone, the green leaves appeared, the

swallows built their nests, the windows were opened, and the little children again sat in their pretty garden,

high up on the leads at the top of the house.

That summer the roses flowered in unwonted beauty. The little girl had learned a hymn, in which there was

something about roses; and then she thought of her own flowers; and she sang the verse to the little boy, who

then sang it with her:

"The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, And angels descend there the children to greet."

And the children held each other by the hand, kissed the roses, looked up at the clear sunshine, and spoke as

though they really saw angels there. What lovely summerdays those were! How delightful to be out in the

air, near the fresh rosebushes, that seem as if they would never finish blossoming!

Kay and Gerda looked at the picturebook full of beasts and of birds; and it was thenthe clock in the

churchtower was just striking fivethat Kay said, "Oh! I feel such a sharp pain in my heart; and now

something has got into my eye!"

The little girl put her arms around his neck. He winked his eves; now there was nothing to be seen.

"I think it is out now," said he; but it was not. It was just one of those pieces of glass from the magic mirror

that had got into his eye; and poor Kay had got another piece right in his heart. It will soon become like ice. It

did not hurt any longer, but there it was.


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"What are you crying for?" asked he. "You look so ugly! There's nothing the matter with me. Ah," said he at

once, "that rose is cankered! And look, this one is quite crooked! After all, these roses are very ugly! They

are just like the box they are planted in!" And then he gave the box a good kick with his foot, and pulled both

the roses up.

"What are you doing?" cried the little girl; and as he perceived her fright, he pulled up another rose, got in at

the window, and hastened off from dear little Gerda.

Afterwards, when she brought her picturebook, he asked, "What horrid beasts have you there?" And if his

grandmother told them stories, he always interrupted her; besides, if he could manage it, he would get behind

her, put on her spectacles, and imitate her way of speaking; he copied all her ways, and then everybody

laughed at him. He was soon able to imitate the gait and manner of everyone in the street. Everything that

was peculiar and displeasing in themthat Kay knew how to imitate: and at such times all the people said,

"The boy is certainly very clever!" But it was the glass he had got in his eye; the glass that was sticking in his

heart, which made him tease even little Gerda, whose whole soul was devoted to him.

His games now were quite different to what they had formerly been, they were so very knowing. One winter's

day, when the flakes of snow were flying about, he spread the skirts of his blue coat, and caught the snow as

it fell.

"Look through this glass, Gerda," said he. And every flake seemed larger, and appeared like a magnificent

flower, or beautiful star; it was splendid to look at!

"Look, how clever!" said Kay. "That's much more interesting than real flowers! They are as exact as possible;

there i not a fault in them, if they did not melt!"

It was not long after this, that Kay came one day with large gloves on, and his little sledge at his back, and

bawled right into Gerda's ears, "I have permission to go out into the square where the others are playing"; and

off he was in a moment.

There, in the marketplace, some of the boldest of the boys used to tie their sledges to the carts as they

passed by, and so they were pulled along, and got a good ride. It was so capital! Just as they were in the very

height of their amusement, a large sledge passed by: it was painted quite white, and there was someone in it

wrapped up in a rough white mantle of fur, with a rough white fur cap on his head. The sledge drove round

the square twice, and Kay tied on his sledge as quickly as he could, and off he drove with it. On they went

quicker and quicker into the next street; and the person who drove turned round to Kay, and nodded to him in

a friendly manner, just as if they knew each other. Every time he was going to untie his sledge, the person

nodded to him, and then Kay sat quiet; and so on they went till they came outside the gates of the town. Then

the snow began to fall so thickly that the little boy could not see an arm's length before him, but still on he

went: when suddenly he let go the string he held in his hand in order to get loose from the sledge, but it was

of no use; still the little vehicle rushed on with the quickness of the wind. He then cried as loud as he could,

but no one beard him; the snow drifted and the sledge flew on, and sometimes it gave a jerk as though they

were driving over hedges and ditches. He was quite frightened, and he tried to repeat the Lord's Prayer; but

all he could do, he was only able to remember the multiplication table.

The snowflakes grew larger and larger, till at last they looked just like great white fowls. Suddenly they

flew on one side; the large sledge stopped, and the person who drove rose up. It was a lady; her cloak and cap

were of snow. She was tall and of slender figure, and of a dazzling whiteness. It was the Snow Queen.

"We have travelled fast," said she; "but it is freezingly cold. Come under my bearskin." And she put him in

the sledge beside her, wrapped the fur round him, and he felt as though he were sinking in a snowwreath.


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"Are you still cold?" asked she; and then she kissed his forehead. Ah! it was colder than ice; it penetrated to

his very heart, which was already almost a frozen lump; it seemed to him as if he were about to diebut a

moment more and it was quite congenial to him, and he did not remark the cold that was around him.

"My sledge! Do not forget my sledge!" It was the first thing he thought of. It was there tied to one of the

white chickens, who flew along with it on his back behind the large sledge. The Snow Queen kissed Kay

once more, and then he forgot little Gerda, grandmother, and all whom he had left at his home.

"Now you will have no more kisses," said she, "or else I should kiss you to death!"

Kay looked at her. She was very beautiful; a more clever, or a more lovely countenance he could not fancy to

himself; and she no longer appeared of ice as before, when she sat outside the window, and beckoned to him;

in his eyes she was perfect, he did not fear her at all, and told her that he could calculate in his head and with

fractions, even; that he knew the number of square miles there were in the different countries, and how many

inhabitants they contained; and she smiled while he spoke. It then seemed to him as if what he knew was not

enough, and he looked upwards in the large huge empty space above him, and on she flew with him; flew

high over,the black clouds, while the storm moaned and whistled as though it were singing some old tune. On

they flew over woods and lakes, over seas, and many lands; and beneath them the chilling storm rushed fast,

the wolves howled, the snow crackled; above them flew large screaming crows, but higher up appeared the

moon, quite large and bright; and it was on it that Kay gazed during the long long winter's night; while by day

he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.

THIRD STORY. Of the FlowerGarden At the Old Woman's Who Understood Witchcraft

But what became of little Gerda when Kay did not return? Where could he be? Nobody knew; nobody could

give any intelligence. All the boys knew was, that they had seen him tie his sledge to another large and

splendid one, which drove down the street and out of the town. Nobody knew where he was; many sad tears

were shed, and little Gerda wept long and bitterly; at last she said he must be dead; that he had been drowned

in the river which flowed close to the town. Oh! those were very long and dismal winter evenings!

At last spring came, with its warm sunshine.

"Kay is dead and gone!" said little Gerda.

"That I don't believe," said the Sunshine.

"Kay is dead and gone!" said she to the Swallows.

"That I don't believe," said they: and at last little Gerda did not think so any longer either.

"I'll put on my red shoes," said she, one morning; "Kay has never seen them, and then I'll go down to the river

and ask there."

It was quite early; she kissed her old grandmother, who was still asleep, put on her red shoes, and went alone

to the river.

"Is it true that you have taken my little playfellow? I will make you a present of my red shoes, if you will give

him back to me."

And, as it seemed to her, the blue waves nodded in a strange manner; then she took off her red shoes, the

most precious things she possessed, and threw them both into the river. But they fell close to the bank, and


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the little waves bore them immediately to land; it was as if the stream would not take what was dearest to her;

for in reality it had not got little, Kay; but Gerda thought that she had not thrown the shoes out far enough, so

she clambered into a boat which lay among the rushes, went to the farthest end, and threw out the shoes. But

the boat was not fastened, and the motion which she occasioned, made it drift from the shore. She observed

this, and hastened to get back; but before she could do so, the boat was more than a yard from the land, and

was gliding quickly onward.

Little Gerda was very frightened, and began to cry; but no one heard her except the sparrows, and they could

not carry her to land; but they flew along the bank, and sang as if to comfort her, "Here we are! Here we are!"

The boat drifted with the stream, little Gerda sat quite still without shoes, for they were swimming behind the

boat, but she could not reach them, because the boat went much faster than they did.

The banks on both sides were beautiful; lovely flowers, venerable trees, and slopes with sheep and cows, but

not a human being was to be seen.

"Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay," said she; and then she grew less sad. She rose, and looked for

many hours at the beautiful green banks. Presently she sailed by a large cherryorchard, where was a little

cottage with curious red and blue windows; it was thatched, and before it two wooden soldiers stood sentry,

and presented arms when anyone went past.

Gerda called to them, for she thought they were alive; but they, of course, did not answer. She came close to

them, for the stream drifted the boat quite near the land.

Gerda called still louder, and an old woman then came out of the cottage, leaning upon a crooked stick. She

had a large broadbrimmed hat on, painted with the most splendid flowers.

"Poor little child!" said the old woman. "How did you get upon the large rapid river, to be driven about so in

the wide world!" And then the old woman went into the water, caught hold of the boat with her crooked stick,

drew it to the bank, and lifted little Gerda out.

And Gerda was so glad to be on dry land again; but she was rather afraid of the strange old woman.

"But come and tell me who you are, and how you came here," said she.

And Gerda told her all; and the old woman shook her head and said, "Ahem! ahem!" and when Gerda had

told her everything, and asked her if she had not seen little Kay, the woman answered that he had not passed

there, but he no doubt would come; and she told her not to be cast down, but taste her cherries, and look at

her flowers, which were finer than any in a picturebook, each of which could tell a whole story. She then

took Gerda by the hand, led her into the little cottage, and locked the door.

The windows were very high up; the glass was red, blue, and green, and the sunlight shone through quite

wondrously in all sorts of colors. On the table stood the most exquisite cherries, and Gerda ate as many as she

chose, for she had permission to do so. While she was eating, the old woman combed her hair with a golden

comb, and her hair curled and shone with a lovely golden color around that sweet little face, which was so

round and so like a rose.

"I have often longed for such a dear little girl," said the old woman. "Now you shall see how well we agree

together"; and while she combed little Gerda's hair, the child forgot her fosterbrother Kay more and more,

for the old woman understood magic; but she was no evil being, she only practised witchcraft a little for her

own private amusement, and now she wanted very much to keep little Gerda. She therefore went out in the

garden, stretched out.her crooked stick towards the rosebushes, which, beautifully as they were blowing, all


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sank into the earth and no one could tell where they had stood. The old woman feared that if Gerda should

see the roses, she would then think of her own, would remember little Kay, and run away from her.

She now led Gerda into the flowergarden. Oh, what odour and what loveliness was there! Every flower that

one could think of, and of every season, stood there in fullest bloom; no picturebook could be gayer or more

beautiful. Gerda jumped for joy, and played till the sun set behind the tall cherrytree; she then had a pretty

bed, with a red silken coverlet filled with blue violets. She fell asleep, and had as pleasant dreams as ever a

queen on her weddingday.

The next morning she went to play with the flowers in the warm sunshine, and thus passed away a day. Gerda

knew every flower; and, numerous as they were, it still seemed to Gerda that one was wanting, though she

did not know which. One day while she was looking at the hat of the old woman painted with flowers, the

most beautiful of them all seemed to her to be a rose. The old woman had forgotten to take it from her hat

when she made the others vanish in the earth. But so it is when one's thoughts are not collected. "What!" said

Gerda. "Are there no roses here?" and she ran about amongst the flowerbeds, and looked, and looked, but

there was not one to be found. She then sat down and wept; but her hot tears fell just where a rosebush had

sunk; and when her warm tears watered the ground, the tree shot up suddenly as fresh and blooming as when

it had been swallowed up. Gerda kissed the roses, thought of her own dear roses at home, and with them of

little Kay.

"Oh, how long I have stayed!" said the little girl. "I intended to look for Kay! Don't you know where he is?"

she asked of the roses. "Do you think he is dead and gone?"

"Dead he certainly is not," said the Roses. "We have been in the earth where all the dead are, but Kay was not

there."

"Many thanks!" said little Gerda; and she went to the other flowers, looked into their cups, and asked, "Don't

you know where little Kay is?"

But every flower stood in the sunshine, and dreamed its own fairy tale or its own story: and they all told her

very many things, but not one knew anything of Kay.

Well, what did the TigerLily say?

"Hearest thou not the drum? Bum! Bum! Those are the only two tones. Always bum! Bum! Hark to the

plaintive song of the old woman, to the call of the priests! The Hindoo woman in her long robe stands upon

the funeral pile; the flames rise around her and her dead husband, but the Hindoo woman thinks on the living

one in the surrounding circle; on him whose eyes burn hotter than the flameson him, the fire of whose eyes

pierces her heart more than the flames which soon will burn her body to ashes. Can the heart's flame die in

the flame of the funeral pile?"

"I don't understand that at all," said little Gerda.

"That is my story," said the Lily.

What did the Convolvulus say?

"Projecting over a narrow mountainpath there hangs an old feudal castle. Thick evergreens grow on the

dilapidated walls, and around the altar, where a lovely maiden is standing: she bends over the railing and

looks out upon the rose. No fresher rose hangs on the branches than she; no appleblossom carried away by

the wind is more buoyant! How her silken robe is rustling!


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"'Is he not yet come?'"

"Is it Kay that you mean?" asked little Gerda.

"I am speaking about my storyabout my dream," answered the Convolvulus.

What did the Snowdrops say?

"Between the trees a long board is hangingit is a swing. Two little girls are sitting in it, and swing

themselves backwards and forwards; their frocks are as white as snow, and long green silk ribands flutter

from their bonnets. Their brother, who is older than they are, stands up in the swing; he twines his arms round

the cords to hold himself fast, for in one hand he has a little cup, and in the other a claypipe. He is blowing

soapbubbles. The swing moves, and the bubbles float in charming changing colors: the last is still hanging

to the end of the pipe, and rocks in the breeze. The swing moves. The little black dog, as light as a

soapbubble, jumps up on his hind legs to try to get into the swing. It moves, the dog falls down, barks, and

is angry. They tease him; the bubble bursts! A swing, a bursting bubblesuch is my song!"

"What you relate may be very pretty, but you tell it in so melancholy a manner, and do not mention Kay."

What do the Hyacinths say?

"There were once upon a time three sisters, quite transparent, and very beautiful. The robe of the one was red,

that of the second blue, and that of the third white. They danced hand in hand beside the calm lake in the

clear moonshine. They were not elfin maidens, but mortal children. A sweet fragrance was smelt, and the

maidens vanished in the wood; the fragrance grew strongerthree coffins, and in them three lovely maidens,

glided out of the forest and across the lake: the shining glowworms flew around like little floating lights. Do

the dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? The odour of the flowers says they are corpses; the evening bell

tolls for the dead!"

"You make me quite sad," said little Gerda. "I cannot help thinking of the dead maidens. Oh! is little Kay

really dead? The Roses have been in the earth, and they say no."

"Ding, dong!" sounded the Hyacinth bells. "We do not toll for little Kay; we do not know him. That is our

way of singing, the only one we have."

And Gerda went to the Ranunculuses, that looked forth from among the shining green leaves.

"You are a little bright sun!" said Gerda. "Tell me if you know where I can find my playfellow."

And the Ranunculus shone brightly, and looked again at Gerda. What song could the Ranunculus sing? It was

one that said nothing about Kay either.

"In a small court the bright sun was shining in the first days of spring. The beams glided down the white

walls of a neighbor's house, and close by the fresh yellow flowers were growing, shining like gold in the

warm sunrays. An old grandmother was sitting in the air; her granddaughter, the poor and lovely servant

just come for a short visit. She knows her grandmother. There was gold, pure virgin gold in that blessed kiss.

There, that is my little story," said the Ranunculus.

"My poor old grandmother!" sighed Gerda. "Yes, she is longing for me, no doubt: she is sorrowing for me, as

she did for little Kay. But I will soon come home, and then I will bring Kay with me. It is of no use asking the

flowers; they only know their own old rhymes, and can tell me nothing." And she tucked up her frock, to


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enable her to run quicker; but the Narcissus gave her a knock on the leg, just as she was going to jump over it.

So she stood still, looked at the long yellow flower, and asked, "You perhaps know something?" and she bent

down to the Narcissus. And what did it say?

"I can see myselfI can see myself I Oh, how odorous I am! Up in the little garret there stands,

halfdressed, a little Dancer. She stands now on one leg, now on both; she despises the whole world; yet she

lives only in imagination. She pours water out of the teapot over a piece of stuff which she holds in her hand;

it is the bodice; cleanliness is a fine thing. The white dress is hanging on the hook; it was washed in the

teapot, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, ties a saffroncolored kerchief round her neck, and then the

gown looks whiter. I can see myselfI can see myself!"

"That's nothing to me," said little Gerda. "That does not concern me." And then off she ran to the further end

of the garden.

The gate was locked, but she shook the rusted bolt till it was loosened, and the gate opened; and little Gerda

ran off barefooted into the wide world. She looked round her thrice, but no one followed her. At last she

could run no longer; she sat down on a large stone, and when she looked about her, she saw that the summer

had passed; it was late in the autumn, but that one could not remark in the beautiful garden, where there was

always sunshine, and where there were flowers the whole year round.

"Dear me, how long I have staid!" said Gerda. "Autumn is come. I must not rest any longer." And she got up

to go further.

Oh, how tender and wearied her little feet were! All around it looked so cold and raw: the long willowleaves

were quite yellow, and the fog dripped from them like water; one leaf fell after the other: the sloes only stood

full of fruit, which set one's teeth on edge. Oh, how dark and comfortless it was in the dreary world!

FOURTH STORY. The Prince and Princess

Gerda was obliged to rest herself again, when, exactly opposite to her, a large Raven came hopping over the

white snow. He had long been looking at Gerda and shaking his head; and now he said, "Caw! Caw!" Good

day! Good day! He could not say it better; but he felt a sympathy for the little girl, and asked her where she

was going all alone. The word "alone" Gerda understood quite well, and felt how much was expressed by it;

so she told the Raven her whole history, and asked if he had not seen Kay.

The Raven nodded very gravely, and said, "It may beit may be!"

"What, do you really think so?" cried the little girl; and she nearly squeezed the Raven to death, so much did

she kiss him.

"Gently, gently," said the Raven. "I think I know; I think that it may be little Kay. But now he has forgotten

you for the Princess."

"Does he live with a Princess?" asked Gerda.

"Yeslisten," said the Raven; "but it will be difficult for me to speak your language. If you understand the

Raven language I can tell you better."

"No, I have not learnt it," said Gerda; "but my grandmother understands it, and she can speak gibberish too. I

wish I had learnt it."


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"No matter," said the Raven; "I will tell you as well as I can; however, it will be bad enough." And then he

told all he knew.

