Hans Christian Andersen Fairy Tale Collection by Hans Christian Andersen

1 In A Thousand Years 4:23

In a Thousand Years by Hans Christian Andersen. Translated by H. W. Dolkin, Ph.D. Yes, in a thousand years people will fly on the wings of steam through the air, over the ocean. The young inhabitants of America will become visitors of old Europe. They will come over to see the monuments and the great cities, which will then be in ruins, just as we in our time make pilgrimages to the tottering splendors of Southern Asia. In a thousand years they will come. The Thames, the Danube, and the Rhine still roll their course. Mont Blanc stands firm with its snow-capped summit, and the northern lights gleam over the lands of the North. But generation after generation has become dust. Whole rows of the mighty of the moment are forgotten, like those who already slumber under the hill, on which the rich trader whose ground it is has built a bench, on which he can sit and look out across his waving cornfields.

To Europe, cry the young sons of America. To the land of our ancestors, the glorious land of monuments and fancy. To Europe. The ship of the air comes. It is crowded with passengers, for the transit is quicker than by sea. The electro-magnetic wire under the ocean has already telegraphed the number of the aerial caravan. Europe is in sight. It is the coast of Ireland that they see. But the passengers are still asleep. They will not be called till they are exactly over England. There they will first step on European shore, in the land of Shakespeare, as the educated call it, in the land of politics, the land of machines, as it is called by others. Here they stay a whole day. That is all the time the busy race can devote to the whole of England and Scotland.

Then the journey is continued through the tunnel under the English Channel, to France, the land of Charlemagne and Napoleon. Moliere is named. The learned men talk of the classic school of remote antiquity. There is rejoicing and shouting for the names of heroes, poets, and men of science, whom our time does not know, but who will be born after our time in Paris, the crater of Europe. The air steamboat flies over the country whence Columbus went forth, where Cortes was born, where Calderon sang dramas in sounding verse. Beautiful black-eyed women still live in the blooming valleys, and the oldest songs speak of the Cid and the Alhambra. Then through the air over the sea to Italy, where once lay old, everlasting Rome.

It has vanished. The Campania lies desert. A single ruined wall is shown as the remains of St. Peter's, but there is a doubt if this ruin be genuine. Next, to Greece, to sleep a night in the grand hotel at the top of Mount Olympus, to say that they have been there, and the journey is continued to the Bosphorus. To rest there a few hours, and see the place where Byzantium lay, and where the legend tells that the harem stood in the time of the Turks, poor fishermen are now spreading their nets. Over the remains of mighty cities on the broad Danube, cities which we in our time know not, the travelers pass. But here and there, on the rich sights of those that time shall bring forth, the caravan sometimes descends and departs thence again.

Down below lies Germany. That was once covered with a close net of railways and canals, the region where Luther spoke, where Goethe sang, and Mozart once held the sceptre of harmony. Great names shine there, in science and in art, names that are unknown to us. One day devoted to seeing Germany, and one for the North, the country of Ørsted and Linnaeus. And for Norway, the land of the old heroes and the young Normans. Iceland is visited on the journey home, the Gysers burn no more, Heckler is an extinct volcano, but the rocky island is still fixed in the midst of the foaming sea, a continual monument of legend and poetry. "'There is really a great deal to be seen in Europe,' says the young American, "'and we have seen it in a week according to the directions of the great traveller,' and here he mentions the name of one of his contemporaries.

In his celebrated work, How to See All Europe in a Week.'" End of In A Thousand Years by Hans Christian Andersen Recording by Lucy Perry, in Bath, on July 6th, 2009.

2 The Tinder Box 17:34

The Tinder-Box by Hans Christian Andersen.

There came a soldier marching along the high road. One, two. One. Two. He had his knapsack on his back and a saber by his side, for he had been in the wars, and now he wanted to go home. And on the way he met with an old witch. She was very hideous, and her under-lip hung down upon her breast. She said, "'Good evening, soldier. What a fine sword you have, and what a big knapsack!' You're a proper soldier. Now you shall have as much money as you like to have." I thank you, you old witch," said the soldier. Do you see that great tree?" quoth the witch, and she pointed to a tree which stood beside them. It's quite hollow inside. You must climb to the top, and then you'll see a hole through which you can let yourself down and get deep into the tree.

I'll tie a rope round your body so that I can pull you up again when you call me. What am I to do down in the tree? asked the soldier. Get money, replied the witch. Listen to me. When you come down to the earth under the tree you'll find yourself in a great hall. It is quite light, for above three hundred lamps are burning there. Then you will see three doors. These you can open, for the keys are hanging there. If you go into the first chamber, you'll see a great chest in the middle of the floor. On this chest sits a dog, and he's got a pair of eyes as big as two teacups. But you need not care for that. I'll give you my blue-checked apron, and you can spread it out upon the floor. Then go up quickly and take the dog, and set him on my apron, then open the chest and take as many shillings as you like.

There of copper, if you prefer silver, you must go to the second chamber. But there sits a dog with a pair of eyes as big as mill wheels. But do not you care for that? Set em upon my apron, and take some of the money. And if you want gold, you can have that, too—in fact, as much as you can carry if you go into the third chamber. But the dog that sits on the money chest there has two eyes as big as round towers. He is a fierce dog, you may be sure, but you needn't be afraid for all that. Only set him on my apron, and he won't hurt you, and take out of the chest as much gold as you like. That's not so bad," said the soldier. But what am I to give you, you old witch? For you will not do it for nothing, I fancy.

No, replied the witch. Not a single shilling will I have. You shall only bring me an old tinder-box, which my grandmother forgot when she was down there last. Then tie the rope around my body, cried the soldier. "'Here it is,' said the witch, "'and here's my blue-checked apron.' Then the soldier climbed up into the tree, let himself slip down into the hole, and stood, as the witch had said, in the great hall where the three hundred lamps were burning. Now he opened the first door. Ugh! There sat the dog with the eyes as big as tea-cups staring at him. "'You're a nice fellow,' exclaimed the soldier, and he set him on the witch's apron, and took as many copper shillings as his pockets would hold, and then locked the chest, set the dog on it again, and went into the second chamber.

Aha! there sat the dog with eyes as big as mill-wheels. "'You should not stare so hard at me,' said the soldier. "'You might strain your eyes.' And he set the dog upon the witch's apron. And when he saw the silver money in the chest, he threw away all the copper money he had, and filled his pockets and his knapsack with silver only. Then he went into the third chamber. Oh, but that was horrid. The dog there really had eyes as big as towers, and they turned round and round in his head like wheels. Good evening, said the soldier, and he touched his cap, for he had never seen such a dog as that before. When he had looked at him a little more closely, he thought, that will do, and lifted him down to the floor and opened the chest.

Mercy! What a quantity of gold was there! He could buy with it the whole town, and the sugar-sucking pigs of the cake-woman, and all the tin soldiers, whips, and rocking-horses in the whole world. Yes, that was a quantity of money. Now the soldier threw away all the silver coin with which he had filled his pockets and his knapsack, and took gold instead. Yes, all his pockets, his knapsack, his boots and cap were filled, so that he could scarcely walk. Now, indeed, he had plenty of money. He put the dog on the chest, shut the door, and then called up through the tree. "'Now pull me up, you old witch!' "'Have you got the tinder-box?' asked the witch. "'Plague on it!' exclaimed the soldier. "'I had clean forgotten that.' And he went and brought it.

The witch drew him up, and he stood on the high road again with pockets, boots, knapsack and cap full of gold. "'What are you going to do with the tinder-box?' asked the soldier. "'That's nothing to you,' retorted the witch. "'You've had your money. Just give me the tinder-box.' "'Nonsense,' said the soldier. "'Tell me directly what you're going to do with it, or I'll draw my sword and cut off your head.' "'No!' cried the witch. So the soldier cut off her head. There she lay. But he tied up all his money in her apron, took it on his back like a bundle, put the tinder-box in his pocket, and went straight off towards the town. That was a splendid town. And he put up at the very best inn, and asked for the finest rooms, and ordered his favourite dishes, for now he was rich, as he had so much money.

