Chapters 3
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1 01 - The Snowdrop 9:04
The Snowdrop. The Snow Drop by Hans Christian Andersen. Translated by H. P. Paul, 1812 to 1888. It was winter time. The air was cold. The wind was sharp, but within the closed doors it was warm and comfortable, and within the closed door lay the flower. It lay in the bulb under the snow-covered earth. One day rain fell. The drops penetrated through the snowy covering down into the earth and touched the flower bulb and talked of the bright world above. Soon the sunbeam pierced its way through the snow to the root, and within the root there was a stirring. "'Come in,' said the flower. "'I cannot,' said the sunbeam. "'I am not strong enough to unlock the door. "'When the summer comes, I shall be strong.' "'When will it be summer?' asked the flower, and she repeated this question each time a new sunbeam made its way down to her.
But the summer was yet far distant. The snow still lay upon the ground, and there was a coat of ice on the water every night. "'What a long time it takes! What a long time it takes!' said the flower. I feel a stirring and striving within me. I must stretch myself. I must unlock the door. I must get out, and must nod a good morning to the summer. And what a happy time that will be. And the flower stirred and stretched itself within the thin rind which the water had softened from without, and the snow and the earth had warmed, and the sunbeam had knocked at, and it shot forth under the snow with a greenish-white blossom on a green stalk. with narrow thick leaves, which seemed to want to protect it.
The snow was cold, but was pierced by the sunbeam. Therefore it was easy to get through it, and now the sunbeam came with greater strength than before. Welcome! Welcome! sang and sounded every ray, and the flower lifted itself up over the snow into the brighter world. The sunbeams caressed and kissed it, so that it opened altogether, white as snow, and ornamented with green stripes. It bent its head in joy and humility. "'Beautiful flower,' said the sunbeams, "'how graceful and delicate you are! You are the first, you are the only one. You are our love. You are the bell that rings out for summer, beautiful summer, over country and town. All the snow will melt. The cold winds will be driven away.
We shall rule. All will become green, and then you will have companions, syringas, Laburnums and roses, but you are the first, so graceful, so delicate. That was a great pleasure. It seemed as if the air were singing and sounding, as if rays of light were piercing through the leaves and the stalks of the flower. There it stood, so delicate and so easily broken, and yet so strong in its young beauty, it stood there in its white dress with the green stripes, and made a summer. But there was a long time yet to the summertime. Clouds hid the sun, and bleak winds were blowing. "'You have come too early,' said Wind and Weather. "'We have still the power, and you shall feel it, and give it up to us.
You should have stayed quietly at home, and not have run out to make a display of yourself. Your time has not come yet.' It was a cutting cold. The days which now come brought not a single sunbeam. It was weather that might break such a little flower in two with cold, but the flower had more strength than she herself knew of. She was strong in joy and in faith in the summer, which would be sure to come, which had been announced by her deep longing and confirmed by the warm sunlight. And so she remained standing in confidence in the snow in her white garment, bending her head even while the snowflakes fell thick and heavy, and the icy winds swept over her. "'You'll break,' they said. And fade, and fade.
What did you want out here? Why did you let yourself be tempted? The sunbeam only made game of you. Now you have what you deserve, you summergawk. Summergawk? she repeated in the cold morning hour. Oh, summergawk! cried some children rejoicingly. Yonder stands one. How beautiful, how beautiful! The first one, the only one! These words did the flower so much good. They seemed to her like warm sunbeams. In her joy, the flower did not even feel when it was broken off. It lay in a child's hand, and was kissed by a child's mouth, and carried into a warm room, and looked on by gentle eyes, and put into water. How strengthening! How invigorating! The flower thought she had suddenly come upon the summer.