"In the kingdom where we now are there lives a Princess, who is extraordinarily clever; for she has read all

the newspapers in the whole world, and has forgotten them againso clever is she. She was lately, it is said,

sitting on her thronewhich is not very amusing after allwhen she began humming an old tune, and it was

just, 'Oh, why should I not be married?' "That song is not without its meaning,' said she, and so then she was

determined to marry; but she would have a husband who knew how to give an answer when he was spoken

tonot one who looked only as if he were a great personage, for that is so tiresome. She then had all the

ladies of the court drummed together; and when they heard her intention, all were very pleased, and said, 'We

are very glad to hear it; it is the very thing we were thinking of.' You may believe every word I say, said the

Raven; "for I have a tame sweetheart that hops about in the palace quite free, and it was she who told me all

this.

"The newspapers appeared forthwith with a border of hearts and the initials of the Princess; and therein you

might read that every goodlooking young man was at liberty to come to the palace and speak to the

Princess; and he who spoke in such wise as showed he felt himself at home there, that one the Princess would

choose for her husband.

"Yes, Yes," said the Raven, "you may believe it; it is as true as I am sitting here. People came in crowds;

there was a crush and a hurry, but no one was successful either on the first or second day. They could all talk

well enough when they were out in the street; but as soon as they came inside the palace gates, and saw the

guard richly dressed in silver, and the lackeys in gold on the staircase, and the large illuminated saloons, then

they were abashed; and when they stood before the throne on which the Princess was sitting, all they could do

was to repeat the last word they had uttered, and to hear it again did not interest her very much. It was just as

if the people within were under a charm, and had fallen into a trance till they came out again into the street;

for thenoh, thenthey could chatter enough. There was a whole row of them standing from the

towngates to the palace. I was there myself to look," said the Raven. "They grew hungry and thirsty; but

from the palace they got nothing whatever, not even a glass of water. Some of the cleverest, it is true, had

taken bread and butter with them: but none shared it with his neighbor, for each thought, 'Let him look

hungry, and then the Princess won't have him."'

"But Kaylittle Kay," said Gerda, "when did he come? Was he among the number?"

"Patience, patience; we are just come to him. It was on the third day when a little personage without horse or

equipage, came marching right boldly up to the palace; his eyes shone like yours, he had beautiful long hair,

but his clothes were very shabby."

"That was Kay," cried Gerda, with a voice of delight. "Oh, now I've found him!" and she clapped her hands

for joy.

"He had a little knapsack at his back," said the Raven.

"No, that was certainly his sledge," said Gerda; "for when he went away he took his sledge with him."

"That may be," said the Raven; "I did not examine him so minutely; but I know from my tame sweetheart,

that when he came into the courtyard of the palace, and saw the bodyguard in silver, the lackeys on the

staircase, he was not the least abashed; he nodded, and said to them, 'It must be very tiresome to stand on the

stairs; for my part, I shall go in.' The saloons were gleaming with lustresprivy councillors and excellencies

were walking about barefooted, and wore gold keys; it was enough to make any one feel uncomfortable. His

boots creaked, too, so loudly, but still he was not at all afraid."


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"That's Kay for certain," said Gerda. "I know he had on new boots; I have heard them creaking in

grandmama's room."

"Yes, they creaked," said the Raven. "And on he went boldly up to the Princess, who was sitting on a pearl as

large as a spinningwheel. All the ladies of the court, with their attendants and attendants' attendants, and all

the cavaliers, with their gentlemen and gentlemen's gentlemen, stood round; and the nearer they stood to the

door, the prouder they looked. It was hardly possible to look at the gentleman's gentleman, so very haughtily

did he stand in the doorway."

"It must have been terrible," said little Gerda. "And did Kay get the Princess?"

"Were I not a Raven, I should have taken the Princess myself, although I am promised. It is said he spoke as

well as I speak when I talk Raven language; this I learned from my tame sweetheart. He was bold and nicely

behaved; he had not come to woo the Princess, but only to hear her wisdom. She pleased him, and he pleased

her."

"Yes, yes; for certain that was Kay," said Gerda. "He was so clever; he could reckon fractions in his head.

Oh, won't you take me to the palace?"

"That is very easily said," answered the Raven. "But how are we to manage it? I'll speak to my tame

sweetheart about it: she must advise us; for so much I must tell you, such a little girl as you are will never get

permission to enter."

"Oh, yes I shall," said Gerda; "when Kay hears that I am here, he will come out directly to fetch me."

"Wait for me here on these steps," said the Raven.He moved his head backwards and forwards and flew

away.

The evening was closing in when the Raven returned. "Caw caw!" said he. "She sends you her

compliments; and here is a roll for you. She took it out of the kitchen, where there is bread enough. You are

hungry, no doubt. It is not possible for you to enter the palace, for you are barefooted: the guards in silver,

and the lackeys in gold, would not allow it; but do not cry, you shall come in still. My sweetheart knows a

little back stair that leads to the bedchamber, and she knows where she can get the key of it."

And they went into the garden in the large avenue, where one leaf was falling after the other; and when the

lights in the palace had all gradually disappeared, the Raven led little Gerda to the back door, which stood

half open.

Oh, how Gerda's heart beat with anxiety and longing! It was just as if she had been about to do something

wrong; and yet she only wanted to know if little Kay was there. Yes, he must be there. She called to mind his

intelligent eyes, and his long hair, so vividly, she could quite see him as he used to laugh when they were

sitting under the roses at home. "He will, no doubt, be glad to see youto hear what a long way you have

come for his sake; to know how unhappy all at home were when he did not come back."

Oh, what a fright and a joy it was!

They were now on the stairs. A single lamp was burning there; and on the floor stood the tame Raven, turning

her head on every side and looking at Gerda, who bowed as her grandmother had taught her to do.

"My intended has told me so much good of you, my dear young lady," said the tame Raven. "Your tale is

very affecting. If you will take the lamp, I will go before. We will go straight on, for we shall meet no one."


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"I think there is somebody just behind us," said Gerda; and something rushed past: it was like shadowy

figures on the wall; horses with flowing manes and thin legs, huntsmen, ladies and gentlemen on horseback.

"They are only dreams," said the Raven. "They come to fetch the thoughts of the high personages to the

chase; 'tis well, for now you can observe them in bed all the better. But let me find, when you enjoy honor

and distinction, that you possess a grateful heart."

"Tut! That's not worth talking about," said the Raven of the woods.

They now entered the first saloon, which was of rosecolored satin, with artificial flowers on the wall. Here

the dreams were rushing past, but they hastened by so quickly that Gerda could not see the high personages.

One hall was more magnificent than the other; one might indeed well be abashed; and at last they came into

the bedchamber. The ceiling of the room resembled a large palmtree with leaves of glass, of costly glass;

and in the middle, from a thick golden stem, hung two beds, each of which resembled a lily. One was white,

and in this lay the Princess; the other was red, and it was here that Gerda was to look for little Kay. She bent

back one of the red leaves, and saw a brown neck. Oh! that was Kay! She called him quite loud by name, held

the lamp towards himthe dreams rushed back again into the chamberhe awoke, turned his head, andit

was not little Kay!

The Prince was only like him about the neck; but he was young and handsome. And out of the white lily

leaves the Princess peeped, too, and asked what was the matter. Then little Gerda cried, and told her her

whole history, and all that the Ravens had done for her.

"Poor little thing!" said the Prince and the Princess. They praised the Ravens very much, and told them they

were not at all angry with them, but they were not to do so again. However, they should have a reward. "Will

you fly about here at liberty," asked the Princess; "or would you like to have a fixed appointment as court

ravens, with all the broken bits from the kitchen?"

And both the Ravens nodded, and begged for a fixed appointment; for they thought of their old age, and said,

"It is a good thing to have a provision for our old days."

And the Prince got up and let Gerda sleep in his bed, and more than this he could not do. She folded her little

hands and thought, "How good men and animals are!" and she then fell asleep and slept soundly. All the

dreams flew in again, and they now looked like the angels; they drew a little sledge, in which little Kay sat

and nodded his head; but the whole was only a dream, and therefore it all vanished as soon as she awoke.

The next day she was dressed from head to foot in silk and velvet. They offered to let her stay at the palace,

and lead a happy life; but she begged to have a little carriage with a horse in front, and for a small pair of

shoes; then, she said, she would again go forth in the wide world and look for Kay.

Shoes and a muff were given her; she was, too, dressed very nicely; and when she was about to set off, a new

carriage stopped before the door. It was of pure gold, and the arms of the Prince and Princess shone like a star

upon it; the coachman, the footmen, and the outriders, for outriders were there, too, all wore golden crowns.

The Prince and the Princess assisted her into the carriage themselves, and wished her all success. The Raven

of the woods, who was now married, accompanied her for the first three miles. He sat beside Gerda, for he

could not bear riding backwards; the other Raven stood in the doorway,and flapped her wings; she could not

accompany Gerda, because she suffered from headache since she had had a fixed appointment and ate so

much. The carriage was lined inside with sugarplums, and in the seats were fruits and gingerbread.

"Farewell! Farewell!" cried Prince and Princess; and Gerda wept, and the Raven wept. Thus passed the first

miles; and then the Raven bade her farewell, and this was the most painful separation of all. He flew into a


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tree, and beat his black wings as long as he could see the carriage, that shone from afar like a sunbeam.

FIFTH STORY. The Little Robber Maiden

They drove through the dark wood; but the carriage shone like a torch, and it dazzled the eyes of the robbers,

so that they could not bear to look at it.

"'Tis gold! 'Tis gold!" they cried; and they rushed forward, seized the horses, knocked down the little

postilion, the coachman, and the servants, and pulled little Gerda out of the carriage.

"How plump, how beautiful she is! She must have been fed on nutkernels," said the old female robber, who

had a long, scrubby beard, and bushy eyebrows that hung down over her eyes. "She is as good as a fatted

lamb! How nice she will be!" And then she drew out a knife, the blade of which shone so that it was quite

dreadful to behold.

"Oh!" cried the woman at the same moment. She had been bitten in the ear by her own little daughter, who

hung at her back; and who was so wild and unmanageable, that it was quite amusing to see her. "You naughty

child!" said the mother: and now she had not time to kill Gerda.

"She shall play with me," said the little robber child. "She shall give me her muff, and her pretty frock; she

shall sleep in my bed!" And then she gave her mother another bite, so that she jumped, and ran round with the

pain; and the Robbers laughed, and said, "Look, how she is dancing with the little one!"

"I will go into the carriage," said the little robber maiden; and she would have her will, for she was very

spoiled and very headstrong. She and Gerda got in; and then away they drove over the stumps of felled trees,

deeper and deeper into the woods. The little robber maiden was as tall as Gerda, but stronger,

broadershouldered, and of dark complexion; her eyes were quite black; they looked almost melancholy. She

embraced little Gerda, and said, "They shall not kill you as long as I am not displeased with you. You are,

doubtless, a Princess?"

"No," said little Gerda; who then related all that had happened to her, and how much she cared about little

Kay.

The little robber maiden looked at her with a serious air, nodded her head slightly, and said, "They shall not

kill you, even if I am angry with you: then I will do it myself"; and she dried Gerda's eyes, and put both her

hands in the handsome muff, which was so soft and warm.

At length the carriage stopped. They were in the midst of the courtyard of a robber's castle. It was full of

cracks from top to bottom; and out of the openings magpies and rooks were flying; and the great bulldogs,

each of which looked as if he could swallow a man, jumped up, but they did not bark, for that was forbidden.

In the midst of the large, old, smoking hall burnt a great fire on the stone floor. The smoke disappeared under

the stones, and had to seek its own egress. In an immense caldron soup was boiling; and rabbits and hares

were being roasted on a spit.

"You shall sleep with me tonight, with all my animals," said the little robber maiden. They had something to

eat and drink; and then went into a corner, where straw and carpets were lying. Beside them, on laths and

perches, sat nearly a hundred pigeons, all asleep, seemingly; but yet they moved a little when the robber

maiden came. "They are all mine," said she, at the same time seizing one that was next to her by the legs and

shaking it so that its wings fluttered. "Kiss it," cried the little girl, and flung the pigeon in Gerda's face. "Up

there is the rabble of the wood, continued she, pointing to several laths which were fastened before a hole


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high up in the wall; "that's the rabble; they would all fly away immediately, if they were not well fastened in.

And here is my dear old Bac"; and she laid hold of the horns of a reindeer, that had a bright copper ring round

its neck, and was tethered to the spot. "We are obliged to lock this fellow in too, or he would make his

escape. Every evening I tickle his neck with my sharp knife; he is so frightened at it!" and the little girl drew

forth a long knife, from a crack in the wall, and let it glide over the Reindeer's neck. The poor animal kicked;

the girl laughed, and pulled Gerda into bed with her.

"Do you intend to keep your knife while you sleep?" asked Gerda; looking at it rather fearfully.

"I always sleep with the knife," said the little robber maiden. "There is no knowing what may happen. But tell

me now, once more, all about little Kay; and why you have started off in the wide world alone." And Gerda

related all, from the very beginning: the Woodpigeons cooed above in their cage, and the others slept. The

little robber maiden wound her arm round Gerda's neck, held the knife in the other hand, and snored so loud

that everybody could hear her; but Gerda could not close her eyes, for she did not know whether she was to

live or die. The robbers sat round the fire, sang and drank; and the old female robber jumped about so, that it

was quite dreadful for Gerda to see her.

Then the Woodpigeons said, "Coo! Cool We have seen little Kay! A white hen carries his sledge; he himself

sat in the carriage of the Snow Queen, who passed here, down just over the wood, as we lay in our nest. She

blew upon us young ones; and all died except we two. Coo! Coo!"

"What is that you say up there?" cried little Gerda. "Where did the Snow Queen go to? Do you know

anything about it?"

"She is no doubt gone to Lapland; for there is always snow and ice there. Only ask the Reindeer, who is

tethered there."

"Ice and snow is there! There it is, glorious and beautiful!" said the Reindeer. "One can spring about in the

large shining valleys! The Snow Queen has her summertent there; but her fixed abode is high up towards

the North Pole, on the Island called Spitzbergen."

"Oh, Kay! Poor little Kay!" sighed Gerda.

"Do you choose to be quiet?" said the robber maiden. "If you don't, I shall make you."

In the morning Gerda told her all that the Woodpigeons had said; and the little maiden looked very serious,

but she nodded her head, and said, "That's no matterthat's no matter. Do you know where Lapland lies!" she

asked of the Reindeer.

"Who should know better than I?" said the animal; and his eyes rolled in his head. "I was born and bred

therethere I leapt about on the fields of snow.

"Listen," said the robber maiden to Gerda. "You see that the men are gone; but my mother is still here, and

will remain. However, towards morning she takes a draught out of the large flask, and then she sleeps a little:

then I will do something for you." She now jumped out of bed, flew to her mother; with her arms round her

neck, and pulling her by the beard, said, "Good morrow, my own sweet nannygoat of a mother." And her

mother took hold of her nose, and pinched it till it was red and blue; but this was all done out of pure love.

When the mother had taken a sup at her flask, and was having a nap, the little robber maiden went to the

Reindeer, and said, "I should very much like to give you still many a tickling with the sharp knife, for then

you are so amusing; however, I will untether you, and help you out, so that you may go back to Lapland. But


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you must make good use of your legs; and take this little girl for me to the palace of the Snow Queen, where

her playfellow is. You have heard, I suppose, all she said; for she spoke loud enough, and you were

listening."

The Reindeer gave a bound for joy. The robber maiden lifted up little Gerda, and took the precaution to bind

her fast on the Reindeer's back; she even gave her a small cushion to sit on. "Here are your worsted leggins,

for it will be cold; but the muff I shall keep for myself, for it is so very pretty. But I do not wish you to be

cold. Here is a pair of lined gloves of my mother's; they just reach up to your elbow. On with them! Now you

look about the hands just like my ugly old mother!"

And Gerda wept for joy.

"I can't bear to see you fretting," said the little robber maiden. "This is just the time when you ought to look

pleased. Here are two loaves and a ham for you, so that you won't starve." The bread and the meat were

fastened to the Reindeer's back; the little maiden opened the door, called in all the dogs, and then with her

knife cut the rope that fastened the animal, and said to him, "Now, off with you; but take good care of the

little girl!"

And Gerda stretched out her hands with the large wadded gloves towards the robber maiden, and said,

"Farewell!" and the Reindeer flew on over bush and bramble through the great wood, over moor and heath, as

fast as he could go.

"Ddsa! Ddsa!" was heard in the sky. It was just as if somebody was sneezing.

"These are my old northernlights," said the Reindeer, "look how they gleam! And on he now sped still

quickerday and night on he went: the loaves were consumed, and the ham too; and now they were in

Lapland.

SIXTH STORY. The Lapland Woman and the Finland Woman

Suddenly they stopped before a little house, which looked very miserable. The roof reached to the ground;

and the door was so low, that the family were obliged to creep upon their stomachs when they went in or out.

Nobody was at home except an old Lapland woman, who was dressing fish by the light of an oil lamp. And

the Reindeer told her the whole of Gerda's history, but first of all his own; for that seemed to him of much

greater importance. Gerda was so chilled that she could not speak.

"Poor thing," said the Lapland woman, "you have far to run still. You have more than a hundred miles to go

before you get to Finland; there the Snow Queen has her countryhouse, and burns blue lights every evening.

I will give you a few words from me, which I will write on a dried haberdine, for paper I have none; this you

can take with you to the Finland woman, and she will be able to give you more information than I can."

When Gerda had warmed herself, and had eaten and drunk, the Lapland woman wrote a few words on a dried

haberdine, begged Gerda to take care of them, put her on the Reindeer, bound her fast, and away sprang the

animal. "Ddsa! Ddsa!" was again heard in the air; the most charming blue lights burned the whole night in the

sky, and at last they came to Finland. They knocked at the chimney of the Finland woman; for as to a door,

she had none.

There was such a heat inside that the Finland woman herself went about almost naked. She was diminutive

and dirty. She immediately loosened little Gerda's clothes, pulled off her thick gloves and boots; for

otherwise the heat would have been too greatand after laying a piece of ice on the Reindeer's head, read

what was written on the fishskin. She read it three times: she then knew it by heart; so she put the fish into


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the cupboard for it might very well be eaten, and she never threw anything away.

Then the Reindeer related his own story first, and afterwards that of little Gerda; and the Finland woman

winked her eyes, but said nothing.

"You are so clever," said the Reindeer; "you can, I know, twist all the winds of the world together in a knot.