The servant who had to clean his boots certainly thought them a remarkably old pair for such a rich gentleman, but he had not bought any new ones yet. The next day he procured proper boots and handsome clothes. Now our soldier had become a fine gentleman, and the people told him of all the splendid things which were in their city, and about the king, and what a pretty princess the king's daughter was. "'Where can one get to see her?' asked the soldier. She is not to be seen at all, said they all together. She lives in a great copper castle, with a great many walls and towers round about it. No one but the king may go in and out there, for it has been prophesied that she shall marry a common soldier, and the king can't bear that.

I should like to see her, thought the soldier, but he could not get leave to do so. Now he lived merrily, went to the theatre, drove in the king's garden, and gave much money to the poor, and this was very kind of him, for he knew from old times how hard it is when one has not a shilling. Now he was rich, had fine clothes, and gained many friends, who all said he was a rare one, a true cavalier, and that pleased the soldier well. But as he spent money every day and never earned any, he had at last only two shillings left, and he was obliged to turn out of the fine rooms in which he had dwelt, and had to live in a little garret under the roof, and clean his boots for himself, and mend them with a darning needle.

None of his friends came to see him, for there were too many stairs to climb. It was quite dark one evening, and he could not even buy himself a candle, when it occurred to him that there was a candle-end in the tinder-box which he had taken out of the hollow tree, into which the witch had helped him. He brought out the tinder-box and the candle-end, but as soon as he struck fire and the sparks rose up from the flint, the door flew open, and the dog, who had eyes as big as a couple of teacups and whom he had seen in the tree, stood before him and said, "'What are my lord's commands?' "'What is this?' said the soldier. "'That's a famous tinder-box, if I can get everything with it that I want.' Bring me some money," said he to the dog, and whisk!

The dog was gone, and whisk! He was back again with a great bag full of shillings in his mouth. Now the soldier knew what a capital tinder-box this was. If he struck it once, the dog came who sat on the chest of copper money. If he struck it twice, the dog came who had the silver, and if he struck it three times, then appeared the dog who had the gold.

Now the soldier moved back into the fine rooms, and appeared again in handsome clothes, and all his friends knew him again, and cared very much for him indeed. Once he thought to himself, It is a very strange thing that one cannot get to see the princess. They all say she is very beautiful, but what is the use of that if she has always to sit in the great copper castle with the many towers? Can I not get to see her at all? Where is my tinder-box? And so he struck a light, and whisked came the dog with eyes as big as tea-cups. It is midnight, certainly," said the soldier, but I should very much like to see the princess, only for one little moment. And the dog was outside the door directly, and before the soldier thought it came back with the princess.

She sat upon the dog's back and slept, And everyone could see she was a real princess, for she was so lovely. The soldier could not refrain from kissing her, for he was a thorough soldier. Then the dog ran back again with the princess, but when morning came and the king and queen were drinking tea, the princess said she had had a strange dream the night before, about a dog and a soldier, that she had ridden upon the dog and the soldier had kissed her. "'That would be a fine history,' said the queen. So one of the old court ladies had to watch the next night by the princess's bed to see if this really was a dream, or what it might be. The soldier had a great longing to see the lovely princess again, so the dog came in the night, took her away, and ran as fast as he could.

But the old lady put on water boots and ran just as fast after him. When she saw that they both entered a great house, she thought, Now I know where it is, and with a bit of chalk she drew a great cross upon the door. Then she went home and lay down, and the dog came up with the princess, but when he saw that there was a cross drawn on the door where the soldier lived, he took a piece of chalk, too, and drew crosses on all the doors in the town. And that was cleverly done, for now the lady could not find the right door, because all the doors had crosses upon them. In the morning early came the king and queen, the old court lady and all the officers, to see where it was the princess had been. "'Here it is,' said the king, when he saw the first door with a cross upon it.

"'No, my dear husband, it is there,' said the queen, who descried another door which also showed a cross. But there is one, and there is one," said all, for wherever they looked there were crosses on the doors, so they saw it would avail them nothing if they searched on. But the queen was an exceedingly clever woman who could do more than ride in a coach. She took her great gold scissors, cut a piece of silk into pieces, and made a neat little bag. This bag she filled with fine wheat flour and tied it on the princess's back, and when that was done she cut a little hole in the bag so that the flour would be scattered along all the way which the princess should take. In the night the dog came again, took the princess on his back, and ran with her to the soldier, who loved her very much and would gladly have been a prince, so that he might have her for his wife.

The dog did not notice at all how the flower ran out in a stream from the castle to the windows of the soldier's house, where he ran up the wall with the princess. In the morning, the king and the queen saw well enough where their daughter had been, and they took the soldier and put him in prison. There he sat. Oh, but it was dark and disagreeable there, and they said to him, "'To-morrow you shall be hanged.' That was not amusing to hear, and he had left his tinder-box at the inn. In the morning he could see, through the iron grating of the little window, how the people were hurrying out of the town to see him hanged. He heard the drums beat and saw the soldiers marching. All the people were running out, and among them was a shoemaker's boy, with a leather apron and slippers, and he galloped so fast that one of his slippers flew off and came right against the wall where the soldier sat looking through the iron grating.

Hello! You shoemaker's boy! You needn't be in such a hurry, cried the soldier to him. It will not begin till I come. But if you will run to where I lived and bring me my tinder-box, you shall have four shillings. But you must put your best leg foremost. The shoemaker's boy wanted to get the four shillings, so he went and brought the tinder-box, and—well, we shall hear now what happened. Outside the town a great gallows had been built. Round it stood the soldiers and many hundred thousand people. The king and queen sat on a splendid throne opposite to the judges and the whole council. The soldier already stood upon the ladder, but as they were about to put the rope around his neck, he said that before a poor criminal suffered his punishment, an innocent request was always granted to him.

He wanted very much to smoke a pipe of tobacco, and it would be the last pipe he should smoke in the world. The king would not say no to this, so the soldier took his tinder-box and struck fire. One, two, three, and there suddenly stood all the dogs, the one with the eyes as big as tea-cups, the one with the eyes as large as mill-wheels, and the one whose eyes were as big as round towers. Help me now, so that I may not be hanged, said the soldier. And the dogs fell upon the judge and all the counsel, seized one by the leg and another by the nose, and tossed them all many feet into the air, so that they fell down and were broken to pieces. I won't, cried the king, but the biggest dog took him and the queen and threw them after the others.

Then the soldiers were afraid, and the people cried, Little Soldier, you shall be our king and marry the beautiful princess. So they put the soldier into the king's coach, and all the three dogs darted on in front and cried, Hurrah! And the boys whistled through their fingers, and the soldiers presented arms. The princess came out of the copper castle and became queen, and she liked that well enough. The wedding lasted a week, and the three dogs sat at the table, too, and opened their eyes wider than ever at all they saw.

3 The Little Match-Seller 8:27

The Little Match Cellar by Hans Christian Andersen. Translated by Mrs. H. P. Paule.

It was terribly cold and nearly dark on the last evening of the old year. And the snow was falling fast. In the cold and the darkness, a poor little girl with bare head and naked feet roamed through the streets.

It is true she had on a pair of slippers when she left home, but they were not of much use. They were very large, so large indeed that they had belonged to her mother, And the poor little creature had lost them in running across the street to avoid two carriages that were rolling along at a terrible rate. One of the sleepers she could not find, and a boy seized upon the other and ran away with it, saying that he could use it as a cradle when he had children of his own. So the little girl went on with her little naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old apron she carried a number of matches, and had a bundle of them in her hands. No one had bought anything of her the whole day, nor had anyone given her even a penny.

Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along. Poor little child! She looked the picture of misery. The snowflakes fell on her long, fair hair, which hung in curls on her shoulders. But she regarded them not.

Lights were shining from every window, and there was a savory smell of Frost Goose, for it was New Year's Eve. Yes, she remembered that. In a corner? Between two houses, one of which projected beyond the other, she sank down and huddled herself together. She had drawn her little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold. And she dared not go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not take home even a penny of money. Her father would certainly beat her. Besides, It was almost as cold at home as here, for they had only the roof to cover them, through which the wind howled, although the largest holes had been stopped up with straw and rags. Her little hands were almost frozen with the cold.

Ah, perhaps a burning match might be some good, if she could draw it from the bundle and strike it against the wall, just to warm her fingers. She drew one out.

How it sputtered as it burnt! It gave a warm, bright light, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it. It was really a wonderful light. It seemed to the little girl that she was sitting by a large iron stove, with polished brass feet and a brass ornament. How the fire burnt, and seemed so beautifully warm that the child stretched out her feet as if to warm them. When, lo, the flame of the match went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the half-burnt match in her hand.

She rubbed another match on the wall. It burst into a flame, and where its light fell upon the wall, it became as transparent as a veil, and she could see into the room. The table was covered with a snowy white table-cloth, on which stood a splendid dinner service, and a steaming roast-goose stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what was still more wonderful The goose jumped down from the dish and waddled across the floor, with a knife and fork in its breast, to the little girl. Then the match went out, and there remained nothing but the thick, damp, cold wall before her. She lighted another match, and then she found herself sitting under a beautiful Christmas tree. It was larger and more beautifully decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchants.

Thousands of tapers were burning upon the green branches, and colored pictures, like those she had seen in the show windows, looked down upon it all. The little one stretched out her hand towards them, and the match went out. The Christmas lights rose higher and higher till they looked to her like the stars in the sky. Then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire. Someone is dying, thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her and who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls, a soul was going up to guard. She again rubbed a match on the wall, and the light shone round her. In the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining, yet mild and loving in her appearance.

"'Grandmother!' cried the little one. "'Oh, take me with you!' I know you will go away when the match burns out. You will vanish like the warm stove, the rose-goose, and the large, glorious Christmas tree.

And she made haste to light the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother there. And the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noonday. And her grandmother had never appeared so large or so beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards in brightness and joy, far above the earth, where there was neither cold nor hunger nor pain, for they were with God.

In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall. She had been frozen to death on the last evening of the year. And the New Year's sun rose and shone upon her little corpse. The child still sat, in the stiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand, one bundle of which was burnt. She tried to warm herself. said someone. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what glory she had entered with her grandmother on New Year's Day.

End of the Little Match Cellar by Hans Christian Andersen.

4 The Brave Tin Soldier 10:07

The Brave Tin Soldier by Hans Christian Andersen. There were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers, who were all brothers, for they had been made out of the same old tin spoon. They shouldered arms and looked straight before them, and wore a splendid uniform, red and blue. The first thing in the world they ever heard were the words, Tin Soldiers! Uttered by a little boy, who clapped his hands with delight when the lid of the box in which they lay was taken off. They were given to him for a birthday present, and he stood at the table to set them up. The soldiers were all exactly alike, excepting one who had only one leg. He had been left to the last, and then there was not enough of the melted tin to finish him, so they made him to stand firmly on one leg, and this caused him to be very remarkable.

The table on which the tin soldiers stood was covered with other playthings, but the most attractive to the eye was a pretty little paper castle. Through the small windows the rooms could be seen. In front of the castle a number of little trees surrounded a piece of looking-glass, which was intended to represent a transparent lake. Swans made of wax swam on the lake, and were reflected in it. All this was very pretty, but the prettiest of all was a tiny little lady who stood at the open door of the castle. She also was made of paper, and she wore a dress of clear muslin with a narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders, just like a scarf. In front of these was fixed a glittering tinsel rose, as large as her whole face.

The little lady was a dancer, and she stretched out both her arms and raised one of her legs so high that the tin soldier could not see it at all, and he thought that she, like himself, had only one leg. That is the wife for me, he thought. But she is too grand, and lives in a castle, while I have only a box to live in, five-and-twenty of us altogether. That is no place for her. Still, I must try and make her acquaintance. Then he laid himself at full length on the table behind a snuff-box that stood upon it, so that he could peep at the little delicate lady, who continued to stand on one leg without losing her balance. When evening came, the other tin soldiers were all placed in the box, and the people of the house went to bed.

Then the playthings began to have their own games together, to pay visits, to have sham fights, and to give balls. The tin soldiers rattled in their box. They wanted to get out and join the amusements, but they could not open the lid. The nutcrackers played at leapfrog, and the pencil jumped about the table. There was such a noise that the canary woke up and began to talk, and in poetry, too. Only the tin soldier and the dancer remained in their places. She stood on tiptoe with her legs stretched out, as firmly as he did on his one leg. He never took his eyes from her. for even a moment. The clock struck twelve, and with a bounce up sprang the lid of the snuff-box, but instead of snuff there jumped up a little black goblin, for the snuff-box was a toy puzzle.

"'Tin soldier,' said the goblin, "'don't wish for what does not belong to you.' But the tin soldier pretended not to hear. "'Very well. Wait till tomorrow, then,' said the goblin. When the children came in the next morning, They placed the tin soldier in the window. Now, whether it was the goblin who did it or the draught is not known, but the window flew open, and out fell the tin soldier, heels over head, from the third story into the street below. It was a terrible fall, for he came head downwards, his helmet and his bayonet stuck in between the flagstones, and his one leg up in the air. The servant-maid and the little boy went downstairs directly to look for him. But he was nowhere to be seen, although once they nearly trod on him.

If he had called out, here I am, it would have been all right, but he was too proud to cry out for help while he wore a uniform. Presently it began to rain, and the drops fell faster and faster, till there was a heavy shower. When it was over, two boys happened to pass by, and one of them said, Look, there is a tin soldier. He ought to have a boat to sail in. So they made a boat out of a newspaper. and placed the tin soldier in it, and sent him sailing down the gutter, while the two boys ran by the side of it and clapped their hands. Good gracious, what large waves arose in that gutter, and how fast the stream rolled on, for the rain had been very heavy. The paper boat rocked up and down, and turned itself round sometimes so quickly that the tin soldier trembled, yet he remained firm.

His countenance did not change. He looked straight before him and shouldered his musket. Suddenly the boat shot under a bridge which formed part of a drain, and then it was as dark as the tin soldier's box. "'Where am I going now?' thought he. "'This is the Black Goblin's fault, I am sure. "'Ah well, if the little lady were only here with me in the boat, I should not care for any darkness.' Suddenly there appeared a great water-rat who lived in the drain. "'Have you a passport?' asked the rat. "'Give it to me at once.' But the tin soldier remained silent, and held his musket tighter than ever. The boat sailed on, and the Rat followed it. How he did gnash his teeth and cry out to the bits of wooden straw, Stop him!

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

He now stood up to his neck in water, while deeper and deeper sank the boat, and the paper became soft and loose with the wet, till at last the water closed over the soldier's head. He thought of the elegant little dancer, whom he should never see again, and the words of the song sounded in his ears. Farewell, warrior, ever brave, drifting onward to thy grave. Then the paper boat fell to pieces. And the soldier sank into the water, and immediately afterwards was swallowed up by a great fish. Oh, how dark it was inside the fish! A great deal darker than in the tunnel, and narrower too, but the tin soldier continued firm, and lay at full length shouldering his musket. The fish swam to and fro, making the most wonderful movements, but at last he became quite still.