The daughter of the house, a beautiful little girl, was confirmed, and she had a friend who was confirmed too. He was studying for an examination for an appointment. "'He shall be my summergawk,' she said, and she took the delicate flower and laid it in a piece of scented paper on which verses were written, beginning with summergawk and ending with summergawk. "'My friend, be a wintergawk.' She had twitted him with the summer. Yes, all this was in the verses, and the paper was folded up like a letter, and the flower was folded in the letter too. It was dark around her, dark as in those days when she lay hidden in the bulb. The flower went forth on her journey, and lay in the post-back, and was pressed and crushed, which was not at all pleasant, but that soon came to an end.
The journey was over, the letter was opened, and read by the dear friend. How pleased he was! He kissed the letter! And it was laid, with its enclosure of verses, in a box, in which there were many beautiful verses, but all of them without flowers. She was the first, the only one, as the sunbeams had called her, and it was a pleasant thing to think of that. She had time enough, moreover, to think about it. She thought of it while the summer passed away, and the long winter went by, and the summer came again, before she appeared once more. But now the young man was not pleased at all. He took hold of the letter very roughly, and threw the verses away, so that the flower fell on the ground. Flat and faded she certainly was, but why should she be thrown on the ground?
Still, it was better to be here than in the fire, where the verses in the paper were being burned to ashes. What had happened? What happened so often? The flower had made a gawk of him. That was a jest. The girl had made a fool of him. That was no jest. She had, during the summer, Chosen another friend. Next morning the sun shone in upon the little flattened snowdrop that looked as if it had been painted upon the floor. The servant girl, who was sweeping out the room, picked it up and laid it in one of the books which were upon the table, in the belief that it must have fallen out while the room was being arranged. Again the flower lay among verses, printed verses, and they are better than written ones.
At least, more money has been spent upon them. And after this years went by. The book stood upon the bookshelf, and then it was taken up and somebody read out of it. It was a good book, verses and songs by the old Danish poet Ambrosius Stub, which are well worth reading. The man who was now reading the book turned over a page. "'Why, there's a flower,' he said. "'A snowdrop, a summer gawk, a poet gawk. That flower must have been put in there with a meaning. Poor Ambrosius Stub. He was a summer fool, too.' A poet fool. He came too early before his time, and therefore he had to taste the sharp winds, and wander about as a guest from one noble landed proprietor to another, like a flower in a glass of water, a flower in rhymed verses.
Summer fool, winter fool, fun and folly, but the first, the only, the fresh young Danish poet of those days. Yes, thou shalt remain as a token in the book, that little snowdrop. Thou hast been put there with a meaning. And so the snowdrop was put back into the book, and felt equally honored and pleased to know that it was a token in the glorious book of songs, and that he who was the first to sing and to write had been also a snowdrop, had been a summer gawk, and had been looked upon in the wintertime as a fool. The flower understood this in her way, as we interpret everything in her way. That is the story of the snowdrop. End of the Snowdrop.
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2 02 - Good Luck Can Lie in a Pin 6:34
Good Luck Can Lie in a Pin by Hans Christian Andersen, translated by H. P. Paul, 1812 to 1888. Now I shall tell a story about good luck. We all know good luck. Some see it from year's end to year's end, others only at certain seasons on a certain day. There are even people who only see it once in their lives, but see it we all do. Now I need not tell you, for everyone knows it, that God sends the little child and lays it in a mother's lap. It may be in the rich castle and in the well-to-do house, But it may also be in the open field where the cold wind blows. Everyone does not know, however, but it is true all the same, that God, when he brings the child, brings also a lucky gift for it. But it is not laid openly by its side.
It is laid in some place in the world where one would least expect to find it, and yet it always is found. That is the best of it. It may be laid in an apple. It was so for a learned man who was called Newton. The apple fell, and so he found his good luck. If you do not know the story, then ask someone who knows it to tell it to you. I have another story to tell, and that is a story about a pear.
Once upon a time there was a man who was born in poverty, had grown up in poverty, and in poverty he had married. He was a turner by trade and made especially umbrella handles and rings, but he only lived from hand to mouth.