If the seaman loosens one knot, then he has a good wind; if a second, then it blows pretty stiffly; if he undoes

the third and fourth, then it rages so that the forests are upturned. Will you give the little maiden a potion, that

she may possess the strength of twelve men, and vanquish the Snow Queen?"

"The strength of twelve men!" said the Finland woman. "Much good that would be!" Then she went to a

cupboard, and drew out a large skin rolled up. When she had unrolled it, strange characters were to be seen

written thereon; and the Finland woman read at such a rate that the perspiration trickled down her forehead.

But the Reindeer begged so hard for little Gerda, and Gerda looked so imploringly with tearful eyes at the

Finland woman, that she winked, and drew the Reindeer aside into a corner, where they whispered together,

while the animal got some fresh ice put on his head.

"'Tis true little Kay is at the Snow Queen's, and finds everything there quite to his taste; and he thinks it the

very best place in the world; but the reason of that is, he has a splinter of glass in his eye, and in his heart.

These must be got out first; otherwise he will never go back to mankind, and the Snow Queen will retain her

power over him."

"But can you give little Gerda nothing to take which will endue her with power over the whole?"

"I can give her no more power than what she has already. "Don't you see how great it is? Don't you see how

men and animals are forced to serve her; how well she gets through the world barefooted? She must not hear

of her power from us; that power lies in her heart, because she is a sweet and innocent child! If she cannot get

to the Snow Queen by herself, and rid little Kay of the glass, we cannot help her. Two miles hence the garden

of the Snow Queen begins; thither you may carry the little girl. Set her down by the large bush with red

berries, standing in the snow; don't stay talking, but hasten back as fast as possible." And now the Finland

woman placed little Gerda on the Reindeer's back, and off he ran with all imaginable speed.

"Oh! I have not got my boots! I have not brought my gloves!" cried little Gerda. She remarked she was

without them from the cutting frost; but the Reindeer dared not stand still; on he ran till he came to the great

bush with the red berries, and there he set Gerda down, kissed her mouth, while large bright tears flowed

from the animal's eyes, and then back he went as fast as possible. There stood poor Gerda now, without shoes

or gloves, in the very middle of dreadful icy Finland.

She ran on as fast as she could. There then came a whole regiment of snowflakes, but they did not fall from

above, and they were quite bright and shining from the Aurora Borealis. The flakes ran along the ground, and

the nearer they came the larger they grew. Gerda well remembered how large and strange the snowflakes

appeared when she once saw them through a magnifyingglass; but now they were large and terrific in

another mannerthey were all alive. They were the outposts of the Snow Queen. They had the most

wondrous shapes; some looked like large ugly porcupines; others like snakes knotted together, with their

heads sticking out; and others, again, like small fat bears, with the hair standing on end: all were of dazzling

whitenessall were living snowflakes.

Little Gerda repeat~d the Lord's Prayer. The cold was so intense that she could see her own breath, which

came like smoke out of her mouth. It grew thicker and thicker, and took the form of little angels, that grew

more and more when they touched the earth. All had helms on their heads, and lances and shields in their


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hands; they increased in numbers; and when Gerda had finished the Lord's Prayer, she was surrounded by a

whole legion. They thrust at the horrid snowflakes with their spears, so that they flew into a thousand

pieces; and little Gerda walked on bravely and in security. The angels patted her hands and feet; and then she

felt the cold less, and went on quickly towards the palace of the Snow Queen.

But now we shall see how Kay fared. He never thought of Gerda, and least of all that she was standing before

the palace.

SEVENTH STORY. What Took Place in the Palace of the Snow Queen, and what Happened Afterward

The walls of the palace were of driving snow, and the windows and doors of cutting winds. There were more

than a hundred halls there, according as the snow was driven by the winds. The largest was many miles in

extent; all were lighted up by the powerful Aurora Borealis, and all were so large, so empty, so icy cold, and

so resplendent! Mirth never reigned there; there was never even a little bearball, with the storm for music,

while the polar bears went on their hindlegs and showed off their steps. Never a little teaparty of white

young lady foxes; vast, cold, and empty were the halls of the Snow Queen. The northernlights shone with

such precision that one could tell exactly when they were at their highest or lowest degree of brightness. In

the middle of the empty, endless hall of snow, was a frozen lake; it was cracked in a thousand pieces, but

each piece was so like the other, that it seemed the work of a cunning artificer. In the middle of this lake sat

the Snow Queen when she was at home; and then she said she was sitting in the Mirror of Understanding, and

that this was the only one and the best thing in the world.

Little Kay was quite blue, yes nearly black with cold; but he did not observe it, for she had kissed away all

feeling of cold from his body, and his heart was a lump of ice. He was dragging along some pointed flat

pieces of ice, which he laid together in all possible ways, for he wanted to make something with them; just as

we have little flat pieces of wood to make geometrical figures with, called the Chinese Puzzle. Kay made all

sorts of figures, the most complicated, for it was an icepuzzle for the understanding. In his eyes the figures

were extraordinarily beautiful, and of the utmost importance; for the bit of glass which was in his eye caused

this. He found whole figures which represented a written word; but he never could manage to represent just

the word he wantedthat word was "eternity"; and the Snow Queen had said, "If you can discover that

figure, you shall be your own master, and I will make you a present of the whole world and a pair of new

skates." But he could not find it out.

" am going now to warm lands," said the Snow Queen. "I must have a look down into the black caldrons." It

was the volcanoes Vesuvius and Etna that she meant. "I will just give them a coating of white, for that is as it

ought to be; besides, it is good for the oranges and the grapes." And then away she flew, and Kay sat quite

alone in the empty halls of ice that were miles long, and looked at the blocks of ice, and thought and thought

till his skull was almost cracked. There he sat quite benumbed and motionless; one would have imagined he

was frozen to death.

Suddenly little Gerda stepped through the great portal into the palace. The gate was formed of cutting winds;

but Gerda repeated her evening prayer, and the winds were laid as though they slept; and the little maiden

entered the vast, empty, cold halls. There she beheld Kay: she recognised him, flew to embrace him, and

cried out, her arms firmly holding him the while, "Kay, sweet little Kay! Have I then found you at last?"

But he sat quite still, benumbed and cold. Then little Gerda shed burning tears; and they fell on his bosom,

they penetrated to his heart, they thawed the lumps of ice, and consumed the splinters of the lookingglass;

he looked at her, and she sang the hymn:

"The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, And angels descend there the children to greet."


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Hereupon Kay burst into tears; he wept so much that the splinter rolled out of his eye, and he recognised her,

and shouted, "Gerda, sweet little Gerda! Where have you been so long? And where have I been?" He looked

round him. "How cold it is here!" said he. "How empty and cold!" And he held fast by Gerda, who laughed

and wept for joy. It was so beautiful, that even the blocks of ice danced about for joy; and when they were

tired and laid themselves down, they formed exactly the letters which the Snow Queen had told him to find

out; so now he was his own master, and he would have the whole world and a pair of new skates into the

bargain.

Gerda kissed his cheeks, and they grew quite blooming; she kissed his eyes, and they shone like her own; she

kissed his hands and feet, and he was again well and merry. The Snow Queen might come back as soon as

she liked; there stood his discharge written in resplendent masses of ice.

They took each other by the hand, and wandered forth out of the large hall; they talked of their old

grandmother, and of the roses upon the roof; and wherever they went, the winds ceased raging, and the sun

burst forth. And when they reached the bush with the red berries, they found the Reindeer waiting for them.

He had brought another, a young one, with him, whose udder was filled with milk, which he gave to the little

ones, and kissed their lips. They then carried Kay and Gerdafirst to the Finland woman, where they

warmed themselves in the warm room, and learned what they were to do on their journey home; and they

went to the Lapland woman, who made some new clothes for them and repaired their sledges.

The Reindeer and the young hind leaped along beside them, and accompanied them to the boundary of the

country. Here the first vegetation peeped forth; here Kay and Gerda took leave of the Lapland woman.

"Farewell! Farewell!" they all said. And the first green buds appeared, the first little birds began to chirrup;

and out of the wood came, riding on a magnificent horse, which Gerda knew (it was one of the leaders in the

golden carriage), a young damsel with a brightred cap on her head, and armed with pistols. It was the little

robber maiden, who, tired of being at home, had determined to make a journey to the north; and afterwards in

another direction, if that did not please her. She recognised Gerda immediately, and Gerda knew her too. It

was a joyful meeting.

"You are a fine fellow for tramping about," said she to little Kay; "I should like to know, faith, if you deserve

that one should run from one end of the world to the other for your sake?"

But Gerda patted her cheeks, and inquired for the Prince and Princess.

"They are gone abroad," said the other.

"But the Raven?" asked little Gerda.

"Oh! The Raven is dead," she answered. "His tame sweetheart is a widow, and wears a bit of black worsted

round her leg; she laments most piteously, but it's all mere talk and stuff! Now tell me what you've been

doing and how you managed to catch him."

And Gerda and Kay both told their story.

And "Schnippschnappschnurrebasselurre," said the robber maiden; and she took the hands of each, and

promised that if she should some day pass through the town where they lived, she would come and visit

them; and then away she rode. Kay and Gerda took each other's hand: it was lovely spring weather, with

abundance of flowers and of verdure. The churchbells rang, and the children recognised the high towers,

and the large town; it was that in which they dwelt. They entered and hastened up to their grandmother's

room, where everything was standing as formerly. The clock said "tick! tack!" and the finger moved round;

but as they entered, they remarked that they were now grown up. The roses on the leads hung blooming in at


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the open window; there stood the little children's chairs, and Kay and Gerda sat down on them, holding each

other by the hand; they both had forgotten the cold empty splendor of the Snow Queen, as though it had been

a dream. The grandmother sat in the bright sunshine, and read aloud from the Bible: "Unless ye become as

little children, ye cannot enter the kingdom of heaven."

And Kay and Gerda looked in each other's eyes, and all at once they understood the old hymn:

"The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, And angels descend there the children to greet."

There sat the two grownup persons; grownup, and yet children; children at least in heart; and it was

summertime; summer, glorious summer!

THE LEAPFROG

A Flea, a Grasshopper, and a Leapfrog once wanted to see which could jump highest; and they invited the

whole world, and everybody else besides who chose to come to see the festival. Three famous jumpers were

they, as everyone would say, when they all met together in the room.

"I will give my daughter to him who jumps highest," exclaimed the King; "for it is not so amusing where

there is no prize to jump for."

The Flea was the first to step forward. He had exquisite manners, and bowed to the company on all sides; for

he had noble blood, and was, moreover, accustomed to the society of man alone; and that makes a great

difference.

Then came the Grasshopper. He was considerably heavier, but he was wellmannered, and wore a green

uniform, which he had by right of birth; he said, moreover, that he belonged to a very ancient Egyptian

family, and that in the house where he then was, he was thought much of. The fact was, he had been just

brought out of the fields, and put in a pasteboard house, three stories high, all made of courtcards, with the

colored side inwards; and doors and windows cut out of the body of the Queen of Hearts. "I sing so well,"

said he, "that sixteen native grasshoppers who have chirped from infancy, and yet got no house built of cards

to live in, grew thinner than they were before for sheer vexation when they heard me."

It was thus that the Flea and the Grasshopper gave an account of themselves, and thought they were quite

good enough to marry a Princess.

The Leapfrog said nothing; but people gave it as their opinion, that he therefore thought the more; and when

the housedog snuffed at him with his nose, he confessed the Leapfrog was of good family. The old

councillor, who had had three orders given him to make him hold his tongue, asserted that the Leapfrog was

a prophet; for that one could see on his back, if there would be a severe or mild winter, and that was what one

could not see even on the back of the man who writes the almanac.

"I say nothing, it is true," exclaimed the King; "but I have my own opinion, notwithstanding."

Now the trial was to take place. The Flea jumped so high that nobody could see where he went to; so they all

asserted he had not jumped at all; and that was dishonorable.

The Grasshopper jumped only half as high; but he leaped into the King's face, who said that was

illmannered.

The Leapfrog stood still for a long time lost in thought; it was believed at last he would not jump at all.


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"I only hope he is not unwell," said the housedog; when, pop! he made a jump all on one side into the lap of

the Princess, who was sitting on a little golden stool close by.

Hereupon the King said, "There is nothing above my daughter; therefore to bound up to her is the highest

jump that can be made; but for this, one must possess understanding, and the Leapfrog has shown that he

has understanding. He is brave and intellectual."

And so he won the Princess.

"It's all the same to me," said the Flea. "She may have the old Leapfrog, for all I care. I jumped the highest;

but in this world merit seldom meets its reward. A fine exterior is what people look at nowadays."

The Flea then went into foreign service, where, it is said, he was killed.

The Grasshopper sat without on a green bank, and reflected on worldly things; and he said too, "Yes, a fine

exterior is everythinga fine exterior is what people care about." And then he began chirping his peculiar

melancholy song, from which we have taken this history; and which may, very possibly, be all untrue,

although it does stand here printed in black and white.

THE ELDERBUSH

Once upon a time there was a little boy who had taken cold. He had gone out and got his feet wet; though

nobody could imagine how it had happened, for it was quite dry weather. So his mother undressed him, put

him to bed, and had the teapot brought in, to make him a good cup of Elderflower tea. Just at that moment

the merry old man came in who lived up atop of the house all alone; for he had neither wife nor

childrenbut he liked children very much, and knew so many fairy tales, that it was quite delightful.

"Now drink your tea," said the boy's mother; "then, perhaps, you may hear a fairy tale."

"If I had but something new to tell," said the old man. "But how did the child get his feet wet?"

"That is the very thing that nobody can make out," said his mother.

"Am I to hear a fairy tale?" asked the little boy.

"Yes, if you can tell me exactlyfor I must know that firsthow deep the gutter is in the little street

opposite, that you pass through in going to school."

"Just up to the middle of my boot," said the child; "but then I must go into the deep hole."

"Ali, ah! That's where the wet feet came from," said the old man. "I ought now to tell you a story; but I don't

know any more."

"You can make one in a moment," said the little boy. "My mother says that all you look at can be turned into

a fairy tale: and that you can find a story in everything."

"Yes, but such tales and stories are good for nothing. The right sort come of themselves; they tap at my

forehead and say, 'Here we are.'"

"Won't there be a tap soon?" asked the little boy. And his mother laughed, put some Elderflowers in the

teapot, and poured boiling water upon them.


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"Do tell me something! Pray do!"

"Yes, if a fairy tale would come of its own accord; but they are proud and haughty, and come only when they

choose. Stop!" said he, all on a sudden. "I have it! Pay attention! There is one in the teapot!"

And the little boy looked at the teapot. The cover rose more and more; and the Elderflowers came forth so

fresh and white, and shot up long branches. Out of the spout even did they spread themselves on all sides, and

grew larger and larger; it was a splendid Elderbush, a whole tree; and it reached into the very bed, and pushed

the curtains aside. How it bloomed! And what an odour! In the middle of the bush sat a friendlylooking old

woman in a most strange dress. It was quite green, like the leaves of the elder, and was trimmed with large

white Elderflowers; so that at first one could not tell whether it was a stuff, or a natural green and real

flowers.

"What's that woman's name?" asked the little boy.

"The Greeks and Romans," said the old man, "called her a Dryad; but that we do not understand. The people

who live in the New Booths* have a much better name for her; they call her 'old Granny'and she it is to

whom you are to pay attention. Now listen, and look at the beautiful Elderbush.

* A row of buildings for seamen in Copenhagen.

"Just such another large blooming Elder Tree stands near the New Booths. It grew there in the corner of a

little miserable courtyard; and under it sat, of an afternoon, in the most splendid sunshine, two old people;

an old, old seaman, and his old, old wife. They had greatgrandchildren, and were soon to celebrate the

fiftieth anniversary of their marriage; but they could not exactly recollect the date: and old Granny sat in the

tree, and looked as pleased as now. 'I know the date,' said she; but those below did not hear her, for they were

talking about old times.

"'Yes, can't you remember when we were very little,' said the old seaman, 'and ran and played about? It was

the very same courtyard where we now are, and we stuck slips in the ground, and made a garden.'

"'I remember it well,' said the old woman; 'I remember it quite well. We watered the slips, and one of them

was an Elderbush. It took root, put forth green shoots, and grew up to be the large tree under which we old

folks are now sitting.'

"'To be sure,' said he. 'And there in the corner stood a waterpail, where I used to swim my boats.'

"'True; but first we went to school to learn somewhat,' said she; 'and then we were confirmed. We both cried;

but in the afternoon we went up the Round Tower, and looked down on Copenhagen, and far, far away over

the water; then we went to Friedericksberg, where the King and the Queen were sailing about in their

splendid barges.'

"'But I had a different sort of sailing to that, later; and that, too, for many a year; a long way off, on great

voyages.'

"'Yes, many a time have I wept for your sake,' said she. 'I thought you were dead and gone, and lying down in

the deep waters. Many a night have I got up to see if the wind had not changed: and changed it had, sure

enough; but you never came. I remember so well one day, when the rain was pouring down in torrents, the

scavengers were before the house where I was in service, and I had come up with the dust, and remained

standing at the doorit was dreadful weatherwhen just as I was there, the postman came and gave me a

letter. It was from you! What a tour that letter had made! I opened it instantly and read: I laughed and wept. I


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was so happy. In it I read that you were in warm lands where the coffeetree grows. What a blessed land that

must be! You related so much, and I saw it all the while the rain was pouring down, and I standing there with

the dustbox. At the same moment came someone who embraced me.'

"'Yes; but you gave him a good box on his ear that made it tingle!'

"'But I did not know it was you. You arrived as soon as your letter, and you were so handsomethat you still

areand had a long yellow silk handkerchief round your neck, and a bran new hat on; oh, you were so

dashing! Good heavens! What weather it was, and what a state the street was in!'

"'And then we married,' said he. 'Don't you remember? And then we had our first little boy, and then Mary,

and Nicholas, and Peter, and Christian.'

"'Yes, and how they all grew up to be honest people, and were beloved by everybody.'

" 'And their children also have children,' said the old sailor; 'yes, those are our grandchildren, full of strength

and vigor. It was, methinks about this season that we had our wedding.'