After a while a flash of lightning seemed to pass through him, And then the daylight approached, and a voice cried out, "'I declare, here is the tin soldier!' The fish had been caught, taken to the market, and sold to the cook, who took him into the kitchen and cut him open with a large knife. She picked up the soldier, and held him by the waist between her finger and thumb, and carried him into the room. They were all anxious to see this wonderful soldier, who had travelled about inside a fish, but he was not at all proud. They placed him on the table, and—how many curious things do happen in the world! There he was, in the very same room, from the window of which he had fallen. There were the same children, the same playthings, standing on the table, and the pretty castle with the elegant little dancer at the door.

She still balanced herself on one leg, and held up the other, so she was as firm as himself. It touched the tin soldier so much to see her that he almost wept tin tears, but he kept them back. He only looked at her, and they both remained silent. Presently, one of the little boys took up the tin soldier and threw him into the stove. He had no reason for doing so, therefore it must have been the fault of the black goblin who lived in the snuff-box. The flames lighted up the tin soldier as he stood. The heat was very terrible. But whether it proceeded from the real fire, or from the fire of love, he could not tell. Then he could see that the bright colors were faded from his uniform, but whether they had been washed off during his journey, or from the effects of his sorrow, no one could say.

He looked at the little lady, and she looked at him. He felt himself melting away, but he still remained firm, with his gun on his shoulder. Suddenly the door of the room flew open. And the draught of air caught up the little dancer. She fluttered like a sylph right into the stove by the side of the tin soldier, and was instantly in flames, and was gone. The tin soldier melted down into a lump, and the next morning, when the maid-servant took the ashes out of the stove, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the little dancer nothing remained but the tinsel rose, which was burnt. Black as a cinder. The End of the Brow. By Hans Christian Andersen.

5 The Princess and the Pea 2:23

The Princess and the Pea by Hans Christian Andersen. 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 the front of the gate.

But, good gracious! What a sight the rain and the 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 the 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 have scarcely closed my eyes all night. Heaven only knows what was in the bed, but I was lying on something hard, so that I am 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 eider-down 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 into the museum, where it may still be seen, if no one has stolen it. There, that is a true story. End of The Princess and the Pea By Hans Christian Andersen.

6 The Ugly Duckling 29:04

The Ugly Duckling by Hans Christian Andersen.

It was so glorious out in the country. It was summer. The cornfields were yellow. The oats were green, the hay had been put up in stacks in the green meadows, and the stork went about on his long red legs and chattered Egyptian, for this was the language he had learned from his good mother. All around the fields and meadows were great forests, and in the midst of these forests lay deep lakes. Yes, It was right glorious out in the country. In the midst of the sunshine, there lay an old farm, with deep canals about it, and from the wall down to the water grew great burdocks, so high that little children could stand upright under the loftiest of them. It was just as wild there, as in the deepest wood, and here sat a duck upon her nest.

She had to hatch her ducklings. But she was almost tired out before the little ones came, and then she so seldom had visitors. The other ducks liked better to swim about in the canals than to run up to sit down under a burdock and cackle with her.

At last, one egg-shell after another burst open.

It cried, and in all the eggs there were little creatures that stuck out their heads. Quack, quack, they said, and they all came quacking out as fast as they could, looking all around them under the green leaves. And the mother let them look as much as they chose, for green is good for the eye. "'How wide the world is!' said all the young ones, for they certainly had much more room now than when they were in the eggs. "'D'ye think this is all the world?' said the mother. "'That stretch is far across the other side of the garden.' Quite into the parson's field. But I have never been there yet. I hope you are all together?" And she stood up. No, I have not all. The largest egg still lies there.

How long is it to last? I am really tired of it. And she sat down again. "'Well, how goes it?' asked an old duck, who had come to pay her a visit. "'It lasts a long time without one egg,' said the duck who sat there. "'It will not burst. Now only look at the others. Are they not the prettiest little ducks one could possibly see?' "'They are all like their father. The rogue, he never comes to see me.' "'Let me see the egg which will not burst,' said the old visitor. You may be sure it is a turkey's egg. I was once cheated in that way, and had much anxiety and trouble with the young ones, for they are afraid of the water. Must I say it to you? I could not get them to venture in. I quacked and I clacked, but it was no use.

Let me see the egg. Yes, that's a turkey's egg. Let it lie there and teach the other children to swim.

"'I think I will sit on it a little longer,' said the duck. "'I've sat so long now that I can sit a few days more.' "'Just as you please,' said the old duck, and she went away. At last the great egg burst. "'Beep, beep,' said the little one. and crept forth. It was very large and very ugly. The duck looked at it. "'It's a very large duckling,' said she. "'None of the others look like that. Can it really be a turkey-chick?' "'Well, we shall soon find out. It must go into the water, even if I have to thrust it in myself.' The next day, it was bright, beautiful weather. The sun shone on all the green trees. The mother duck went down to the canal with all her family. Splash! She jumped into the water.

Quack, quack, she said, and one duckling after another plunged in. The water closed over their heads. But they came up in an instant, and swam capitally. Their legs went off themselves, and they were all in the water. The ugly gray duckling swam with them. "'No, it's not a turkey,' said she. "'Look how well it can use its legs, and how straight it holds itself. It is my own child. On the whole, it's quite pretty.' If one looks at it rightly.

Come with me, and I'll lead you out into the great world and present you in the duck-yard. But keep close to me, so that no one may tread on you and take care of the cats. And so they came into the duck-yard. There was a terrible riot going on in there, for two families were Quarrelling about an eel's head, and the cat got it after all. "'See, that's how it goes in the world,' said the mother duck, and she whetted her beak, for she too wanted the eel's head. "'Only use your legs,' she said. "'See that you can bustle about, and bow your heads before the old duck yonder. She's the grandest of all here. She's of Spanish blood.' That's why she's so fat. And you see, she has a red rag round her leg.

That's something particularly fine and the greatest distinction a duck can enjoy. It signifies that one does not want to lose her, and that she's to be known by the animals and by men, too. Shake yourselves. Don't turn in your toes. A well-brought-up duck turns its toes quite out, just like father and mother. So, now bend your necks and say, and they did so. But the other ducks round about looked at them, and said quite boldly, Look there, now we're to have these hanging on, as if there were not enough of us already. And, fie! "'How that duckling yonder looks! We won't stand that!' And one duck flew up at it, and bit it in the neck. "'Let it alone,' said the mother. "'It does no harm to anyone.' "'Yes, but it's too large and peculiar,' said the duck who had bitten it.

"'And therefore it must be put down.' "'Those are pretty children that the mother has there,' said the old duck with the rag round her leg. "'They're all pretty but that one. That was rather unlucky. I wish she could bear it over again.' "'That cannot be done, my lady,' replied the mother duck. "'It is not pretty, but it has a really good disposition, and swims as well as any other.' Yes, I may even say it. Swims better. I think it will grow up pretty and become smaller in time. It has lain too long in the egg, and therefore is not properly shaped. And then she pinched it in the neck and smoothed its feathers. Moreover, it is a drake, she said, and therefore it is not of so much consequence. "'I think it will be very strong.

He makes his way already.' "'The other ducklings are graceful enough,' said the old duck. "'Make yourself at home, and if you find an eel's head, you may bring it to me.' And now they were at home. But the poor duckling, which had crept last out of the egg, and looked so ugly, was bitten and pushed and jeered as much by the ducks as by the chickens. It is too big, they all said. And the turkey-cock, who had been born with the spurs, and therefore thought himself an emperor, blew himself up like a ship in full sail, and bore straight down upon it. Then he gobbled and grew quite red in the face. The poor duckling did not know where it should stand or walk. It was quite melancholy, because it looked ugly, and was the butt of the whole duck-yard.