I never find good luck, he said. This is a story that really happened, and one could name the country and the place where the man lived. But that doesn't matter. The red-sour rowan-berries grew in richest profusion about his house and garden. In the garden there was also a pear-tree. But it did not bear a single pear, and yet the good luck was laid in that pear-tree, Laid in the invisible pears. One night the wind blew a terrible storm. They told in the newspapers that the big stage-coach was lifted off the road and thrown aside like a rag. It could very well happen, then, that a great branch was broken off the pear-tree. The branch was put into the workshop, and the man, as a joke, Made a big pear out of it, and then another big one, then a smaller one, and then some very little ones.
The tree must some time or other have pears, the man said, and he gave them to the children to play with. One of the necessities of life in a wet country is an umbrella. The whole house had only one for common use. If the wind blew too strongly, the umbrella turned inside out. It also snapped two or three times, but the man soon put it right again. The most provoking thing, however, was that the button which held it together when it was down too often jumped out, or the ring which was round it broke in two. One day the button flew off. The man searched for it on the floor, and then got hold of one of the smallest of the wooden pairs which the children had got to play with. "'The button is not to be found,' said the man.
"'But this little thing will serve the same purpose.' So he bored a hole in it, pulled a string through it, and the little pair fitted very well into the broken ring. It was assuredly the very best fastener the umbrella had ever had. Next year, when the man was sending umbrella handles to the town, as he regularly did, he also sent some of the little wooden pears and begged that they might be tried, and so they came to America. There they very soon noticed that the little pears held much better than any other button, and now they demanded of the merchant All the umbrellas which were sent after that should be fastened with the little pear. Now there was something to do. Pears in the thousands.
Wooden pears in all umbrellas. The man must set to work. He turned and turned. The whole pear-tree was cut up into little pears. It brought in pennies. It brought in shillings. My good luck was laid in the pear-tree, said the man. He now got a big workshop with workmen and boys. He was always in a good humor, and said, "'Good luck can lie in a pin.' I also, who tell the story, say so. People have a saying, "'Take a white pin in your mouth, and you will be invisible.' But it must be the right pin, the one which was given us as a lucky gift by our Lord." I got that, and I also, like the man, can catch chinking gold, gleaming gold, the very best, the kind which shines from children's eyes, the kind that sounds from children's mouths, and from father and mother, too.
They read the stories, and I stand among them in the middle of the room, but invisible, for I have the white pin in my mouth, if I see That they are delighted with what I tell them, then I also say, Good luck can lie in a pin.
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3 03 - The Princess and the Pea 3:22
The Princess and the Pea by Hans Christian Andersen. Translated by H. P. Paul, Once upon a time, there was a prince who wanted to marry a princess. But she would have to be. A real princess. He traveled all over the world to find one, but nowhere could he get what he wanted. There were princesses enough, but it was difficult to find out whether they were real ones. There was always something about them that was not as it should be. So he came home again, and was sad. For he would have liked very much to have a real princess. One evening, a terrible storm came on. There was thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in torrents. Suddenly, a knocking was heard at the city gate.
And the old king went to open it. It was a princess. Standing out there in front of the gate. But good gracious, what a sight! The rain and wind had made her look. The water ran down from her hair and clothes. It ran down into the toes of her shoes and out again at the heels. And yet she said that she was a real princess. Well, "'We'll soon find that out,' thought the old queen." But she said nothing, went into the bedroom, took all the bedding off the bedstead, and laid a pea on the bottom. Then she took twenty mattresses and laid them on the pea, and then twenty eider-down beds on top of the mattresses. On this the princess had to lie all night, In the morning she was asked how she had slept.
"'Oh, very badly,' said she. "'I've scarcely closed my eyes all night. Heaven only knows what was in the bed, but I was lying on something hard, so that I'm black and blue all over my body. It's horrible.' Now they knew that she was a real princess, because she had felt the pea Right through the twenty mattresses and the twenty eiderdown beds. Nobody but a real princess could be as sensitive as that. So the prince took her for his wife, for now he knew that he had a real princess, and the pea was put in the museum, where it may still be seen if no one has stolen it. There. That is a true story.