"'Yes, this very day is the fiftieth anniversary of the marriage,' said old Granny, sticking her head between the

two old people; who thought it was their neighbor who nodded to them. They looked at each other and held

one another by the hand. Soon after came their children, and their grandchildren; for they knew well enough

that it was the day of the fiftieth anniversary, and had come with their gratulations that very morning; but the

old people had forgotten it, although they were able to remember all that had happened many years ago. And

the Elderbush sent forth a strong odour in the sun, that was just about to set, and shone right in the old

people's faces. They both looked so rosycheeked; and the youngest of the grandchildren danced around

them, and called out quite delighted, that there was to be something very splendid that eveningthey were

all to have hot potatoes. And old Nanny nodded in the bush, and shouted 'hurrah!' with the rest."

"But that is no fairy tale," said the little boy, who was listening to the story.

"The thing is, you must understand it," said the narrator; "let us ask old Nanny."

"That was no fairy tale, 'tis true," said old Nanny; "but now it's coming. The most wonderful fairy tales grow

out of that which is reality; were that not the case, you know, my magnificent Elderbush could not have

grown out of the teapot." And then she took the little boy out of bed, laid him on her bosom, and the

branches of the Elder Tree, full of flowers, closed around her. They sat in an aerial dwelling, and it flew with

them through the air. Oh, it was wondrous beautiful! Old Nanny had grown all of a sudden a young and

pretty maiden; but her robe was still the same green stuff with white flowers, which she had worn before. On

her bosom she had a real Elderflower, and in her yellow waving hair a wreath of the flowers; her eyes were

so large and blue that it was a pleasure to look at them; she kissed the boy, and now they were of the same

age and felt alike.

Hand in hand they went out of the bower, and they were standing in the beautiful garden of their home. Near

the green lawn papa's walkingstick was tied, and for the little ones it seemed to be endowed with life; for as

soon as they got astride it, the round polished knob was turned into a magnificent neighing head, a long black

mane fluttered in the breeze, and four slender yet strong legs shot out. The animal was strong and handsome,

and away they went at full gallop round the lawn.

"Huzza! Now we are riding miles off," said the boy. "We are riding away to the castle where we were last

year!"


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And on they rode round the grassplot; and the little maiden, who, we know, was no one else but old Nanny,

kept on crying out, "Now we are in the country! Don't you see the farmhouse yonder? And there is an Elder

Tree standing beside it; and the cock is scraping away the earth for the hens, look, how he struts! And now

we are close to the church. It lies high upon the hill, between the large oaktrees, one of which is half

decayed. And now we are by the smithy, where the fire is blazing, and where the halfnaked men are banging

with their hammers till the sparks fly about. Away! away! To the beautiful countryseat!"

And all that the little maiden, who sat behind on the stick, spoke of, flew by in reality. The boy saw it all, and

yet they were only going round the grassplot. Then they played in a side avenue, and marked out a little

garden on the earth; and they took Elderblossoms from their hair, planted them, and they grew just like

those the old people planted when they were children, as related before. They went hand in hand, as the old

people had done when they were children; but not to the Round Tower, or to Friedericksberg; no, the little

damsel wound her arms round the boy, and then they flew far away through all Denmark. And spring came,

and summer; and then it was autumn, and then winter; and a thousand pictures were reflected in the eye and

in the heart of the boy; and the little girl always sang to him, "This you will never forget." And during their

whole flight the Elder Tree smelt so sweet and odorous; he remarked the roses and the fresh beeches, but the

Elder Tree had a more wondrous fragrance, for its flowers hung on the breast of the little maiden; and there,

too, did he often lay his head during the flight.

"It is lovely here in spring!" said the young maiden. And they stood in a beechwood that had just put on its

first green, where the woodroof* at their feet sent forth its fragrance, and the palered anemony looked so

pretty among the verdure. "Oh, would it were always spring in the sweetlysmelling Danish beechforests!"

* Asperula odorata.

"It is lovely here in summer!" said she. And she flew past old castles of bygone days of chivalry, where the

red walls and the embattled gables were mirrored in the canal, where the swans were swimming, and peered

up into the old cool avenues. In the fields the corn was waving like the sea; in the ditches red and yellow

flowers were growing; while wilddrone flowers, and blooming convolvuluses were creeping in the hedges;

and towards evening the moon rose round and large, and the haycocks in the meadows smelt so sweetly.

"This one never forgets!"

"It is lovely here in autumn!" said the little maiden. And suddenly the atmosphere grew as blue again as

before; the forest grew red, and green, and yellowcolored. The dogs came leaping along, and whole flocks

of wildfowl flew over the cairn, where blackberrybushes were hanging round the old stones. The sea was

dark blue, covered with ships full of white sails; and in the barn old women, maidens, and children were

sitting picking hops into a large cask; the young sang songs, but the old told fairy tales of mountainsprites

and soothsayers. Nothing could be more charming.

"It is delightful here in winter!" said the little maiden. And all the trees were covered with hoarfrost; they

looked like white corals; the snow crackled under foot, as if one had new boots on; and one falling star after

the other was seen in the sky. The Christmastree was lighted in the room; presents were there, and

goodhumor reigned. In the country the violin sounded in the room of the peasant; the newlybaked cakes

were attacked; even the poorest child said, "It is really delightful here in winter!"

Yes, it was delightful; and the little maiden showed the boy everything; and the Elder Tree still was fragrant,

and the red flag, with the white cross, was still waving: the flag under which the old seaman in the New

Booths had sailed. And the boy grew up to be a lad, and was to go forth in the wide worldfar, far away to

warm lands, where the coffeetree grows; but at his departure the little maiden took an Elderblossom from

her bosom, and gave it him to keep; and it was placed between the leaves of his PrayerBook; and when in

foreign lands he opened the book, it was always at the place where the keepsakeflower lay; and the more he


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looked at it, the fresher it became; he felt as it were, the fragrance of the Danish groves; and from among the

leaves of the flowers he could distinctly see the little maiden, peeping forth with her bright blue eyesand

then she whispered, "It is delightful here in Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter"; and a hundred visions

glided before his mind.

Thus passed many years, and he was now an old man, and sat with his old wife under the blooming tree.

They held each other by the hand, as the old grandfather and grandmother yonder in the New Booths did,

and they talked exactly like them of old times, and of the fiftieth anniversary of their wedding. The little

maiden, with the blue eyes, and with Elderblossoms in her hair, sat in the tree, nodded to both of them, and

said, "Today is the fiftieth anniversary!" And then she took two flowers out of her hair, and kissed them.

First, they shone like silver, then like gold; and when they laid them on the heads of the old people, each

flower became a golden crown. So there they both sat, like a king and a queen, under the fragrant tree, that

looked exactly like an elder: the old man told his wife the story of "Old Nanny," as it had been told him when

a boy. And it seemed to both of them it contained much that resembled their own history; and those parts that

were like it pleased them best.

"Thus it is," said the little maiden in the tree, "some call me 'Old Nanny,' others a 'Dryad,' but, in reality, my

name is 'Remembrance'; 'tis I who sit in the tree that grows and grows! I can remember; I can tell things! Let

me see if you have my flower still?"

And the old man opened his PrayerBook. There lay the Elderblossom, as fresh as if it had been placed

there but a short time before; and Remembrance nodded, and the old people, decked with crowns of gold, sat

in the flush of the evening sun. They closed their eyes, andand! Yes, that's the end of the story!

The little boy lay in his bed; he did not know if he had dreamed or not, or if he had been listening while

someone told him the story. The teapot was standing on the table, but no Elder Tree was growing out of it!

And the old man, who had been talking, was just on the point of going out at the door, and he did go.

"How splendid that was!" said the little boy. "Mother, I have been to warm countries."

"So I should think," said his mother. "When one has drunk two good cupfuls of Elderflower tea, 'tis likely

enough one goes into warm climates"; and she tucked him up nicely, least he should take cold. "You have

had a good sleep while I have been sitting here, and arguing with him whether it was a story or a fairy tale."

"And where is old Nanny?" asked the little boy.

"In the teapot," said his mother; "and there she may remain."

THE BELL

People said "The Evening Bell is sounding, the sun is setting." For a strange wondrous tone was heard in the

narrow streets of a large town. It was like the sound of a churchbell: but it was only heard for a moment, for

the rolling of the carriages and the voices of the multitude made too great a noise.

Those persons who were walking outside the town, where the houses were farther apart, with gardens or little

fields between them, could see the evening sky still better, and heard the sound of the bell much more

distinctly. It was as if the tones came from a church in the still forest; people looked thitherward, and felt

their minds attuned most solemnly.

A long time passed, and people said to each other"I wonder if there is a church out in the wood? The bell

has a tone that is wondrous sweet; let us stroll thither, and examine the matter nearer." And the rich people


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drove out, and the poor walked, but the way seemed strangely long to them; and when they came to a clump

of willows which grew on the skirts of the forest, they sat down, and looked up at the long branches, and

fancied they were now in the depth of the green wood. The confectioner of the town came out, and set up his

booth there; and soon after came another confectioner, who hung a bell over his stand, as a sign or ornament,

but it had no clapper, and it was tarred over to preserve it from the rain. When all the people returned home,

they said it had been very romantic, and that it was quite a different sort of thing to a picnic or teaparty.

There were three persons who asserted they had penetrated to the end of the forest, and that they had always

heard the wonderful sounds of the bell, but it had seemed to them as if it had come from the town. One wrote

a whole poem about it, and said the bell sounded like the voice of a mother to a good dear child, and that no

melody was sweeter than the tones of the bell. The king of the country was also observant of it, and vowed

that he who could discover whence the sounds proceeded, should have the title of "Universal Bellringer,"

even if it were not really a bell.

Many persons now went to the wood, for the sake of getting the place, but one only returned with a sort of

explanation; for nobody went far enough, that one not further than the others. However, he said that the sound

proceeded from a very large owl, in a hollow tree; a sort of learned owl, that continually knocked its head

against the branches. But whether the sound came from his head or from the hollow tree, that no one could

say with certainty. So now he got the place of "Universal Bellringer," and wrote yearly a short treatise "On

the Owl"; but everybody was just as wise as before.

It was the day of confirmation. The clergyman had spoken so touchingly, the children who were confirmed

had been greatly moved; it was an eventful day for them; from children they become all at once

grownuppersons; it was as if their infant souls were now to fly all at once into persons with more

understanding. The sun was shining gloriously; the children that had been confirmed went out of the town;

and from the wood was borne towards them the sounds of the unknown bell with wonderful distinctness.

They all immediately felt a wish to go thither; all except three. One of them had to go home to try on a

balldress; for it was just the dress and the ball which had caused her to be confirmed this time, for otherwise

she would not have come; the other was a poor boy, who had borrowed his coat and boots to be confirmed in

from the innkeeper's son, and he was to give them back by a certain hour; the third said that he never went to

a strange place if his parents were not with himthat he had always been a good boy hitherto, and would

still be so now that he was confirmed, and that one ought not to laugh at him for it: the others, however, did

make fun of him, after all.

There were three, therefore, that did not go; the others hastened on. The sun shone, the birds sang, and the

children sang too, and each held the other by the hand; for as yet they had none of them any high office, and

were all of equal rank in the eye of God.

But two of the youngest soon grew tired, and both returned to town; two little girls sat down, and twined

garlands, so they did not go either; and when the others reached the willowtree, where the confectioner was,

they said, "Now we are there! In reality the bell does not exist; it is only a fancy that people have taken into

their heads!"

At the same moment the bell sounded deep in the wood, so clear and solemnly that five or six determined to

penetrate somewhat further. It was so thick, and the foliage so dense, that it was quite fatiguing to proceed.

Woodroof and anemonies grew almost too high; blooming convolvuluses and blackberrybushes hung in

long garlands from tree to tree, where the nightingale sang and the sunbeams were playing: it was very

beautiful, but it was no place for girls to go; their clothes would get so torn. Large blocks of stone lay there,

overgrown with moss of every color; the fresh spring bubbled forth, and made a strange gurgling sound.

"That surely cannot be the bell," said one of the children, lying down and listening. "This must be looked to."

So he remained, and let the others go on without him.


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They afterwards came to a little house, made of branches and the bark of trees; a large wild appletree bent

over it, as if it would shower down all its blessings on the roof, where roses were blooming. The long stems

twined round the gable, on which there hung a small bell.

Was it that which people had heard? Yes, everybody was unanimous on the subject, except one, who said that

the bell was too small and too fine to be heard at so great a distance, and besides it was very different tones to

those that could move a human heart in such a manner. It was a king's son who spoke; whereon the others

said, "Such people always want to be wiser than everybody else."

They now let him go on alone; and as he went, his breast was filled more and more with the forest solitude;

but he still heard the little bell with which the others were so satisfied, and now and then, when the wind

blew, he could also hear the people singing who were sitting at tea where the confectioner had his tent; but

the deep sound of the bell rose louder; it was almost as if an organ were accompanying it, and the tones came

from the left hand, the side where the heart is placed. A rustling was heard in the bushes, and a little boy

stood before the King's Son, a boy in wooden shoes, and with so short a jacket that one could see what long

wrists he had. Both knew each other: the boy was that one among the children who could not come because

he had to go home and return his jacket and boots to the innkeeper's son. This he had done, and was now

going on in wooden shoes and in his humble dress, for the bell sounded with so deep a tone, and with such

strange power, that proceed he must.

"Why, then, we can go together," said the King's Son. But the poor child that had been confirmed was quite

ashamed; he looked at his wooden shoes, pulled at the short sleeves of his jacket, and said that he was afraid

he could not walk so fast; besides, he thought that the bell must be looked for to the right; for that was the

place where all sorts of beautiful things were to be found.

"But there we shall not meet," said the King's Son, nodding at the same time to the poor boy, who went into

the darkest, thickest part of the wood, where thorns tore his humble dress, and scratched his face and hands

and feet till they bled. The King's Son got some scratches too; but the sun shone on his path, and it is him that

we will follow, for he was an excellent and resolute youth.

"I must and will find the bell," said he, "even if I am obliged to go to the end of the world."

The ugly apes sat upon the trees, and grinned. "Shall we thrash him?" said they. "Shall we thrash him? He is

the son of a king!"

But on he went, without being disheartened, deeper and deeper into the wood, where the most wonderful

flowers were growing. There stood white lilies with bloodred stamina, skyblue tulips, which shone as they

waved in the winds, and appletrees, the apples of which looked exactly like large soapbubbles: so only think

how the trees must have sparkled in the sunshine! Around the nicest green meads, where the deer were

playing in the grass, grew magnificent oaks and beeches; and if the bark of one of the trees was cracked, there

grass and long creeping plants grew in the crevices. And there were large calm lakes there too, in which white

swans were swimming, and beat the air with their wings. The King's Son often stood still and listened. He

thought the bell sounded from the depths of these still lakes; but then he remarked again that the tone

proceeded not from there, but farther off, from out the depths of the forest.

The sun now set: the atmosphere glowed like fire. It was still in the woods, so very still; and he fell on his

knees, sung his evening hymn, and said: "I cannot find what I seek; the sun is going down, and night is

comingthe dark, dark night. Yet perhaps I may be able once more to see the round red sun before he

entirely disappears. I will climb up yonder rock."


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And he seized hold of the creepingplants, and the roots of treesclimbed up the moist stones where the

watersnakes were writhing and the toads were croakingand he gained the summit before the sun had quite

gone down. How magnificent was the sight from this height! The seathe great, the glorious sea, that

dashed its long waves against the coastwas stretched out before him. And yonder, where sea and sky meet,

stood the sun, like a large shining altar, all melted together in the most glowing colors. And the wood and the

sea sang a song of rejoicing, and his heart sang with the rest: all nature was a vast holy church, in which the

trees and the buoyant clouds were the pillars, flowers and grass the velvet carpeting, and heaven itself the

large cupola. The red colors above faded away as the sun vanished, but a million stars were lighted, a million

lamps shone; and the King's Son spread out his arms towards heaven, and wood, and sea; when at the same

moment, coming by a path to the right, appeared, in his wooden shoes and jacket, the poor boy who had been

confirmed with him. He had followed his own path, and had reached the spot just as soon as the son of the

king had done. They ran towards each other, and stood together hand in hand in the vast church of nature and

of poetry, while over them sounded the invisible holy bell: blessed spirits floated around them, and lifted up

their voices in a rejoicing hallelujah!

THE OLD HOUSE

In the street, up there, was an old, a very old houseit was almost three hundred years old, for that might be

known by reading the great beam on which the date of the year was carved: together with tulips and

hopbinds there were whole verses spelled as in former times, and over every window was a distorted face

cut out in the beam. The one story stood forward a great way over the other; and directly under the eaves was

a leaden spout with a dragon's head; the rainwater should have run out of the mouth, but it ran out of the

belly, for there was a hole in the spout.

All the other houses in the street were so new and so neat, with large window panes and smooth walls, one

could easily see that they would have nothing to do with the old house: they certainly thought, "How long is

that old decayed thing to stand here as a spectacle in the street? And then the projecting windows stand so far

out, that no one can see from our windows what happens in that direction! The steps are as broad as those of a

palace, and as high as to a church tower. The iron railings look just like the door to an old family vault, and

then they have brass topsthat's so stupid!"

On the other side of the street were also new and neat houses, and they thought just as the others did; but at

the window opposite the old house there sat a little boy with fresh rosy cheeks and bright beaming eyes: he

certainly liked the old house best, and that both in sunshine and moonshine. And when he looked across at

the wall where the mortar had fallen out, he could sit and find out there the strangest figures imaginable;

exactly as the street had appeared before, with steps, projecting windows, and pointed gables; he could see

soldiers with halberds, and spouts where the water ran, like dragons and serpents. That was a house to look

at; and there lived an old man, who wore plush breeches; and he had a coat with large brass buttons, and a

wig that one could see was a real wig. Every morning there came an old fellow to him who put his rooms in

order, and went on errands; otherwise, the old man in the plush breeches was quite alone in the old house.

Now and then he came to the window and looked out, and the little boy nodded to him, and the old man

nodded again, and so they became acquaintances, and then they were friends, although they had never spoken

to each otherbut that made no difference. The little boy heard his parents say, "The old man opposite is

very well off, but he is so very, very lonely!"

The Sunday following, the little boy took something, and wrapped it up in a piece of paper, went downstairs,

and stood in the doorway; and when the man who went on errands came past, he said to him

"I say, master! will you give this to the old man over the way from me? I have two pewter soldiersthis is

one of them, and he shall have it, for I know he is so very, very lonely."


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And the old errand man looked quite pleased, nodded, and took the pewter soldier over to the old house.

Afterwards there came a message; it was to ask if the little boy himself had not a wish to come over and pay a

visit; and so he got permission of his parents, and then went over to the old house.