So it went on the first day, and afterwards it became worse and worse. The poor duckling was hunted about by everyone, Even its brothers and sisters were quite angry with it, and said, "'If the cat would only catch you, you ugly creature!' And the mother said, "'If you were only far away!' And the ducks beat it, and the chickens beat it, and the girl who had to feed the poultry kicked at it with her foot. Then it ran and flew over the fence. And the little birds in the bushes flew up in fear. "'That is because I am so ugly,' thought the duckling. And it shut its eyes, but flew on further. And so it came out into the great moor, where the wild ducks lived. Here it lay the whole night long, and it was weary and downcast.

Towards morning, The wild ducks flew up and looked at their new companion. "'What sort of a one are you?' they asked, and the duckling turned in every direction and bowed as well as it could. "'You are remarkably ugly,' said the wild ducks. "'But that is nothing to us, so long as you do not marry into our family.' "'Poor thing!' It certainly did not think of marrying, and only hoped to obtain leave to lie among the reeds and drink some of the swamp water. Thus it lay two whole days. Then came thither two wild geese, or, properly speaking, two wild ganders. It was not long since each had crept out of an egg, and that's why they were so saucy. "'Listen, comrade,' said one of them. "'You're so ugly that I like you.

Will you go with us and become a bird of passage? Near here, in another moor, there are a few sweet, lovely, wild geese, all unmarried and all able to say, Rap. You've a chance of making your fortune, ugly as you are.' "'Piff, puff!' resounded through the air. And the two ganders fell down dead in the swamp, and the water became blood-red. Piff, puff! He sounded again, and the whole flock of wild geese rose up from the reeds. And then there was another report. A great hunt was going on. The sportsmen were lying in wait all round the moor, and some were even sitting up in the branches of the trees, which spread far over the reeds. The blue smoke rose up like clouds among the dark trees, and was wafted far away across the water.

And the hunting dogs came, splash, splash, into the swamp, and the rushes and the reeds bent down on every side. That was a fright for the poor duckling. It turned its head and put it under its wing. But at that moment, a frightful great dog stood close by the duckling. His tongue hung far out of his mouth, and his eyes gleamed horrible and ugly. He thrust out his nose close against the duckling, showed his sharp teeth, and, splash, splash, on he went, without seizing it. Oh, heaven be thanked! sighed the duckling. I am so ugly that even the dog does not like to bite me. And so it lay quite quiet, while the shots rattled through the reeds, and gun after gun was fired. At last, late in the day, all was still.

It waited several hours before it looked round, and then hastened away out of the moor as fast as it could. It ran on over field and meadow. There was such a storm raging that it was difficult to get from one place to another. Towards evening, the duck came to a little miserable peasant's hut. This hut was so dilapidated that it did not itself know on which side it should fall. And that's why it remained standing. The storm whistled round the duckling in such a way that the poor creature was obliged to sit down to stand against it. And the wind blew worse and worse. Then the duckling noticed that one of the hinges of the door had given way, and the door hung so slanting that the duckling could slip through the crack into the room.

And that is what it did. Here lived a woman with her cat and her hen. And the cat, whom she called Sonny, could arch his back and purr. He could even give out sparks. But for that, one had to stroke his fur the wrong way. The hen had quite little short legs, and therefore she was called Chickabety Shortshanks. She laid good eggs, and the woman loved her as her own child. In the morning, the strange duckling was at once noticed, and the cat began to purr, and the hen to cluck. "'What's this?' said the woman, and looked all round. But she could not see well, and therefore she thought the duckling was a fat duck that had strayed. "'This is a rare prize,' she said. "'Now I shall have duck's eggs.

I hope it is not a drake. We must try that.' And so the duckling was admitted on trial for three weeks. But no eggs came. And the cat was master of the house, and the hen was the lady, and always said, "'We and the world!' For she thought they were half the world, and by far the better half. The duckling thought one might have a different opinion, but the hen would not allow it. "'Can you lay eggs?' she asked. "'No.' "'Then will you hold your tongue?' And the cat said, "'Can you curve your back and purr and give out sparks?' "'No.' Then you will please have no opinion of your own when sensible folks are speaking. And the duckling sat in a corner and was melancholy. Then the fresh air and the sunshine streamed in, and it was seized with such a strange longing to swim on the water that it could not help telling the hen of it.

"'What are you thinking of?' cried the hen. "'You have nothing to do. That's why you have these fancies. Lay eggs or purr, and they will pass over.' "'But it is so charming to swim on the water,' said the duckling. "'So refreshing to let it close above one's head and to dive down to the bottom.' "'Yes, that must be a mighty pleasure, truly,' quoth the hen. I fancy you must have gone crazy. Ask the cat about it. He's the cleverest animal I know. Ask him if he likes to swim on the water or to dive down. I won't speak about myself. Ask our mistress, the old woman. No one in the world is cleverer than she. Do you think she has any desire to swim and to let the water close above her head? You don't understand me.

said the duckling. "'We don't understand you.' "'Then pray, who is to understand you? "'You surely don't pretend to be cleverer than the cat and the woman. "'I won't say anything of myself. "'Don't be conceited, child, "'and thank your maker for all the kindness you have received. "'Did you not get into a warm room, "'and have you not fallen into company "'from which you may learn something?' But you are a chatterer, and it is not pleasant to associate with you. You may believe me. I speak for your good. I tell you disagreeable things, and by that one may always know one's true friends. Only take care that you learn to lay eggs, or to purr and give out sparks. I think I will go out into the wide world, said the duckling.

Yes, do go, replied the hen. And so the duckling went away. It swam on the water and dived, but it was slighted by every creature because of its ugliness. Now came the autumn. The leaves in the forest turned yellow and brown. The wind caught them so that they danced about, and up in the air, It was very cold. The clouds hung low, heavy with hail and snowflakes, and on the fence stood the raven crying, for mere cold. Yes, it was enough to make one feel cold to think of this. The poor little duckling certainly had not a good time. One evening, The sun was just setting in his beauty. There came a whole flock of great, handsome birds out of the bushes. They were dazzlingly white, with long, flexible necks.

They were swans. They uttered a very peculiar cry, spread forth their glorious great wings, and flew away from that cold region to armor lands, to fair open lakes. They mounted so high, so high, and the ugly duckling felt quite strangely as it watched them. It turned round and round in the water like a wheel, stretched out its neck towards them, and uttered such a strange loud cry as frightened itself. Oh, it could not forget those beautiful happy birds! And so soon as it could see them no longer, It dived down to the very bottom, and when it came up again, it was quite beside itself. It knew not the name of those birds, and knew not whither they were flying. But it loved them more than it had ever loved anyone.

It was not at all envious of them. How could it think of wishing to possess such loveliness as they had? It would have been glad if only the ducks would have endured its company, the poor ugly creature. And the winter grew cold, very cold. The duckling was forced to swim about in the water to prevent the surface from freezing entirely. But every night, the hole in which it swam about became smaller and smaller. It froze so hard that the icy covering crackled again, and the duckling was obliged to use its leg continually to prevent the hole from freezing up. At last it became exhausted and lay quite still, and thus froze fast into the ice.

Early in the morning a peasant came by, and when he saw what had happened he took his wooden shoe, broke the ice crust to pieces, and carried the duckling home to his wife. Then it came to itself again. The children wanted to play with it, but the duckling thought they wanted to hurt it, and in its terror fluttered up into the milk-pan, so that the milk spurted down into the room. The woman clasped her hands, at which the duckling flew down into the butter-tub, and then into the meal-barrel, and out again. How it looked, then! The women screamed and struck at it with the fire-tongues. The children tumbled over one another in their efforts to catch the duckling. And they laughed, and they screamed.