And the brass balls on the iron railings shone much brighter than ever; one would have thought they were

polished on account of the visit; and it was as if the carvedout trumpetersfor there were trumpeters, who

stood in tulips, carved out on the doorblew with all their might, their cheeks appeared so much rounder

than before. Yes, they blew"Trateratra! The little boy comes! Trateratra!"and then the door opened.

The whole passage was hung with portraits of knights in armor, and ladies in silken gowns; and the armor

rattled, and the silken gowns rustled! And then there was a flight of stairs which went a good way upwards,

and a little way downwards, and then one came on a balcony which was in a very dilapidated state, sure

enough, with large holes and long crevices, but grass grew there and leaves out of them altogether, for the

whole balcony outside, the yard, and the walls, were overgrown with so much green stuff, that it looked like a

garden; only a balcony. Here stood old flowerpots with faces and asses' ears, and the flowers grew just as

they liked. One of the pots was quite overrun on all sides with pinks, that is to say, with the green part; shoot

stood by shoot, and it said quite distinctly, "The air has cherished me, the sun has kissed me, and promised

me a little flower on Sunday! a little flower on Sunday!"

And then they entered a chamber where the walls were covered with hog's leather, and printed with gold

flowers.

"The gilding decays, But hog's leather stays!"

said the walls.

And there stood easychairs, with such high backs, and so carved out, and with arms on both sides. "Sit

down! sit down!" said they. "Ugh! how I creak; now I shall certainly get the gout, like the old clothespress,

ugh!"

And then the little boy came into the room where the projecting windows were, and where the old man sat.

"I thank you for the pewter soldier, my little friend!" said the old man. "And I thank you because you come

over to me."

"Thankee! thankee!" or "cranky! cranky!" sounded from all the furniture; there was so much of it, that each

article stood in the other's way, to get a look at the little boy.

In the middle of the wall hung a picture representing a beautiful lady, so young, so glad, but dressed quite as

in former times, with clothes that stood quite stiff, and with powder in her hair; she neither said "thankee,

thankee!" nor "cranky, cranky!" but looked with her mild eyes at the little boy, who directly asked the old

man, "Where did you get her?"

"Yonder, at the broker's," said the old man, "where there are so many pictures hanging. No one knows or

cares about them, for they are all of them buried; but I knew her in bygone days, and now she has been dead

and gone these fifty years!"

Under the picture, in a glazed frame, there hung a bouquet of withered flowers; they were almost fifty years

old; they looked so very old!


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The pendulum of the great clock went to and fro, and the hands turned, and everything in the room became

still older; but they did not observe it.

"They say at home," said the little boy, "that you are so very, very lonely!"

"Oh!" said he. "The old thoughts, with what they may bring with them, come and visit me, and now you also

come! I am very well off!"

Then he took a book with pictures in it down from the shelf; there were whole long processions and pageants,

with the strangest characters, which one never sees nowadays; soldiers like the knave of clubs, and citizens

with waving flags: the tailors had theirs, with a pair of shears held by two lionsand the shoemakers theirs,

without boots, but with an eagle that had two heads, for the shoemakers must have everything so that they can

say, it is a pair! Yes, that was a picture book!

The old man now went into the other room to fetch preserves, apples, and nutsyes, it was delightful over

there in the old house.

"I cannot bear it any longer!" said the pewter soldier, who sat on the drawers. "It is so lonely and melancholy

here! But when one has been in a family circle one cannot accustom oneself to this life! I cannot bear it any

longer! The whole day is so long, and the evenings are still longer! Here it is not at all as it is over the way at

your home, where your father and mother spoke so pleasantly, and where you and all your sweet children

made such a delightful noise. Nay, how lonely the old man isdo you think that he gets kisses? Do you

think he gets mild eyes, or a Christmas tree? He will get nothing but a grave! I can bear it no longer!"

"You must not let it grieve you so much," said the little boy. "I find it so very delightful here, and then all the

old thoughts, with what they may bring with them, they come and visit here."

"Yes, it's all very well, but I see nothing of them, and I don't know them!" said the pewter soldier. "I cannot

bear it!"

"But you must!" said the little boy.

Then in came the old man with the most pleased and happy face, the most delicious preserves, apples, and

nuts, and so the little boy thought no more about the pewter soldier.

The little boy returned home happy and pleased, and weeks and days passed away, and nods were made to the

old house, and from the old house, and then the little boy went over there again.

The carved trumpeters blew, "Trateratra! There is the little boy! Trateratra!" and the swords and armor on the

knights' portraits rattled, and the silk gowns rustled; the hog's leather spoke, and the old chairs had the gout in

their legs and rheumatism in their backs: Ugh! it was exactly like the first time, for over there one day and

hour was just like another.

"I cannot bear it!" said the pewter soldier. "I have shed pewter tears! It is too melancholy! Rather let me go to

the wars and lose arms and legs! It would at least be a change. I cannot bear it longer! Now, I know what it is

to have a visit from one's old thoughts, with what they may bring with them! I have had a visit from mine,

and you may be sure it is no pleasant thing in the end; I was at last about to jump down from the drawers.

"I saw you all over there at home so distinctly, as if you really were here; it was again that Sunday morning;

all you children stood before the table and sung your Psalms, as you do every morning. You stood devoutly

with folded hands; and father and mother were just as pious; and then the door was opened, and little sister


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Mary, who is not two years old yet, and who always dances when she hears music or singing, of whatever

kind it may be, was put into the roomthough she ought not to have been thereand then she began to

dance, but could not keep time, because the tones were so long; and then she stood, first on the one leg, and

bent her head forwards, and then on the other leg, and bent her head forwardsbut all would not do. You

stood very seriously all together, although it was difficult enough; but I laughed to myself, and then I fell off

the table, and got a bump, which I have stillfor it was not right of me to laugh. But the whole now passes

before me again in thought, and everything that I have lived to see; and these are the old thoughts, with what

they may bring with them.

"Tell me if you still sing on Sundays? Tell me something about little Mary! And how my comrade, the other

pewter soldier, lives! Yes, he is happy enough, that's sure! I cannot bear it any longer!"

"You are given away as a present!" said the little boy. "You must remain. Can you not understand that?"

The old man now came with a drawer, in which there was much to be seen, both "tin boxes" and "balsam

boxes," old cards, so large and so gilded, such as one never sees them now. And several drawers were

opened, and the piano was opened; it had landscapes on the inside of the lid, and it was so hoarse when the

old man played on it! and then he hummed a song.

"Yes, she could sing that!" said he, and nodded to the portrait, which he had bought at the broker's, and the

old man's eyes shone so bright!

"I will go to the wars! I will go to the wars!" shouted the pewter soldier as loud as he could, and threw

himself off the drawers right down on the floor. What became of him? The old man sought, and the little boy

sought; he was away, and he stayed away.

"I shall find him!" said the old man; but he never found him. The floor was too openthe pewter soldier had

fallen through a crevice, and there he lay as in an open tomb.

That day passed, and the little boy went home, and that week passed, and several weeks too. The windows

were quite frozen, the little boy was obliged to sit and breathe on them to get a peephole over to the old

house, and there the snow had been blown into all the carved work and inscriptions; it lay quite up over the

steps, just as if there was no one at homenor was there any one at homethe old man was dead!

In the evening there was a hearse seen before the door, and he was borne into it in his coffin: he was now to

go out into the country, to lie in his grave. He was driven out there, but no one followed; all his friends were

dead, and the little boy kissed his hand to the coffin as it was driven away.

Some days afterwards there was an auction at the old house, and the little boy saw from his window how they

carried the old knights and the old ladies away, the flowerpots with the long ears, the old chairs, and the old

clothespresses. Something came here, and something came there; the portrait of her who had been found at

the broker's came to the broker's again; and there it hung, for no one knew her moreno one cared about the

old picture.

In the spring they pulled the house down, for, as people said, it was a ruin. One could see from the street right

into the room with the hog'sleather hanging, which was slashed and torn; and the green grass and leaves

about the balcony hung quite wild about the falling beams. And then it was put to rights.

"That was a relief," said the neighboring houses.


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A fine house was built there, with large windows, and smooth white walls; but before it, where the old house

had in fact stood, was a little garden laid out, and a wild grapevine ran up the wall of the neighboring house.

Before the garden there was a large iron railing with an iron door, it looked quite splendid, and people stood

still and peeped in, and the sparrows hung by scores in the vine, and chattered away at each other as well as

they could, but it was not about the old house, for they could not remember it, so many years had passedso

many that the little boy had grown up to a whole man, yes, a clever man, and a pleasure to his parents; and he

had just been married, and, together with his little wife, had come to live in the house here, where the garden

was; and he stood by her there whilst she planted a fieldflower that she found so pretty; she planted it with

her little hand, and pressed the earth around it with her fingers. Oh! what was that? She had stuck herself.

There sat something pointed, straight out of the soft mould.

It wasyes, guess! It was the pewter soldier, he that was lost up at the old man's, and had tumbled and

turned about amongst the timber and the rubbish, and had at last laid for many years in the ground.

The young wife wiped the dirt off the soldier, first with a green leaf, and then with her fine handkerchiefit

had such a delightful smell, that it was to the pewter soldier just as if he had awaked from a trance.

"Let me see him," said the young man. He laughed, and then shook his head. "Nay, it cannot be he; but he

reminds me of a story about a pewter soldier which I had when I was a little boy!" And then he told his wife

about the old house, and the old man, and about the pewter soldier that he sent over to him because he was so

very, very lonely; and he told it as correctly as it had really been, so that the tears came into the eyes of his

young wife, on account of the old house and the old man.

"It may possibly be, however, that it is the same pewter soldier!" said she. "I will take care of it, and

remember all that you have told me; but you must show me the old man's grave!"

"But I do not know it," said he, "and no one knows it! All his friends were dead, no one took care of it, and I

was then a little boy!"

"How very, very lonely he must have been!" said she.

"Very, very lonely!" said the pewter soldier. "But it is delightful not to be forgotten!"

"Delightful!" shouted something close by; but no one, except the pewter soldier, saw that it was a piece of the

hog'sleather hangings; it had lost all its gilding, it looked like a piece of wet clay, but it had an opinion, and

it gave it:

"The gilding decays, But hog's leather stays!"

This the pewter soldier did not believe.

THE HAPPY FAMILY

Really, the largest green leaf in this country is a dockleaf; if one holds it before one, it is like a whole apron,

and if one holds it over one's head in rainy weather, it is almost as good as an umbrella, for it is so immensely

large. The burdock never grows alone, but where there grows one there always grow several: it is a great

delight, and all this delightfulness is snails' food. The great white snails which persons of quality in former

times made fricassees of, ate, and said, "Hem, hem! how delicious!" for they thought it tasted so

delicatelived on dockleaves, and therefore burdock seeds were sown.


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Now, there was an old manorhouse, where they no longer ate snails, they were quite extinct; but the

burdocks were not extinct, they grew and grew all over the walks and all the beds; they could not get the

mastery over themit was a whole forest of burdocks. Here and there stood an apple and a plumtree, or

else one never would have thought that it was a garden; all was burdocks, and there lived the two last

venerable old snails.

They themselves knew not how old they were, but they could remember very well that there had been many

more; that they were of a family from foreign lands, and that for them and theirs the whole forest was

planted. They had never been outside it, but they knew that there was still something more in the world,

which was called the manorhouse, and that there they were boiled, and then they became black, and were

then placed on a silver dish; but what happened further they knew not; or, in fact, what it was to be boiled,

and to lie on a silver dish, they could not possibly imagine; but it was said to be delightful, and particularly

genteel. Neither the chafers, the toads, nor the earthworms, whom they asked about it could give them any

informationnone of them had been boiled or laid on a silver dish.

The old white snails were the first persons of distinction in the world, that they knew; the forest was planted

for their sake, and the manorhouse was there that they might be boiled and laid on a silver dish.

Now they lived a very lonely and happy life; and as they had no children themselves, they had adopted a little

common snail, which they brought up as their own; but the little one would not grow, for he was of a

common family; but the old ones, especially Dame Mother Snail, thought they could observe how he

increased in size, and she begged father, if he could not see it, that he would at least feel the little snail's shell;

and then he felt it, and found the good dame was right.

One day there was a heavy storm of rain.

"Hear how it beats like a drum on the dockleaves!" said Father Snail.

"There are also raindrops!" said Mother Snail. "And now the rain pours right down the stalk! You will see

that it will be wet here! I am very happy to think that we have our good house, and the little one has his also!

There is more done for us than for all other creatures, sure enough; but can you not see that we are folks of

quality in the world? We are provided with a house from our birth, and the burdock forest is planted for our

sakes! I should like to know how far it extends, and what there is outside!"

"There is nothing at all," said Father Snail. "No place can be better than ours, and I have nothing to wish for!"

"Yes," said the dame. "I would willingly go to the manorhouse, be boiled, and laid on a silver dish; all our

forefathers have been treated so; there is something extraordinary in it, you may be sure!"

"The manorhouse has most likely fallen to ruin!" said Father Snail. "Or the burdocks have grown up over it,

so that they cannot come out. There need not, however, be any haste about that; but you are always in such a

tremendous hurry, and the little one is beginning to be the same. Has he not been creeping up that stalk these

three days? It gives me a headache when I look up to him!"

"You must not scold him," said Mother Snail. "He creeps so carefully; he will afford us much pleasureand

we have nothing but him to live for! But have you not thought of it? Where shall we get a wife for him? Do

you not think that there are some of our species at a great distance in the interior of the burdock forest?"

"Black snails, I dare say, there are enough of," said the old one. "Black snails without a housebut they are

so common, and so conceited. But we might give the ants a commission to look out for us; they run to and fro

as if they had something to do, and they certainly know of a wife for our little snail!"


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"I know one, sure enoughthe most charming one!" said one of the ants. "But I am afraid we shall hardly

succeed, for she is a queen!"

"That is nothing!" said the old folks. "Has she a house?"

"She has a palace!" said the ant. "The finest ant's palace, with seven hundred passages!"

"I thank you!" said Mother Snail. "Our son shall not go into an anthill; if you know nothing better than that,

we shall give the commission to the white gnats. They fly far and wide, in rain and sunshine; they know the

whole forest here, both within and without."

"We have a wife for him," said the gnats. "At a hundred human paces from here there sits a little snail in her

house, on a gooseberry bush; she is quite lonely, and old enough to be married. It is only a hundred human

paces!"

"Well, then, let her come to him!" said the old ones. "He has a whole forest of burdocks, she has only a

bush!"

And so they went and fetched little Miss Snail. It was a whole week before she arrived; but therein was just

the very best of it, for one could thus see that she was of the same species.

And then the marriage was celebrated. Six earthworms shone as well as they could. In other respects the

whole went off very quietly, for the old folks could not bear noise and merriment; but old Dame Snail made a

brilliant speech. Father Snail could not speak, he was too much affected; and so they gave them as a dowry

and inheritance, the whole forest of burdocks, and saidwhat they had always saidthat it was the best in

the world; and if they lived honestly and decently, and increased and multiplied, they and their children

would once in the course of time come to the manorhouse, be boiled black, and laid on silver dishes. After

this speech was made, the old ones crept into their shells, and never more came out. They slept; the young

couple governed in the forest, and had a numerous progeny, but they were never boiled, and never came on

the silver dishes; so from this they concluded that the manorhouse had fallen to ruins, and that all the men in

the world were extinct; and as no one contradicted them, so, of course it was so. And the rain beat on the

dockleaves to make drummusic for their sake, and the sun shone in order to give the burdock forest a color

for their sakes; and they were very happy, and the whole family was happy; for they, indeed were so.

THE STORY OF A MOTHER

A mother sat there with her little child. She was so downcast, so afraid that it should die! It was so pale, the

small eyes had closed themselves, and it drew its breath so softly, now and then, with a deep respiration, as if

it sighed; and the mother looked still more sorrowfully on the little creature.

Then a knocking was heard at the door, and in came a poor old man wrapped up as in a large horsecloth, for

it warms one, and he needed it, as it was the cold winter season! Everything outof doors was covered with

ice and snow, and the wind blew so that it cut the face.

As the old man trembled with cold, and the little child slept a moment, the mother went and poured some ale

into a pot and set it on the stove, that it might be warm for him; the old man sat and rocked the cradle, and the

mother sat down on a chair close by him, and looked at her little sick child that drew its breath so deep, and

raised its little hand.

"Do you not think that I shall save him?" said she. "Our Lord will not take him from me!"


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And the old manit was Death himselfhe nodded so strangely, it could just as well signify yes as no. And

the mother looked down in her lap, and the tears ran down over her cheeks; her head became so heavyshe

had not closed her eyes for three days and nights; and now she slept, but only for a minute, when she started

up and trembled with cold.

"What is that?" said she, and looked on all sides; but the old man was gone, and her little child was gonehe

had taken it with him; and the old clock in the corner burred, and burred, the great leaden weight ran down to

the floor, bump! and then the clock also stood still.

But the poor mother ran out of the house and cried aloud for her child.

Out there, in the midst of the snow, there sat a woman in long, black clothes; and she said, "Death has been in

thy chamber, and I saw him hasten away with thy little child; he goes faster than the wind, and he never

brings back what he takes!"

"Oh, only tell me which way he went!" said the mother. "Tell me the way, and I shall find him!"

"I know it!" said the woman in the black clothes. "But before I tell it, thou must first sing for me all the songs

thou hast sung for thy child! I am fond of them. I have heard them before; I am Night; I saw thy tears whilst

thou sang'st them!"

"I will sing them all, all!" said the mother. "But do not stop me nowI may overtake himI may find my

child!"

But Night stood still and mute. Then the mother wrung her hands, sang and wept, and there were many songs,

but yet many more tears; and then Night said, "Go to the right, into the dark pine forest; thither I saw Death

take his way with thy little child!"

The roads crossed each other in the depths of the forest, and she no longer knew whither she should go! then

there stood a thornbush; there was neither leaf nor flower on it, it was also in the cold winter season, and

iceflakes hung on the branches.

"Hast thou not seen Death go past with my little child?" said the mother.

"Yes," said the thornbush; "but I will not tell thee which way he took, unless thou wilt first warm me up at

thy heart. I am freezing to death; I shall become a lump of ice!"

And she pressed the thornbush to her breast, so firmly, that it might be thoroughly warmed, and the thorns

went right into her flesh, and her blood flowed in large drops, but the thornbush shot forth fresh green leaves,

and there came flowers on it in the cold winter night, the heart of the afflicted mother was so warm; and the

thornbush told her the way she should go.