Well, it was that the door stood open, and the poor creature was able to slip out between the shrubs into the newly-fallen snow. There it lay quite exhausted. But it would be too melancholy if I were to tell you all the misery and care which the duckling had to endure in the hard winter. It lay out on the moor among the reeds, when the sun began to shine again, and the larks to sing. It was a beautiful spring. Then, all at once, the duckling could flap its wings, They beat the air more strongly than before, and bore it strongly away. And before it well knew how all this happened, it found itself in a great garden, where the elder trees smelled sweet and bent their long green branches down to the canal that wound through the region.

Oh, here it was so beautiful, such a gladness of spring! And from the thickets came three glorious white swans. They rustled their wings, and swam lightly on the water. The duckling knew the splendid creatures, and felt oppressed by a peculiar sadness.

I will fly away to them, to the royal birds, and they will beat me, because I, that I am so ugly, dare to come near them. But it is all the same. Better be killed by them than to be pursued by ducks and beaten by fowls and pushed about by the girl who takes care of the poultry-yard and to suffer hunger in the winter. And it flew out into the water, and swam towards the beautiful swans. These looked at it, and came sailing down upon it with outspread wings. Kill me! said the poor creature, and bent its head down upon the water, expecting nothing but death. But what was this that it saw in the clear water? It beheld its own image, and lo, it was no longer a clumsy dark gray bird, ugly and hateful to look at, but a swan.

It matters nothing if one is born in a duck-yard, If one has only lain in a swan's egg. It felt quite glad at all the need and misfortune it had suffered. Now it realized its happiness in all the splendor that surrounded it. And the great swans swam round it, and stroked it with their beaks. Into the garden came little children, who threw bread and corn into the water, and the youngest cried, There is a new one. And the other children shouted joyously, Yes, a new one has arrived. And they clapped their hands and danced about and ran to their father and mother, and bread and cake were thrown into the water, and they all said, The new one is the most beautiful of all, so young and handsome. And the old swans bowed their heads before him.

Then he felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wings, for he did not know what to do. He was so happy, and yet not at all proud. He thought how he had been persecuted and despised, and now he heard them saying that he was the most beautiful of all birds. Even the elder tree bent its branches straight down into the water before him, and the sun shone warm and mild. Then, his wings rustled, he lifted his slender neck, and cried rejoicingly from the depths of his heart.

I never dreamt of so much happiness when I was the ugly duckling.

End of the Ugly Duckling by Hans Christian Andersen.

7 The Emperor\'s New Suit - Read by EEP 11:01

The Emperor's New Suit by Hans Christian Andersen.

Many, many years ago lived an emperor, who thought so much of new clothes that he spent all his money in order to obtain them. His only ambition was to be always well dressed. He did not care for his soldiers, and the theatre did not amuse him. The only thing, in fact, he thought anything of, was to drive out and show a new suit of clothes. He had a coat for every hour of the day, and, as one would say of a king he is in his cabinet, so one could say of him, the emperor is in his dressing-room.

The great city where he resided was very gay. Every day, many strangers from all parts of the globe arrived. One day, Two swindlers came to this city. They made people believe that they were weavers, and declared they could manufacture the finest cloth to be imagined. Their colors and patterns, they said, were not only exceptionally beautiful, but the clothes made of their material possessed the wonderful quality of being invisible to any man who was unfit for his office, or unpardonably stupid. That must be wonderful cloth, thought the emperor. If I were to be dressed in a suit made of this cloth, I should be able to find out which men in my empire were unfit for their places, and I could distinguish the clever from the stupid.

I must have this cloth woven for me without delay. And he gave a large sum of money to the swindlers, in advance, that they should set to work without any loss of time. They set up two looms, and pretended to be very hard at work, but they did nothing whatever on the looms. They asked for the finest silk and the most precious gold cloth. All they got, they did away with, and worked at the empty looms till late at night.

I should very much like to know how they are getting on with the cloth, thought the emperor. But he felt rather uneasy when he remembered that he who was not fit for his office could not see it. Personally, he was of opinion that he had nothing to fear, yet he thought it advisable to send somebody else first to see how matters stood. Everybody in the town knew what a remarkable quality the staff possessed, and all were anxious to see how bad or stupid the neighbors were. I shall send my honest old minister to the weavers, thought the emperor. He can judge best how the stuff looks, for he is intelligent, and nobody understands his office better than he.

The good old minister went into the room where the swindlers sat before the empty looms. Heaven preserve us, he thought, and opened his eyes wide. I cannot see anything at all. But he did not say so. Both swindlers requested him to come near, and asked him if he did not admire the exquisite pattern and the beautiful colors, pointing to the empty looms. The poor old minister tried his very best, but he could see nothing, for there was nothing to be seen. Oh, dear," he thought, can I be so stupid? I should never have thought so, and nobody must know it. Is it possible that I am not fit for my office? No, no, I cannot say that I was unable to see the cloth.

Now, have you got nothing to say? said one of the swindlers, while he pretended to be busily waving. Oh, it is very pretty, exceedingly beautiful, replied the old minister, looking through his glasses. What a beautiful pattern! What brilliant colors! I shall tell the emperor that I like the cloth very much. We are pleased to hear that, said the two weavers, and described to him the colors and explained a curious pattern. The old minister listened attentively that he might relate to the emperor what they said. And so he did. Now the swindlers asked for more money, silk and gold cloth, which they required for weaving. They kept everything for themselves, and not a thread came near the loom, but they continued, as hitherto, to work at the empty looms.

Soon afterwards, T. M. sent another honest quarter to the weavers to see how they were getting on, and if the cloth was nearly finished. Like the old minister, he looked and looked, but could see nothing, as there was nothing to be seen. Is it not a beautiful piece of cloth? asked the two swindlers, showing and explaining the magnificent pattern, which, however, did not exist. I am not stupid, said the man. It is therefore my good appointment for which I am not fit. It is very strange, but I must not let any one know it. And he praised the cloth, which he did not see, and expressed his joy, the beautiful colors and the fine pattern. It is very excellent, he said to the emperor.

Everybody in the whole town talked about the precious cloth. At last, the emperor wished to see it himself while it was still on the loom. With a number of courtiers, including the two who had already been there, He went to the two clever swindlers, who now worked as hard as they could, but without using any thread. "'Is it not magnificent?' said the two old statesmen who had been there before. "'Your Majesty must admire the colours and the pattern.' And then they pointed to the empty looms, for they imagined the others could see the cloth. "'What is this?' thought the Emperor. "'I do not see anything at all.' That is terrible. Am I stupid? Am I unfit to be emperor? That would indeed be the most dreadful thing that could happen to me.

Really, he said, turning to the weavers, your cloth has our most gracious approval. And nodding contentedly, he looked at the empty loom, for he did not like to say that he saw nothing. All his attendants, who were with him, looked. and looked, and although they could not see anything more than the others, they said, like the emperor, it is very beautiful, and Hall advised him to wear the new magnificent clothes at the great procession which was soon to take place. It is magnificent, beautiful, excellent, one heard them say. Everybody seemed to be delighted, and the emperor appointed the two swindlers imperial court weavers.

The whole night, previous to the day on which the procession was to take place, the swindlers pretended to work, and burned more than sixteen candles. People should see that they were busy to finish the emperor's new suit. They pretended to take the cloth from the loom, and walked about in the air with big scissors, and sewed with needles without thread, and said at last, The emperor's new suit is ready now. The emperor and all his barons then came to the hall. The swindlers held their arms up as if they held something in their hands and said, These are the trousers. This is the coat, and here is the cloak, and so on. They are all as light as a cobweb, and one must feel as if one had nothing at all upon the body.

But that is just the beauty of them. Indeed, said all the courtiers, but they could not see anything, for there was nothing to be seen. Does it please your majesty now to graciously undress, said the swindlers, that we may assist your majesty in putting on the new suit before the large looking-glass? The emperor undressed, and the swindlers pretended to put a new suit upon him, one piece after another. And the emperor looked at himself in the glass from every side. "'How well they look! How well they fit!' said all. "'What a beautiful pattern! What fine colours! That is a magnificent suit of clothes!' The master of the ceremonies announced that the bearers of the canopy, which was to be carried in the procession, were ready.