She then came to a large lake, where there was neither ship nor boat. The lake was not frozen sufficiently to

bear her; neither was it open, nor low enough that she could wade through it; and across it she must go if she

would find her child! Then she lay down to drink up the lake, and that was an impossibility for a human

being, but the afflicted mother thought that a miracle might happen nevertheless.

"Oh, what would I not give to come to my child!" said the weeping mother; and she wept still more, and her

eyes sunk down in the depths of the waters, and became two precious pearls; but the water bore her up, as if

she sat in a swing, and she flew in the rocking waves to the shore on the opposite side, where there stood a

milebroad, strange house, one knew not if it were a mountain with forests and caverns, or if it were built up;


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but the poor mother could not see it; she had wept her eyes out.

"Where shall I find Death, who took away my little child?" said she.

"He has not come here yet!" said the old grave woman, who was appointed to look after Death's great

greenhouse! "How have you been able to find the way hither? And who has helped you?"

"OUR LORD has helped me," said she. "He is merciful, and you will also be so! Where shall I find my little

child?"

"Nay, I know not," said the woman, "and you cannot see! Many flowers and trees have withered this night;

Death will soon come and plant them over again! You certainly know that every person has his or her life's

tree or flower, just as everyone happens to be settled; they look like other plants, but they have pulsations of

the heart. Children's hearts can also beat; go after yours, perhaps you may know your child's; but what will

you give me if I tell you what you shall do more?"

"I have nothing to give," said the afflicted mother, "but I will go to the world's end for you!"

"Nay, I have nothing to do there!" said the woman. "But you can give me your long black hair; you know

yourself that it is fine, and that I like! You shall have my white hair instead, and that's always something!"

"Do you demand nothing else?" said she. "That I will gladly give you!" And she gave her her fine black hair,

and got the old woman's snowwhite hair instead.

So they went into Death's great greenhouse, where flowers and trees grew strangely into one another. There

stood fine hyacinths under glass bells, and there stood strongstemmed peonies; there grew water plants,

some so fresh, others half sick, the watersnakes lay down on them, and black crabs pinched their stalks.

There stood beautiful palmtrees, oaks, and plantains; there stood parsley and flowering thyme: every tree

and every flower had its name; each of them was a human life, the human frame still livedone in China,

and another in Greenlandround about in the world. There were large trees in small pots, so that they stood

so stunted in growth, and ready to burst the pots; in other places, there was a little dull flower in rich mould,

with moss round about it, and it was so petted and nursed. But the distressed mother bent down over all the

smallest plants, and heard within them how the human heart beat; and amongst millions she knew her child's.

"There it is!" cried she, and stretched her hands out over a little blue crocus, that hung quite sickly on one

side.

"Don't touch the flower!" said the old woman. "But place yourself here, and when Death comesI expect

him every momentdo not let him pluck the flower up, but threaten him that you will do the same with the

others. Then he will be afraid! He is responsible for them to OUR LORD, and no one dares to pluck them up

before HE gives leave."

All at once an icy cold rushed through the great hall, and the blind mother could feel that it was Death that

came.

"How hast thou been able to find thy way hither?" he asked. "How couldst thou come quicker than I?"

"I am a mother," said she.

And Death stretched out his long hand towards the fine little flower, but she held her hands fast around his, so

tight, and yet afraid that she should touch one of the leaves. Then Death blew on her hands, and she felt that it


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was colder than the cold wind, and her hands fell down powerless.

"Thou canst not do anything against me!" said Death.

"But OUR LORD can!" said she.

"I only do His bidding!" said Death. "I am His gardener, I take all His flowers and trees, and plant them out

in the great garden of Paradise, in the unknown land; but how they grow there, and how it is there I dare not

tell thee."

"Give me back my child!" said the mother, and she wept and prayed. At once she seized hold of two beautiful

flowers close by, with each hand, and cried out to Death, "I will tear all thy flowers off, for I am in despair."

"Touch them not!" said Death. "Thou say'st that thou art so unhappy, and now thou wilt make another mother

equally unhappy."

"Another mother!" said the poor woman, and directly let go her hold of both the flowers.

"There, thou hast thine eyes," said Death; "I fished them up from the lake, they shone so bright; I knew not

they were thine. Take them again, they are now brighter than before; now look down into the deep well close

by; I shall tell thee the names of the two flowers thou wouldst have torn up, and thou wilt see their whole

future lifetheir whole human existence: and see what thou wast about to disturb and destroy."

And she looked down into the well; and it was a happiness to see how the one became a blessing to the world,

to see how much happiness and joy were felt everywhere. And she saw the other's life, and it was sorrow and

distress, horror, and wretchedness.

"Both of them are God's will!" said Death.

"Which of them is Misfortune's flower and which is that of Happiness?" asked she.

"That I will not tell thee," said Death; "but this thou shalt know from me, that the one flower was thy own

child! it was thy child's fate thou saw'stthy own child's future life!"

Then the mother screamed with terror, "Which of them was my child? Tell it me! Save the innocent! Save my

child from all that misery! Rather take it away! Take it into God's kingdom! Forget my tears, forget my

prayers, and all that I have done!"

"I do not understand thee!" said Death. "Wilt thou have thy child again, or shall I go with it there, where thou

dost not know!"

Then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and prayed to our Lord: "Oh, hear me not when I pray

against Thy will, which is the best! hear me not! hear me not!"

And she bowed her head down in her lap, and Death took her child and went with it into the unknown land.

THE FALSE COLLAR

There was once a fine gentleman, all of whose moveables were a bootjack and a haircomb: but he had the

finest false collars in the world; and it is about one of these collars that we are now to hear a story.


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It was so old, that it began to think of marriage; and it happened that it came to be washed in company with a

garter.

"Nay!" said the collar. "I never did see anything so slender and so fine, so soft and so neat. May I not ask

your name?"

"That I shall not tell you!" said the garter.

"Where do you live?" asked the collar.

But the garter was so bashful, so modest, and thought it was a strange question to answer.

"You are certainly a girdle," said the collar; "that is to say an inside girdle. I see well that you are both for use

and ornament, my dear young lady."

"I will thank you not to speak to me," said the garter. "I think I have not given the least occasion for it."

"Yes! When one is as handsome as you," said the collar, "that is occasion enough."

"Don't come so near me, I beg of you!" said the garter. "You look so much like those menfolks."

"I am also a fine gentleman," said the collar. "I have a bootjack and a haircomb."

But that was not true, for it was his master who had them: but he boasted.

"Don't come so near me," said the garter: "I am not accustomed to it."

"Prude!" exclaimed the collar; and then it was taken out of the washingtub. It was starched, hung over the

back of a chair in the sunshine, and was then laid on the ironingblanket; then came the warm boxiron.

"Dear lady!" said the collar. "Dear widowlady! I feel quite hot. I am quite changed. I begin to unfold

myself. You will burn a hole in me. Oh! I offer you my hand."

"Rag!" said the boxiron; and went proudly over the collar: for she fancied she was a steamengine, that

would go on the railroad and draw the waggons. "Rag!" said the boxiron.

The collar was a little jagged at the edge, and so came the long scissors to cut off the jagged part. "Oh!" said

the collar. "You are certainly the first opera dancer. How well you can stretch your legs out! It is the most

graceful performance I have ever seen. No one can imitate you."

"I know it," said the scissors.

"You deserve to be a baroness," said the collar. "All that I have, is, a fine gentleman, a bootjack, and a

haircomb. If I only had the barony!"

"Do you seek my hand?" said the scissors; for she was angry; and without more ado, she CUT HIM, and then

he was condemned.

"I shall now be obliged to ask the haircomb. It is surprising how well you preserve your teeth, Miss," said

the collar. "Have you never thought of being betrothed?"

"Yes, of course! you may be sure of that," said the haircomb. "I AM betrothedto the bootjack!"


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"Betrothed!" exclaimed the collar. Now there was no other to court, and so he despised it.

A long time passed away, then the collar came into the rag chest at the paper mill; there was a large company

of rags, the fine by themselves, and the coarse by themselves, just as it should be. They all had much to say,

but the collar the most; for he was a real boaster.

"I have had such an immense number of sweethearts!" said the collar. "I could not be in peace! It is true, I

was always a fine starchedup gentleman! I had both a bootjack and a haircomb, which I never used! You

should have seen me then, you should have seen me when I lay down! I shall never forget MY FIRST

LOVEshe was a girdle, so fine, so soft, and so charming, she threw herself into a tub of water for my sake!

There was also a widow, who became glowing hot, but I left her standing till she got black again; there was

also the first opera dancer, she gave me that cut which I now go with, she was so ferocious! My own

haircomb was in love with me, she lost all her teeth from the heartache; yes, I have lived to see much of

that sort of thing; but I am extremely sorry for the garterI mean the girdlethat went into the watertub. I

have much on my conscience, I want to become white paper!"

And it became so, all the rags were turned into white paper; but the collar came to be just this very piece of

white paper we here see, and on which the story is printed; and that was because it boasted so terribly

afterwards of what had never happened to it. It would be well for us to beware, that we may not act in a

similar manner, for we can never know if we may not, in the course of time, also come into the rag chest, and

be made into white paper, and then have our whole life's history printed on it, even the most secret, and be

obliged to run about and tell it ourselves, just like this collar.

THE SHADOW

It is in the hot lands that the sun burns, sure enough! there the people become quite a mahogany brown, ay,

and in the HOTTEST lands they are burnt to Negroes. But now it was only to the HOT lands that a learned

man had come from the cold; there he thought that he could run about just as when at home, but he soon

found out his mistake.

He, and all sensible folks, were obliged to stay within doorsthe windowshutters and doors were closed

the whole day; it looked as if the whole house slept, or there was no one at home.

The narrow street with the high houses, was built so that the sunshine must fall there from morning till

eveningit was really not to be borne.

The learned man from the cold landshe was a young man, and seemed to be a clever mansat in a

glowing oven; it took effect on him, he became quite meagreeven his shadow shrunk in, for the sun had

also an effect on it. It was first towards evening when the sun was down, that they began to freshen up again.

In the warm lands every window has a balcony, and the people came out on all the balconies in the

streetfor one must have air, even if one be accustomed to be mahogany!* It was lively both up and down

the street. Tailors, and shoemakers, and all the folks, moved out into the streetchairs and tables were

brought forthand candles burntyes, above a thousand lights were burningand the one talked and the

other sung; and people walked and churchbells rang, and asses went along with a dingledingledong! for

they too had bells on. The street boys were screaming and hooting, and shouting and shooting, with devils

and detonating ballsand there came corpse bearers and hood wearersfor there were funerals with psalm

and hymnand then the din of carriages driving and company arriving: yes, it was, in truth, lively enough

down in the street. Only in that single house, which stood opposite that in which the learned foreigner lived, it

was quite still; and yet some one lived there, for there stood flowers in the balconythey grew so well in the

sun's heat! and that they could not do unless they were wateredand some one must water themthere


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must be somebody there. The door opposite was also opened late in the evening, but it was dark within, at

least in the front room; further in there was heard the sound of music. The learned foreigner thought it quite

marvellous, but nowit might be that he only imagined itfor he found everything marvellous out there, in

the warm lands, if there had only been no sun. The stranger's landlord said that he didn't know who had taken

the house opposite, one saw no person about, and as to the music, it appeared to him to be extremely

tiresome. "It is as if some one sat there, and practised a piece that he could not masteralways the same

piece. 'I shall master it!' says he; but yet he cannot master it, however long he plays."

* The word mahogany can be understood, in Danish, as having two meanings. In general, it means the

reddishbrown wood itself; but in jest, it signifies "excessively fine," which arose from an anecdote of

Nyboder, in Copenhagen, (the seamen's quarter.) A sailor's wife, who was always proud and fine, in her way,

came to her neighbor, and complained that she had got a splinter in her finger. "What of?" asked the

neighbor's wife. "It is a mahogany splinter," said the other. "Mahogany! It cannot be less with you!"

exclaimed the womanand thence the proverb, "It is so mahogany!"(that is, so excessively fine)is

derived.

One night the stranger awokehe slept with the doors of the balcony openthe curtain before it was raised

by the wind, and he thought that a strange lustre came from the opposite neighbor's house; all the flowers

shone like flames, in the most beautiful colors, and in the midst of the flowers stood a slender, graceful

maidenit was as if she also shone; the light really hurt his eyes. He now opened them quite wideyes, he

was quite awake; with one spring he was on the floor; he crept gently behind the curtain, but the maiden was

gone; the flowers shone no longer, but there they stood, fresh and blooming as ever; the door was ajar, and,

far within, the music sounded so soft and delightful, one could really melt away in sweet thoughts from it.

Yet it was like a piece of enchantment. And who lived there? Where was the actual entrance? The whole of

the groundfloor was a row of shops, and there people could not always be running through.

One evening the stranger sat out on the balcony. The light burnt in the room behind him; and thus it was quite

natural that his shadow should fall on his opposite neighbor's wall. Yes! there it sat, directly opposite,

between the flowers on the balcony; and when the stranger moved, the shadow also moved: for that it always

does.

"I think my shadow is the only living thing one sees over there," said the learned man. "See, how nicely it sits

between the flowers. The door stands halfopen: now the shadow should be cunning, and go into the room,

look about, and then come and tell me what it had seen. Come, now! Be useful, and do me a service," said he,

in jest. "Have the kindness to step in. Now! Art thou going?" and then he nodded to the shadow, and the

shadow nodded again. "Well then, go! But don't stay away."

The stranger rose, and his shadow on the opposite neighbor's balcony rose also; the stranger turned round and

the shadow also turned round. Yes! if anyone had paid particular attention to it, they would have seen, quite

distinctly, that the shadow went in through the halfopen balconydoor of their opposite neighbor, just as the

stranger went into his own room, and let the long curtain fall down after him.

Next morning, the learned man went out to drink coffee and read the newspapers.

"What is that?" said he, as he came out into the sunshine. "I have no shadow! So then, it has actually gone

last night, and not come again. It is really tiresome!"

This annoyed him: not so much because the shadow was gone, but because he knew there was a story about a

man without a shadow.* It was known to everybody at home, in the cold lands; and if the learned man now

came there and told his story, they would say that he was imitating it, and that he had no need to do. He

would, therefore, not talk about it at all; and that was wisely thought.


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*Peter Schlemihl, the shadowless man.

In the evening he went out again on the balcony. He had placed the light directly behind him, for he knew

that the shadow would always have its master for a screen, but he could not entice it. He made himself little;

he made himself great: but no shadow came again. He said, "Hem! hem!" but it was of no use.

It was vexatious; but in the warm lands everything grows so quickly; and after the lapse of eight days he

observed, to his great joy, that a new shadow came in the sunshine. In the course of three weeks he had a very

fair shadow, which, when he set out for his home in the northern lands, grew more and more in the journey,

so that at last it was so long and so large, that it was more than sufficient.

The learned man then came home, and he wrote books about what was true in the world, and about what was

good and what was beautiful; and there passed days and yearsyes! many years passed away.

One evening, as he was sitting in his room, there was a gentle knocking at the door.

"Come in!" said he; but no one came in; so he opened the door, and there stood before him such an extremely

lean man, that he felt quite strange. As to the rest, the man was very finely dressedhe must be a gentleman.

"Whom have I the honor of speaking?" asked the learned man.

"Yes! I thought as much," said the fine man. "I thought you would not know me. I have got so much body. I

have even got flesh and clothes. You certainly never thought of seeing me so well off. Do you not know your

old shadow? You certainly thought I should never more return. Things have gone on well with me since I was

last with you. I have, in all respects, become very well off. Shall I purchase my freedom from service? If so, I

can do it"; and then he rattled a whole bunch of valuable seals that hung to his watch, and he stuck his hand in

the thick gold chain he wore around his necknay! how all his fingers glittered with diamond rings; and

then all were pure gems.

"Nay; I cannot recover from my surprise!" said the learned man. "What is the meaning of all this?"

"Something common, is it not," said the shadow. "But you yourself do not belong to the common order; and

I, as you know well, have from a child followed in your footsteps. As soon as you found I was capable to go

out alone in the world, I went my own way. I am in the most brilliant circumstances, but there came a sort of

desire over me to see you once more before you die; you will die, I suppose? I also wished to see this land

againfor you know we always love our native land. I know you have got another shadow again; have I

anything to pay to it or you? If so, you will oblige me by saying what it is."

"Nay, is it really thou?" said the learned man. "It is most remarkable: I never imagined that one's old shadow

could come again as a man."

"Tell me what I have to pay," said the shadow; "for I don't like to be in any sort of debt."

"How canst thou talk so?" said the learned man. "What debt is there to talk about? Make thyself as free as

anyone else. I am extremely glad to hear of thy good fortune: sit down, old friend, and tell me a little how it

has gone with thee, and what thou hast seen at our opposite neighbor's therein the warm lands."

"Yes, I will tell you all about it," said the shadow, and sat down: "but then you must also promise me, that,

wherever you may meet me, you will never say to anyone here in the town that I have been your shadow. I

intend to get betrothed, for I can provide for more than one family."


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"Be quite at thy ease about that," said the learned man; "I shall not say to anyone who thou actually art: here

is my handI promise it, and a man's bond is his word."

"A word is a shadow," said the shadow, "and as such it must speak."

It was really quite astonishing how much of a man it was. It was dressed entirely in black, and of the very

finest cloth; it had patent leather boots, and a hat that could be folded together, so that it was bare crown and

brim; not to speak of what we already know it hadseals, gold neckchain, and diamond rings; yes, the

shadow was welldressed, and it was just that which made it quite a man.

"Now I shall tell you my adventures," said the shadow; and then he sat, with the polished boots, as heavily as

he could, on the arm of the learned man's new shadow, which lay like a poodledog at his feet. Now this was

perhaps from arrogance; and the shadow on the ground kept itself so still and quiet, that it might hear all that

passed: it wished to know how it could get free, and work its way up, so as to become its own master.

"Do you know who lived in our opposite neighbor's house?" said the shadow. "It was the most charming of

all beings, it was Poesy! I was there for three weeks, and that has as much effect as if one had lived three

thousand years, and read all that was composed and written; that is what I say, and it is right. I have seen

everything and I know everything!"

"Poesy!" cried the learned man. "Yes, yes, she often dwells a recluse in large cities! Poesy! Yes, I have seen

hera single short moment, but sleep came into my eyes! She stood on the balcony and shone as the Aurora

Borealis shines. Go on, go onthou wert on the balcony, and went through the doorway, and then"

"Then I was in the antechamber," said the shadow. "You always sat and looked over to the antechamber.

There was no light; there was a sort of twilight, but the one door stood open directly opposite the other

through a long row of rooms and saloons, and there it was lighted up. I should have been completely killed if

I had gone over to the maiden; but I was circumspect, I took time to think, and that one must always do."

"And what didst thou then see?" asked the learned man.

"I saw everything, and I shall tell all to you: butit is no pride on my partas a free man, and with the

knowledge I have, not to speak of my position in life, my excellent circumstancesI certainly wish that you

would say YOU* to me!"

* It is the custom in Denmark for intimate acquaintances to use the second person singular, "Du," (thou)

when speaking to each other. When a friendship is formed between men, they generally affirm it, when

occasion offers, either in public or private, by drinking to each other and exclaiming, "thy health," at the same

time striking their glasses together. This is called drinking "Duus": they are then, "Duus Brodre," (thou

brothers) and ever afterwards use the pronoun "thou," to each other, it being regarded as more familiar than

"De," (you). Father and mother, sister and brother say thou to one anotherwithout regard to age or rank.

Master and mistress say thou to their servants the superior to the inferior. But servants and inferiors do not

use the same term to their masters, or superiorsnor is it ever used when speaking to a stranger, or anyone

with whom they are but slightly acquainted they then say as in Englishyou.

"I beg your pardon," said the learned man; "it is an old habit with me. YOU are perfectly right, and I shall

remember it; but now you must tell me all YOU saw!"

"Everything!" said the shadow. "For I saw everything, and I know everything!"


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"How did it look in the furthest saloon?" asked the learned man. "Was it there as in the fresh woods? Was it

there as in a holy church? Were the saloons like the starlit firmament when we stand on the high mountains?"

"Everything was there!" said the shadow. "I did not go quite in, I remained in the foremost room, in the

twilight, but I stood there quite well; I saw everything, and I know everything! I have been in the

antechamber at the court of Poesy."

"But WHAT DID you see? Did all the gods of the olden times pass through the large saloons? Did the old

heroes combat there? Did sweet children play there, and relate their dreams?"

"I tell you I was there, and you can conceive that I saw everything there was to be seen. Had you come over

there, you would not have been a man; but I became so! And besides, I learned to know my inward nature,

my innate qualities, the relationship I had with Poesy. At the time I was with you, I thought not of that, but

alwaysyou know it wellwhen the sun rose, and when the sun went down, I became so strangely great; in

the moonlight I was very near being more distinct than yourself; at that time I did not understand my nature;

it was revealed to me in the antechamber! I became a man! I came out matured; but you were no longer in the

warm lands; as a man I was ashamed to go as I did. I was in want of boots, of clothes, of the whole human

varnish that makes a man perceptible. I took my wayI tell it to you, but you will not put it in any bookI

took my way to the cake womanI hid myself behind her; the woman didn't think how much she concealed.

I went out first in the evening; I ran about the streets in the moonlight; I made myself long up the wallsit

tickles the back so delightfully! I ran up, and ran down, peeped into the highest windows, into the saloons,

and on the roofs, I peeped in where no one could peep, and I saw what no one else saw, what no one else

should see! This is, in fact, a base world! I would not be a man if it were not now once accepted and regarded

as something to be so! I saw the most unimaginable things with the women, with the men, with parents, and

with the sweet, matchless children; I saw," said the shadow, "what no human being must know, but what they

would all so willingly knowwhat is bad in their neighbor. Had I written a newspaper, it would have been

read! But I wrote direct to the persons themselves, and there was consternation in all the towns where I came.

They were so afraid of me, and yet they were so excessively fond of me. The professors made a professor of

me; the tailors gave me new clothesI am well furnished; the master of the mint struck new coin for me, and

the women said I was so handsome! And so I became the man I am. And I now bid you farewell. Here is my

cardI live on the sunny side of the street, and am always at home in rainy weather!" And so away went the

shadow. "That was most extraordinary!" said the learned man. Years and days passed away, then the shadow

came again. "How goes it?" said the shadow.

"Alas!" said the learned man. "I write about the true, and the good, and the beautiful, but no one cares to hear

such things; I am quite desperate, for I take it so much to heart!"

"But I don't!" said the shadow. "I become fat, and it is that one wants to become! You do not understand the

world. You will become ill by it. You must travel! I shall make a tour this summer; will you go with me? I

should like to have a travelling companion! Will you go with me, as shadow? It will be a great pleasure for

me to have you with me; I shall pay the travelling expenses!"

"Nay, this is too much!" said the learned man.

"It is just as one takes it!" said the shadow. "It will do you much good to travel! Will you be my shadow?

You shall have everything free on the journey!"

"Nay, that is too bad!" said the learned man.

"But it is just so with the world!" said the shadow, "and so it will be!" and away it went again.


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The learned man was not at all in the most enviable state; grief and torment followed him, and what he said

about the true, and the good, and the beautiful, was, to most persons, like roses for a cow! He was quite ill at

last.

"You really look like a shadow!" said his friends to him; and the learned man trembled, for he thought of it.

"You must go to a wateringplace!" said the shadow, who came and visited him. "There is nothing else for it!

I will take you with me for old acquaintance' sake; I will pay the travelling expenses, and you write the

descriptionsand if they are a little amusing for me on the way! I will go to a wateringplacemy beard

does not grow out as it oughtthat is also a sicknessand one must have a beard! Now you be wise and

accept the offer; we shall travel as comrades!"

And so they travelled; the shadow was master, and the master was the shadow; they drove with each other,

they rode and walked together, side by side, before and behind, just as the sun was; the shadow always took

care to keep itself in the master's place. Now the learned man didn't think much about that; he was a very

kindhearted man, and particularly mild and friendly, and so he said one day to the shadow: "As we have

now become companions, and in this way have grown up together from childhood, shall we not drink 'thou'

together, it is more familiar?"

"You are right," said the shadow, who was now the proper master. "It is said in a very straightforward and

wellmeant manner. You, as a learned man, certainly know how strange nature is. Some persons cannot bear

to touch grey paper, or they become ill; others shiver in every limb if one rub a pane of glass with a nail: I

have just such a feeling on hearing you say thou to me; I feel myself as if pressed to the earth in my first

situation with you. You see that it is a feeling; that it is not pride: I cannot allow you to say THOU to me, but

I will willingly say THOU to you, so it is half done!"

So the shadow said THOU to its former master.

"This is rather too bad," thought he, "that I must say YOU and he say THOU," but he was now obliged to put

up with it.

So they came to a wateringplace where there were many strangers, and amongst them was a princess, who

was troubled with seeing too well; and that was so alarming!

She directly observed that the stranger who had just come was quite a different sort of person to all the

others; "He has come here in order to get his beard to grow, they say, but I see the real cause, he cannot cast a

shadow."

She had become inquisitive; and so she entered into conversation directly with the strange gentleman, on their

promenades. As the daughter of a king, she needed not to stand upon trifles, so she said, "Your complaint is,

that you cannot cast a shadow?"

"Your Royal Highness must be improving considerably," said the shadow, "I know your complaint is, that

you see too clearly, but it has decreased, you are cured. I just happen to have a very unusual shadow! Do you

not see that person who always goes with me? Other persons have a common shadow, but I do not like what

is common to all. We give our servants finer cloth for their livery than we ourselves use, and so I had my

shadow trimmed up into a man: yes, you see I have even given him a shadow. It is somewhat expensive, but I

like to have something for myself!"

"What!" thought the princess. "Should I really be cured! These baths are the first in the world! In our time

water has wonderful powers. But I shall not leave the place, for it now begins to be amusing here. I am


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extremely fond of that stranger: would that his beard should not grow, for in that case he will leave us!"

In the evening, the princess and the shadow danced together in the large ballroom. She was light, but he was

still lighter; she had never had such a partner in the dance. She told him from what land she came, and he

knew that land; he had been there, but then she was not at home; he had peeped in at the window, above and

belowhe had seen both the one and the other, and so he could answer the princess, and make insinuations,

so that she was quite astonished; he must be the wisest man in the whole world! She felt such respect for what

he knew! So that when they again danced together she fell in love with him; and that the shadow could

remark, for she almost pierced him through with her eyes. So they danced once more together; and she was

about to declare herself, but she was discreet; she thought of her country and kingdom, and of the many

persons she would have to reign over.

"He is a wise man," said she to herself"It is well; and he dances delightfullythat is also good; but has he

solid knowledge? That is just as important! He must be examined."

So she began, by degrees, to question him about the most difficult things she could think of, and which she

herself could not have answered; so that the shadow made a strange face.

"You cannot answer these questions?" said the princess.

"They belong to my childhood's learning," said the shadow. "I really believe my shadow, by the door there,

can answer them!"

"Your shadow!" said the princess. "That would indeed be marvellous!"

"I will not say for a certainty that he can," said the shadow, "but I think so; he has now followed me for so

many years, and listened to my conversationI should think it possible. But your royal highness will permit

me to observe, that he is so proud of passing himself off for a man, that when he is to be in a proper

humorand he must be so to answer wellhe must be treated quite like a man."

"Oh! I like that!" said the princess.

So she went to the learned man by the door, and she spoke to him about the sun and the moon, and about

persons out of and in the world, and he answered with wisdom and prudence.

"What a man that must be who has so wise a shadow!" thought she. "It will be a real blessing to my people

and kingdom if I choose him for my consortI will do it!"

They were soon agreed, both the princess and the shadow; but no one was to know about it before she arrived

in her own kingdom.

"No onenot even my shadow!" said the shadow, and he had his own thoughts about it!

Now they were in the country where the princess reigned when she was at home.

"Listen, my good friend," said the shadow to the learned man. "I have now become as happy and mighty as

anyone can be; I will, therefore, do something particular for thee! Thou shalt always live with me in the

palace, drive with me in my royal carriage, and have ten thousand pounds a year; but then thou must submit

to be called SHADOW by all and everyone; thou must not say that thou hast ever been a man; and once a

year, when I sit on the balcony in the sunshine, thou must lie at my feet, as a shadow shall do! I must tell

thee: I am going to marry the king's daughter, and the nuptials are to take place this evening!"


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"Nay, this is going too far!" said the learned man. "I will not have it; I will not do it! It is to deceive the whole

country and the princess too! I will tell everything! That I am a man, and that thou art a shadowthou art

only dressed up!"

"There is no one who will believe it!" said the shadow. "Be reasonable, or I will call the guard!"

"I will go directly to the princess!" said the learned man.

"But I will go first!" said the shadow. "And thou wilt go to prison!" and that he was obliged to dofor the

sentinels obeyed him whom they knew the king's daughter was to marry.

"You tremble!" said the princess, as the shadow came into her chamber. "Has anything happened? You must

not be unwell this evening, now that we are to have our nuptials celebrated."

"I have lived to see the most cruel thing that anyone can live to see!" said the shadow. "Only imagineyes, it

is true, such a poor shadowskull cannot bear muchonly think, my shadow has become mad; he thinks that

he is a man, and that Inow only thinkthat I am his shadow!"

"It is terrible!" said the princess; "but he is confined, is he not?"

"That he is. I am afraid that he will never recover."

"Poor shadow!" said the princess. "He is very unfortunate; it would be a real work of charity to deliver him

from the little life he has, and, when I think properly over the matter, I am of opinion that it will be necessary

to do away with him in all stillness!"

"It is certainly hard," said the shadow, "for he was a faithful servant!" and then he gave a sort of sigh.

"You are a noble character!" said the princess.

The whole city was illuminated in the evening, and the cannons went off with a bum! bum! and the soldiers

presented arms. That was a marriage! The princess and the shadow went out on the balcony to show

themselves, and get another hurrah!

The learned man heard nothing of all thisfor they had deprived him of life.

THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL

Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening the last evening of the year. In

this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. When

she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good of that? They were very large slippers,

which her mother had hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled

away across the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.

One slipper was nowhere to be found; the other had been laid hold of by an urchin, and off he ran with it; he

thought it would do capitally for a cradle when he some day or other should have children himself. So the

little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet, that were quite red and blue from cold. She carried a

quantity of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything

of her the whole livelong day; no one had given her a single farthing.

She crept along trembling with cold and hungera very picture of sorrow, the poor little thing!


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The flakes of snow covered her long fair hair, which fell in beautiful curls around her neck; but of that, of

course, she never once now thought. From all the windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt so

deliciously of roast goose, for you know it was New Year's Eve; yes, of that she thought.

In a corner formed by two houses, of which one advanced more than the other, she seated herself down and

cowered together. Her little feet she had drawn close up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and to go

home she did not venture, for she had not sold any matches and could not bring a farthing of money: from her

father she would certainly get blows, and at home it was cold too, for above her she had only the roof,

through which the wind whistled, even though the largest cracks were stopped up with straw and rags.

Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. Oh! a match might afford her a world of comfort, if she only

dared take a single one out of the bundle, draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. She drew one

out. "Rischt!" how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a warm, bright flame, like a candle, as she held her hands

over it: it was a wonderful light. It seemed really to the little maiden as though she were sitting before a large

iron stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass ornament at top. The fire burned with such blessed influence;

it warmed so delightfully. The little girl had already stretched out her feet to warm them too; butthe small

flame went out, the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burntout match in her hand.

She rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly, and where the light fell on the wall, there the wall

became transparent like a veil, so that she could see into the room. On the table was spread a snowwhite

tablecloth; upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose was steaming famously with its

stuffing of apple and dried plums. And what was still more capital to behold was, the goose hopped down

from the dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and fork in its breast, till it came up to the poor little girl;

whenthe match went out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was left behind. She lighted another

match. Now there she was sitting under the most magnificent Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more

decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in the rich merchant's house.

Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gailycolored pictures, such as she had seen in

the shopwindows, looked down upon her. The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them

whenthe match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher, she saw them now as

stars in heaven; one fell down and formed a long trail of fire.

"Someone is just dead!" said the little girl; for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and

who was now no more, had told her, that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God.

She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the lustre there stood the old grandmother,

so bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love.

"Grandmother!" cried the little one. "Oh, take me with you! You go away when the match burns out; you

vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!" And she

rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her

grandmother near her. And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noonday: never

formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both

flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor

anxietythey were with God.

But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth,

leaning against the wallfrozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there

with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. "She wanted to warm herself," people said. No one

had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in

which, with her grandmother she had entered on the joys of a new year.


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THE DREAM OF LITTLE TUK

Ah! yes, that was little Tuk: in reality his name was not Tuk, but that was what he called himself before he

could speak plain: he meant it for Charles, and it is all well enough if one does but know it. He had now to

take care of his little sister Augusta, who was much younger than himself, and he was, besides, to learn his

lesson at the same time; but these two things would not do together at all. There sat the poor little fellow,

with his sister on his lap, and he sang to her all the songs he knew; and he glanced the while from time to

time into the geographybook that lay open before him. By the next morning he was to have learnt all the

towns in Zealand by heart, and to know about them all that is possible to be known.

His mother now came home, for she had been out, and took little Augusta on her arm. Tuk ran quickly to the

window, and read so eagerly that he pretty nearly read his eyes out; for it got darker and darker, but his

mother had no money to buy a candle.

"There goes the old washerwoman over the way," said his mother, as she looked out of the window. "The

poor woman can hardly drag herself along, and she must now drag the pail home from the fountain. Be a

good boy, Tukey, and run across and help the old woman, won't you?"

So Tuk ran over quickly and helped her; but when he came back again into the room it was quite dark, and as

to a light, there was no thought of such a thing. He was now to go to bed; that was an old turnup bedstead;

in it he lay and thought about his geography lesson, and of Zealand, and of all that his master had told him.

He ought, to be sure, to have read over his lesson again, but that, you know, he could not do. He therefore put

his geographybook under his pillow, because he had heard that was a very good thing to do when one wants

to learn one's lesson; but one cannot, however, rely upon it entirely. Well, there he lay, and thought and

thought, and all at once it was just as if someone kissed his eyes and mouth: he slept, and yet he did not sleep;

it was as though the old washerwoman gazed on him with her mild eyes and said, "It were a great sin if you

were not to know your lesson tomorrow morning. You have aided me, I therefore will now help you; and the

loving God will do so at all times." And all of a sudden the book under Tuk's pillow began scraping and

scratching.

"Kickeryki! kluk! kluk! kluk!"that was an old hen who came creeping along, and she was from Kjoge. "I

am a Kjoger hen,"* said she, and then she related how many inhabitants there were there, and about the battle

that had taken place, and which, after all, was hardly worth talking about.

* Kjoge, a town in the bay of Kjoge. "To see the Kjoge hens," is an expression similar to "showing a child

London," which is said to be done by taking his head in both bands, and so lifting him off the ground. At the

invasion of the English in 1807, an encounter of a no very glorious nature took place between the British

troops and the undisciplined Danish militia.

"Kribledy, krabledyplump!" down fell somebody: it was a wooden bird, the popinjay used at the

shootingmatches at Prastoe. Now he said that there were just as many inhabitants as he had nails in his

body; and he was very proud. "Thorwaldsen lived almost next door to me.* Plump! Here I lie capitally."

* Prastoe, a still smaller town than Kjoge. Some hundred paces from it lies the manorhouse Ny Soe, where

Thorwaldsen, the famed sculptor, generally sojourned during his stay in Denmark, and where he called many

of his immortal works into existence.

But little Tuk was no longer lying down: all at once he was on horseback. On he went at full gallop, still

galloping on and on. A knight with a gleaming plume, and most magnificently dressed, held him before him

on the horse, and thus they rode through the wood to the old town of Bordingborg, and that was a large and

very lively town. High towers rose from the castle of the king, and the brightness of many candles streamed


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from all the windows; within was dance and song, and King Waldemar and the young, richlyattired maids

of honor danced together. The morn now came; and as soon as the sun appeared, the whole town and the

king's palace crumbled together, and one tower after the other; and at last only a single one remained standing

where the castle had been before,* and the town was so small and poor, and the school boys came along with

their books under their arms, and said, "2000 inhabitants!" but that was not true, for there were not so many.

* Bordingborg, in the reign of King Waldemar, a considerable place, now an unimportant little town. One

solitary tower only, and some remains of a wall, show where the castle once stood.

And little Tukey lay in his bed: it seemed to him as if he dreamed, and yet as if he were not dreaming;

however, somebody was close beside him.

"Little Tukey! Little Tukey!" cried someone near. It was a seaman, quite a little personage, so little as if he

were a midshipman; but a midshipman it was not.