"'I am ready,' said the emperor. Does not my suit fit me marvellously? Then he turned once more to the looking-glass, that people should think he admired his garments. The Chamberlains, who were to carry the train, stretched their hands to the ground as if they lifted up a train, and pretended to hold something in their hands. They did not like people to know that they could not see anything. The emperor marched in the procession under the beautiful canopy, and all who saw him in the street and out of the windows exclaimed, "'Indeed, the emperor's new suit is incomparable! What a long train he has! How well it fits him!' Nobody wished to let others know he saw nothing, for then he would have been unfit for his office, or too stupid.

Never emperor's clothes were more admired. "'But he has nothing on at all,' said a little child at last. "'Good heavens, listen to the voice of an innocent child,' said the father, and one whispered to the other what the child had said. "'But he has nothing on at all,' cried at last the whole people. That made a deep impression upon the emperor, for it seemed to him that they were right. But he thought to himself, "'Now I must bear up to the end.' And the chamberlains walked with still greater dignity, as if they carried the train, which did not exist.

End of The Emperor's New Suit.

8 The Red Shoes 13:39

The Red Shoes by Hans Christian Andersen. The Red Shoes by Hans Christian Andersen. There once was 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 wore 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 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 looking-glass 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 Glass-cases 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 chanceled 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 their 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 now be a matured Christian. And the organ pealed so solemnly, the sweet children's voices sang, and the old music directors 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 the future Karen should only go in black shoes to church, even when she should be older. The next Sunday there was a sacrament, and Karen looked at the black shoes, looked at the red ones, looked 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. 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 the 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 her 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 the closet at home. But Karen could not avoid looking at them. Now the old lady was sick, and it was said that 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 the 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 dance. They had something better to do than 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. "'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 the 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 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 whipped 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 prayer-book. And while 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.

And the sun shone so clearly, and straight before her stood the angel of God in white garments, the same she had seen the night at church at the door. But he no longer carried the sharp sword, but in its stead of 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 preacher's wives. The congregation sat in cushioned seats, and sang out of their prayer-books. 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 a 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 in 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.

9 Two Maidens 4:46

Two Maidens.

Two Maidens by Hans Christian Andersen. Translated by H. P. Paul.

Have you ever seen a maiden—I mean what our pavers call a maiden—a thing with which they ram down the paving-stones in the roads? A maiden of this kind is made altogether of wood, broad below, and girt round with iron rings. At the top she is narrow and has a stick passed across through her waist, and this stick forms the arms of the maiden.

In the shed stood two maidens of this kind. They had their place among shovels, hand-carts, wheel-barrows, and measuring-tapes, and to all this company the news had come that the maidens were no longer to be called maidens, but hand-rammers, which word was the newest and the only correct designation among the pavers for the thing we all know from the old times by the name of the maiden. Now, there are among us human creatures certain individuals who are known as emancipated women, as, for instance, principals of institution, dancers who stand professionally on one leg, milliners and sick nurses, and with this class of emancipated women, the two maidens in the shed associated themselves. They were maidens among the paver folk, and determined not to give up this honorable appellation, and let themselves be miscalled rammers.

Maiden is a human name, but Handrammer is a thing, and we won't be called things. That's insulting us. My lover would be ready to give up his engagement, said the youngest, who was betrothed to a paver's hammer. And the hammer is the thing which drives great piles into the earth, like a machine, and therefore does on a large scale what ten maidens affect in a similar way. He wants to marry me as a maiden, but whether he would have me were I a hand-rammer is a question, so I won't have my name changed. And I," said the elder one, would rather have both my arms broken off. But the wheelbarrow was of a different opinion, and the wheelbarrow was looked upon as of some consequence, for he considered himself a quarter of a coach, because he went about on one wheel.

"'I must submit to your notice,' he said, "'that the name maiden is common enough, and not nearly so refined as hand-rammer or stamper, which latter has also been proposed, and through which you would be introduced into the category of seals, and only think of the great stamp of state which impresses the royal seal that gives effect to the laws. No, in your case I would surrender my maiden name.' No, certainly not, exclaimed the elder. I am too old for that. I presume you have never heard of what is called European necessity, observed the honest measuring tape. One must be able to adapt oneself to time and circumstances, and if there is a law that the maiden is to be called hand-rammer, why, she must be called hand-rammer, and no pouting will avail, for everything has its measure.

"'No, if there must be a change,' said the younger, "'I should prefer to be called Missy, for that reminds one a little of maidens.' "'But I would rather be chopped to chips,' said the elder. "'At last they all went to work. The maidens rode—that is, they were put in a wheelbarrow, and that was a distinction—but still they were called hand-rammers. "'May,' they said as they were bumped upon the pavement, May? And they were very nearly pronouncing the whole word maiden, but they broke off short and swallowed the last syllable, for after mature deliberation they considered it beneath their dignity to protest. But they always called each other maiden and praised the good old days, in which everything had been called by its right name, and those who were maidens were called maidens.

And they remained as they were, for the hammer really broke off his engagement with the younger one, For nothing would suit him, but he must have a maiden for his bride. End of Two Maidens by Hans Christian Andersen.

10 A Leaf From Heaven 7:37

A Leaf from Heaven. From Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen.

High up in the clear, pure air flew an angel. with a flower plucked from the garden of heaven. As he was kissing the flower, a very little leaf fell from it and sunk down into the soft earth in the middle of a wood. It immediately took root, sprouted, and sent out shoots among the other plants. "'What a ridiculous little shoot!' said one. "'No one will recognize it, not even the thistle nor the stinging nettle.' "'It must be a kind of garden-plant,' said another, and so they sneered and despised the plant as a thing from a garden. "'Where are you coming?' said the tall thistles, whose leaves were all armed with thorns. "'It is stupid nonsense to allow yourself to shoot out in this way. We are not here to support you.' Winter came, and the plant was covered with snow, but the snow glittered.

over it, as if it had sunshine beneath as well as above. When spring came, the plant appeared in full bloom, a more beautiful object than any other plant in the forest. And now the professor of botany presented himself, one who could explain his knowledge in black and white. He examined and tested the plant, but it did not belong to his system of botany, nor could he possibly find out To what class it did belong? It must be some degenerate species, said he. I do not know it, and it is not mentioned in any system. Not known in any system? repeated the thistles and the nettles. The large trees which grew round it saw the plant and heard the remarks, but they said not a word, either good or bad, which is the wisest plan.

For those who are ignorant.

There passed through the forest a poor innocent girl. Her heart was pure, and her understanding increased by her faith. Her chief inheritance had been an old Bible, which she read and valued. From its pages she heard the voice of God speaking to her, and telling her to remember what was said of Joseph's brethren when persons wished to injure her.

They imagined evil in their hearts, but God turned it to good. If we suffer wrongfully, if we are misunderstood or despised, we must think of him who was pure and holy, and who prayed for those who nailed him to the cross. Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. The girls stood still before the wonderful plant. For the green leaves exhaled a sweet and refreshing fragrance, and the flowers glittered and sparkled, and the sunshine like colored flames, and the harmony of sweet sounds lingered round them as if each concealed within itself a deep font of melody, which thousands of years could not exhaust. With pious gratitude, the girl looked upon this glorious work of God, and bent down over one of the branches that she might examine the flower and inhale the sweet perfume.