"Many remembrances from Corsor.* That is a town that is just rising into importance; a lively town that has

steamboats and stagecoaches: formerly people called it ugly, but that is no longer true. I lie on the sea," said

Corsor; "I have high roads and gardens, and I have given birth to a poet who was witty and amusing, which

all poets are not. I once intended to equip a ship that was to sail all round the earth; but I did not do it,

although I could have done so: and then, too, I smell so deliciously, for close before the gate bloom the most

beautiful roses."

* Corsor, on the Great Belt, called, formerly, before the introduction of steamvessels, when travellers were

often obliged to wait a long time for a favorable wind, "the most tiresome of towns." The poet Baggesen was

born here.

Little Tuk looked, and all was red and green before his eyes; but as soon as the confusion of colors was

somewhat over, all of a sudden there appeared a wooded slope close to the bay, and high up above stood a

magnificent old church, with two high pointed towers. From out the hillside spouted fountains in thick

streams of water, so that there was a continual splashing; and close beside them sat an old king with a golden

crown upon his white head: that was King Hroar, near the fountains, close to the town of Roeskilde, as it is

now called. And up the slope into the old church went all the kings and queens of Denmark, hand in hand, all

with their golden crowns; and the organ played and the fountains rustled. Little Tuk saw all, heard all. "Do

not forget the diet," said King Hroar.*

* Roeskilde, once the capital of Denmark. The town takes its name from King Hroar, and the many fountains

in the neighborhood. In the beautiful cathedral the greater number of the kings and queens of Denmark are

interred. In Roeskilde, too, the members of the Danish Diet assemble.

Again all suddenly disappeared. Yes, and whither? It seemed to him just as if one turned over a leaf in a

book. And now stood there an old peasantwoman, who came from Soroe,* where grass grows in the

marketplace. She had an old grey linen apron hanging over her head and back: it was so wet, it certainly

must have been raining. "Yes, that it has," said she; and she now related many pretty things out of Holberg's

comedies, and about Waldemar and Absalon; but all at once she cowered together, and her head began

shaking backwards and forwards, and she looked as she were going to make a spring. "Croak! croak!" said

she. "It is wet, it is wet; there is such a pleasant deathlike stillness in Sorbe!" She was now suddenly a frog,

"Croak"; and now she was an old woman. "One must dress according to the weather," said she. "It is wet; it is

wet. My town is just like a bottle; and one gets in by the neck, and by the neck one must get out again! In

former times I had the finest fish, and now I have fresh rosycheeked boys at the bottom of the bottle, who

learn wisdom, Hebrew, GreekCroak!"


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* Sorbe, a very quiet little town, beautifully situated, surrounded by woods and lakes. Holberg, Denmark's

Moliere, founded here an academy for the sons of the nobles. The poets Hauch and Ingemann were appointed

professors here. The latter lives there still.

When she spoke it sounded just like the noise of frogs, or as if one walked with great boots over a moor;

always the same tone, so uniform and so tiring that little Tuk fell into a good sound sleep, which, by the bye,

could not do him any harm.

But even in this sleep there came a dream, or whatever else it was: his little sister Augusta, she with the blue

eyes and the fair curling hair, was suddenly a tall, beautiful girl, and without having wings was yet able to fly;

and she now flew over Zealandover the green woods and the blue lakes.

"Do you hear the cock crow, Tukey? Cockadoodledoo! The cocks are flying up fro m Kjoge! You will

have a farmyard, so large, oh! so very large! You will suffer neither hunger nor thirst! You will get on in the

world! You will be a rich and happy man! Your house will exalt itself like King Waldemar's tower, and will

be richly decorated with marble statues, like that at Prastoe. You understand what I mean. Your name shall

circulate with renown all round the earth, like unto the ship that was to have sailed from Corsor; and in

Roeskilde"

"Do not forget the diet!" said King Hroar.

"Then you will speak well and wisely, little Tukey; and when at last you sink into your grave, you shall sleep

as quietly"

"As if I lay in Soroe," said Tuk, awaking. It was bright day, and he was now quite unable to call to mind his

dream; that, however, was not at all necessary, for one may not know what the future will bring.

And out of bed he jumped, and read in his book, and now all at once he knew his whole lesson. And the old

washerwoman popped her head in at the door, nodded to him friendly, and said, "Thanks, many thanks, my

good child, for your help! May the good everloving God fulfil your loveliest dream!"

Little Tukey did not at all know what he had dreamed, but the loving God knew it.

THE NAUGHTY BOY

Along time ago, there lived an old poet, a thoroughly kind old poet. As he was sitting one evening in his

room, a dreadful storm arose without, and the rain streamed down from heaven; but the old poet sat warm and

comfortable in his chimneycomer, where the fire blazed and the roasting apple hissed.

"Those who have not a roof over their heads will be wetted to the skin," said the good old poet.

"Oh let me in! Let me in! I am cold, and I'm so wet!" exclaimed suddenly a child that stood crying at the door

and knocking for admittance, while the rain poured down, and the wind made all the windows rattle.

"Poor thing!" said the old poet, as he went to open the door. There stood a little boy, quite naked, and the

water ran down from his long golden hair; he trembled with cold, and had he not come into a warm room he

would most certainly have perished in the frightful tempest.

"Poor child!" said the old poet, as he took the boy by the hand. "Come in, come in, and I will soon restore

thee! Thou shalt have wine and roasted apples, for thou art verily a charming child!" And the boy was so

really. His eyes were like two bright stars; and although the water trickled down his hair, it waved in beautiful


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curls. He looked exactly like a little angel, but he was so pale, and his whole body trembled with cold. He had

a nice little bow in his hand, but it was quite spoiled by the rain, and the tints of his manycolored arrows ran

one into the other.

The old poet seated himself beside his hearth, and took the little fellow on his lap; he squeezed the water out

of his dripping hair, warmed his hands between his own, and boiled for him some sweet wine. Then the boy

recovered, his cheeks again grew rosy, he jumped down from the lap where he was sitting, and danced round

the kind old poet.

"You are a merry fellow," said the old man. "What's your name?"

"My name is Cupid," answered the boy. "Don't you know me? There lies my bow; it shoots well, I can assure

you! Look, the weather is now clearing up, and the moon is shining clear again through the window."

"Why, your bow is quite spoiled," said the old poet.

"That were sad indeed," said the boy, and he took the bow in his hand and examined it on every side. "Oh, it

is dry again, and is not hurt at all; the string is quite tight. I will try it directly." And he bent his bow, took

aim, and shot an arrow at the old poet, right into his heart. "You see now that my bow was not spoiled," said

he laughing; and away he ran.

The naughty boy, to shoot the old poet in that way; he who had taken him into his warm room, who had

treated him so kindly, and who had given him warm wine and the very best apples!

The poor poet lay on the earth and wept, for the arrow had really flown into his heart.

"Fie!" said he. "How naughty a boy Cupid is! I will tell all children about him, that they may take care and

not play with him, for he will only cause them sorrow and many a heartache."

And all good children to whom he related this story, took great heed of this naughty Cupid; but he made fools

of them still, for he is astonishingly cunning. When the university students come from the lectures, he runs

beside them in a black coat, and with a book under his arm. It is quite impossible for them to know him, and

they walk along with him arm in arm, as if he, too, were a student like themselves; and then, unperceived, he

thrusts an arrow to their bosom. When the young maidens come from being examined by the clergyman, or

go to church to be confirmed, there he is again close behind them. Yes, he is forever following people. At the

play, he sits in the great chandelier and burns in bright flames, so that people think it is really a flame, but

they soon discover it is something else. He roves about in the garden of the palace and upon the ramparts:

yes, once he even shot your father and mother right in the heart. Ask them only and you will hear what they'll

tell you. Oh, he is a naughty boy, that Cupid; you must never have anything to do with him. He is forever

running after everybody. Only think, he shot an arrow once at your old grandmother! But that is a long time

ago, and it is all past now; however, a thing of that sort she never forgets. Fie, naughty Cupid! But now you

know him, and you know, too, how illbehaved he is!

THE RED SHOES

There was once a little girl who was very pretty and delicate, but in summer she was forced to run about with

bare feet, she was so poor, and in winter wear very large wooden shoes, which made her little insteps quite

red, and that looked so dangerous!

In the middle of the village lived old Dame Shoemaker; she sat and sewed together, as well as she could, a

little pair of shoes out of old red strips of cloth; they were very clumsy, but it was a kind thought. They were


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meant for the little girl. The little girl was called Karen.

On the very day her mother was buried, Karen received the red shoes, and wore them for the first time. They

were certainly not intended for mourning, but she had no others, and with stockingless feet she followed the

poor straw coffin in them.

Suddenly a large old carriage drove up, and a large old lady sat in it: she looked at the little girl, felt

compassion for her, and then said to the clergyman:

"Here, give me the little girl. I will adopt her!"

And Karen believed all this happened on account of the red shoes, but the old lady thought they were

horrible, and they were burnt. But Karen herself was cleanly and nicely dressed; she must learn to read and

sew; and people said she was a nice little thing, but the lookingglass said: "Thou art more than nice, thou art

beautiful!"

Now the queen once travelled through the land, and she had her little daughter with her. And this little

daughter was a princess, and people streamed to the castle, and Karen was there also, and the little princess

stood in her fine white dress, in a window, and let herself be stared at; she had neither a train nor a golden

crown, but splendid red morocco shoes. They were certainly far handsomer than those Dame Shoemaker had

made for little Karen. Nothing in the world can be compared with red shoes.

Now Karen was old enough to be confirmed; she had new clothes and was to have new shoes also. The rich

shoemaker in the city took the measure of her little foot. This took place at his house, in his room; where

stood large glasscases, filled with elegant shoes and brilliant boots. All this looked charming, but the old

lady could not see well, and so had no pleasure in them. In the midst of the shoes stood a pair of red ones, just

like those the princess had worn. How beautiful they were! The shoemaker said also they had been made for

the child of a count, but had not fitted.

"That must be patent leather!" said the old lady. "They shine so!"

"Yes, they shine!" said Karen, and they fitted, and were bought, but the old lady knew nothing about their

being red, else she would never have allowed Karen to have gone in red shoes to be confirmed. Yet such was

the case.

Everybody looked at her feet; and when she stepped through the chancel door on the church pavement, it

seemed to her as if the old figures on the tombs, those portraits of old preachers and preachers' wives, with

stiff ruffs, and long black dresses, fixed their eyes on her red shoes. And she thought only of them as the

clergyman laid his hand upon her head, and spoke of the holy baptism, of the covenant with God, and how

she should be now a matured Christian; and the organ pealed so solemnly; the sweet children's voices sang,

and the old musicdirectors sang, but Karen only thought of her red shoes.

In the afternoon, the old lady heard from everyone that the shoes had been red, and she said that it was very

wrong of Karen, that it was not at all becoming, and that in future Karen should only go in black shoes to

church, even when she should be older.

The next Sunday there was the sacrament, and Karen looked at the black shoes, looked at the red

oneslooked at them again, and put on the red shoes.

The sun shone gloriously; Karen and the old lady walked along the path through the corn; it was rather dusty

there.


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At the church door stood an old soldier with a crutch, and with a wonderfully long beard, which was more red

than white, and he bowed to the ground, and asked the old lady whether he might dust her shoes. And Karen

stretched out her little foot.

"See, what beautiful dancing shoes!" said the soldier. "Sit firm when you dance"; and he put his hand out

towards the soles.

And the old lady gave the old soldier alms, and went into the church with Karen.

And all the people in the church looked at Karen's red shoes, and all the pictures, and as Karen knelt before

the altar, and raised the cup to her lips, she only thought of the red shoes, and they seemed to swim in it; and

she forgot to sing her psalm, and she forgot to pray, "Our Father in Heaven!"

Now all the people went out of church, and the old lady got into her carriage. Karen raised her foot to get in

after her, when the old soldier said,

"Look, what beautiful dancing shoes!"

And Karen could not help dancing a step or two, and when she began her feet continued to dance; it was just

as though the shoes had power over them. She danced round the church corner, she could not leave off; the

coachman was obliged to run after and catch hold of her, and he lifted her in the carriage, but her feet

continued to dance so that she trod on the old lady dreadfully. At length she took the shoes off, and then her

legs had peace.

The shoes were placed in a closet at home, but Karen could not avoid looking at them.

Now the old lady was sick, and it was said she could not recover. She must be nursed and waited upon, and

there was no one whose duty it was so much as Karen's. But there was a great ball in the city, to which Karen

was invited. She looked at the old lady, who could not recover, she looked at the red shoes, and she thought

there could be no sin in it; she put on the red shoes, she might do that also, she thought. But then she went to

the ball and began to dance.

When she wanted to dance to the right, the shoes would dance to the left, and when she wanted to dance up

the room, the shoes danced back again, down the steps, into the street, and out of the city gate. She danced,

and was forced to dance straight out into the gloomy wood.

Then it was suddenly light up among the trees, and she fancied it must be the moon, for there was a face; but

it was the old soldier with the red beard; he sat there, nodded his head, and said, "Look, what beautiful

dancing shoes!"

Then she was terrified, and wanted to fling off the red shoes, but they clung fast; and she pulled down her

stockings, but the shoes seemed to have grown to her feet. And she danced, and must dance, over fields and

meadows, in rain and sunshine, by night and day; but at night it was the most fearful.

She danced over the churchyard, but the dead did not dancethey had something better to do than to dance.

She wished to seat herself on a poor man's grave, where the bitter tansy grew; but for her there was neither

peace nor rest; and when she danced towards the open church door, she saw an angel standing there. He wore

long, white garments; he had wings which reached from his shoulders to the earth; his countenance was

severe and grave; and in his hand he held a sword, broad and glittering.


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"Dance shalt thou!" said he. "Dance in thy red shoes till thou art pale and cold! Till thy skin shrivels up and

thou art a skeleton! Dance shalt thou from door to door, and where proud, vain children dwell, thou shalt

knock, that they may hear thee and tremble! Dance shalt thou!"

"Mercy!" cried Karen. But she did not hear the angel's reply, for the shoes carried her through the gate into

the fields, across roads and bridges, and she must keep ever dancing.

One morning she danced past a door which she well knew. Within sounded a psalm; a coffin, decked with

flowers, was borne forth. Then she knew that the old lady was dead, and felt that she was abandoned by all,

and condemned by the angel of God.

She danced, and she was forced to dance through the gloomy night. The shoes carried her over stack and

stone; she was torn till she bled; she danced over the heath till she came to a little house. Here, she knew,

dwelt the executioner; and she tapped with her fingers at the window, and said, "Come out! Come out! I

cannot come in, for I am forced to dance!"

And the executioner said, "Thou dost not know who I am, I fancy? I strike bad people's heads off; and I hear

that my axe rings!"

"Don't strike my head off!" said Karen. "Then I can't repent of my sins! But strike off my feet in the red

shoes!"

And then she confessed her entire sin, and the executioner struck off her feet with the red shoes, but the shoes

danced away with the little feet across the field into the deep wood.

And he carved out little wooden feet for her, and crutches, taught her the psalm criminals always sing; and

she kissed the hand which had wielded the axe, and went over the heath.

"Now I have suffered enough for the red shoes!" said she. "Now I will go into the church that people may see

me!" And she hastened towards the church door: but when she was near it, the red shoes danced before her,

and she was terrified, and turned round. The whole week she was unhappy, and wept many bitter tears; but

when Sunday returned, she said, "Well, now I have suffered and struggled enough! I really believe I am as

good as many a one who sits in the church, and holds her head so high!"

And away she went boldly; but she had not got farther than the churchyard gate before she saw the red shoes

dancing before her; and she was frightened, and turned back, and repented of her sin from her heart.

And she went to the parsonage, and begged that they would take her into service; she would be very

industrious, she said, and would do everything she could; she did not care about the wages, only she wished

to have a home, and be with good people. And the clergyman's wife was sorry for her and took her into

service; and she was industrious and thoughtful. She sat still and listened when the clergyman read the Bible

in the evenings. All the children thought a great deal of her; but when they spoke of dress, and grandeur, and

beauty, she shook her head.

The following Sunday, when the family was going to church, they asked her whether she would not go with

them; but she glanced sorrowfully, with tears in her eyes, at her crutches. The family went to hear the word of

God; but she went alone into her little chamber; there was only room for a bed and chair to stand in it; and

here she sat down with her PrayerBook; and whilst she read with a pious mind, the wind bore the strains of

the organ towards her, and she raised her tearful countenance, and said, "O God, help me!"


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And the sun shone so clearly, and straight before her stood the angel of God in white garments, the same she

had seen that night at the church door; but he no longer carried the sharp sword, but in its stead a splendid

green spray, full of roses. And he touched the ceiling with the spray, and the ceiling rose so high, and where

he had touched it there gleamed a golden star. And he touched the walls, and they widened out, and she saw

the organ which was playing; she saw the old pictures of the preachers and the preachers' wives. The

congregation sat in cushioned seats, and sang out of their PrayerBooks. For the church itself had come to the

poor girl in her narrow chamber, or else she had come into the church. She sat in the pew with the

clergyman's family, and when they had ended the psalm and looked up, they nodded and said, "It is right that

thou art come!"

"It was through mercy!" she said.

And the organ pealed, and the children's voices in the choir sounded so sweet and soft! The clear sunshine

streamed so warmly through the window into the pew where Karen sat! Her heart was so full of sunshine,

peace, and joy, that it broke. Her soul flew on the sunshine to God, and there no one asked after the RED

SHOES.


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Bookmarks



1. Table of Contents, page = 3

2. Andersen's Fairy Tales, page = 4

   3. Hans Christian Andersen, page = 4

   4. THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES, page = 4

   5. THE SWINEHERD, page = 7

   6. THE REAL PRINCESS, page = 10

   7. THE SHOES OF FORTUNE, page = 11

   8. THE FIR TREE, page = 29

   9. THE SNOW QUEEN, page = 34

   10. THE LEAP-FROG, page = 52

   11. THE ELDERBUSH, page = 53

   12. THE BELL, page = 57

   13. THE OLD HOUSE, page = 60

   14. THE HAPPY FAMILY, page = 64

   15. THE STORY OF A MOTHER, page = 66

   16. THE FALSE COLLAR, page = 69

   17. THE SHADOW, page = 71

   18. THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL, page = 78

   19. THE DREAM OF LITTLE TUK, page = 80

   20. THE NAUGHTY BOY, page = 82

   21. THE RED SHOES, page = 83