Then a light broke in on her mind, and her heart expanded. Gladly would she have plucked a flower, but she could not overcome her reluctance to break one off. She knew it would so soon fade, so she took only a single green leaf, carried it home, and laid it in her Bible, where it remained evergreen, Fresh and unfading. Between the pages of the Bible it still lay, when, a few weeks afterwards, that Bible was laid under the young girl's head in her coffin. A holy calm rested on her face, as if the earthly remains bore the impress of the truth that she now stood in the presence of God. In the forest the wonderful plant still continued to bloom, till it grew and became almost a tree, and all the birds of passage bowed themselves before it.

"'That plant is a foreigner, no doubt,' said the thistles and the burdocks. "'We can never conduct ourselves like that in this country.' And the black forest snails actually spat at the flower.

Then came the swineherd. He was collecting thistles and shrubs to burn them for the ashes. He pulled up the wonderful plant, roots and all, and placed it in his bundle. This will be as useful as any, he said. So the plant was carried away. Not long after, the king of the country suffered from the deepest melancholy.

He was diligent and industrious, but employment did him no good. They read deep and learned books to him, and then the lightest and most trifling that could be found, but all to no purpose. Then they applied for advice to one of the wise men of the world, and he sent them a message to say that there was one remedy which would relieve and cure him, and that it was a plant of heavenly origin which grew in the forest in the king's own dominions. The messenger described the flower so that Its appearance could not be mistaken. Then said the swineherd, "'I am afraid I carried this plant away from the forest in my bundle, and it has been burnt to ashes long ago. But I did not know any better.' "'You did not know any better?

Ignorance upon ignorance, indeed!' The poor swineherd took these words to heart, for they were addressed to him. He knew not that—' There were others who were equally ignorant. Not even a leaf of the plant could be found. There was one, but it lay in the coffin of the dead. No one knew anything about it.

Then the king, in his melancholy, wandered out to the spot in the wood. "'Here is where the plant stood,' he said. "'It is a sacred place.' Then he ordered that the place should be surrounded with a golden railing and a sentry stationed near it. The botanical professor wrote a long treatise about the heavenly plant, and for this he was loaded with gold, which improved the position of himself and his family. And this part is really the most pleasant part of the story, for the plant had disappeared, and the king remained as melancholy and sad as ever, but the sentry Said he had always been so.

A Leaf from Heaven by Hans Christian Andersen

11 In the Uttermost Parts of the Sea 6:35

In the uttermost parts of the sea.

All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Miriam Esther Goldman.

In the uttermost parts of the sea, translated by H. P. Pohl.

Some years ago, large ships were sent toward the North Pole to explore the distant coasts and to try how far men could penetrate into those unknown regions. For more than a year, one of these ships had been pushing its way northward amid snow and ice, and the sailors had endured many hardships, till at length winter set in and the sun entirely disappeared. For many weeks there would be constant night. All around, as far as the eye could reach, nothing could be seen but fields of ice, in which the ship remained stuck fast. The snow lay piled up in great heaps, and of these the sailors made huts, in the form of beehives, some of them as large and spacious as one of the Huns' graves, and others only containing room enough to hold three or four men.

It was not quite dark. The northern lights shot forth red and blue flames like continuous fireworks, and the snow glittered and reflected back the light so that the night here was one long twilight. When the moon was brightest, the natives came in crowds to see the sailors. They had a very singular appearance in their rough, hairy dresses of fur and riding in sledges over the ice. They brought with them furs and skins in great abundance, so that the snow-houses were soon provided with warm carpets, and the furs also served for the sailors to wrap themselves in when they slept under the roofs of snow, while outside it was freezing with a cold far more severe than in the winter with us. In our country it was still autumn, though late in the season, and they thought of that in their distant exile, and often pictured to themselves the yellow leaves on the trees at home.

Their watches pointed to the hours of evening, and time to go to sleep, although in these regions it was now always night.

In one of the huts, two of the men laid themselves down to rest. The younger of these men had brought with him from home his best, his dearest treasure, a Bible which his grandmother had given him on his departure.

Every night the sacred volume rested under his head, and he had known from his childhood what was written in it. Every day he read in the book, and while stretched on his cold couch, the holy words he had learnt would come into his mind.

If I take the wings of the morning, and fly to the uttermost parts of the sea, even there thou art with me, and thy right hand shall uphold me.

And under the influence of that faith which these holy words inspired, sleep came upon him, and dreams which are the manifestation of God to the spirit.

The soul lives and acts while the body is at rest. He felt this life in him, and it was as if he heard the sound of dear, well-known melodies, as if the breezes of summer floated around him, and over his couch Shone a ray of brightness, as if it were shining through the covering of his snow-roof. He lifted his head, and saw that the bright gleaming was not the reflection of the glittering snow, but the dazzling brightness of the pinions of a mighty angel, into whose beaming face he was gazing. As from the cup of a lily the angel rose from amidst the leaves of the Bible, and, stretching out his arm, The walls of the hut sunk down, as though they had been formed of a light, airy veil of mist, and the green hills and meadows of home, with its ruddy woods, they spread around him in the quiet sunshine of a lovely autumn day.

The nest of the stork was empty, but ripe fruit still hung on the wild apple-tree, although the leaves had fallen. The red hips gleamed on the hedges, and the starling which hung in the green cage outside the window of the peasant's hut, which was his home, whistled the tune which he had taught him.

His grandmother hung green bird's food around the cage, as he, her grandson, had been accustomed to do. The daughter of the village blacksmith, who was young and fair, stood at the well drawing water. She nodded to the grandmother, and the old woman nodded to her, and pointed to a letter which had come from a long way off. That very morning the letter had arrived from the cold regions of the north, there where the absent one was sweetly sleeping under the protecting hand of God. They laughed and wept over the letter, and he, far away, amid ice and snow, under the shadow of the angel's wings, wept and smiled with them in spirit, for he saw and heard it all in his dream. From the letter they read aloud the words of holy writ.

In the uttermost parts of the sea, thy right hand shall uphold me. And as the angel spread his wings like a veil over the sleeper, there was the sound of beautiful music and a hymn. Then the vision fled. It was dark again in the snow hut, but the Bible still rested beneath his head, and faith and hope dwelt in his heart.

God was with him, and he carried home in his heart, even in the uttermost parts of the sea.

12 The Saucy Boy 5:10

The Saucy Boy. Translated by H. P.

Paul.

Once upon a time there was an old poet. One of those right good old poets. One evening, as he was sitting at home, there was a terrible storm going on outside. The rain was pouring down, but the old poet sat comfortably in his chimney corner, where the fire was burning and the apples were roasting. "'There will be not a dry thread left on the poor people who are out in this weather,' he said. "'Oh, open the door! I am so cold and wet through!' called the little child outside. It was crying and knocking at the door, whilst the rain was pouring down and the wind was rattling all the windows. "'Poor creature,' said the poet, and got up and opened the door. Before him stood a little boy. He was naked, and the water flowed from his long, fair locks.

He was shivering with cold. If he had not been let in, he would certainly have perished in the storm. Poor little thing," said the poet, and took him by the hand. Come to me. I will soon warm you. You shall have some wine and an apple, for you are such a pretty boy. And he was, too. His eyes sparkled like two bright stars, and although the water flowed down from his fair locks, they still curled quite beautifully. He looked like a little angel, but was pale with cold and trembling all over. In his hand he held a splendid bow, but it had been entirely spoilt by the rain, and the colors of the pretty arrows had run into one another by getting wet.

The old man sat down by the fire, and taking the little boy on his knee wrung the water out of his locks and warmed his hands in his own. He then made him some hot spiced wine, which quickly revived him, so that with reddening cheeks he sprang upon the floor and danced around the old man. "'You're a merry boy,' said the latter. "'What is your name?' "'My name is Cupid,' he answered. "'Don't you know me? There lies my bow. I shoot with that, you know. Look, the weather is getting fine again. The moon is shining.' "'But your bow is spoilt.' said the old poet. "'That would be unfortunate,' said the little boy, taking it up and looking at it. "'Oh, it's quite dry and isn't damaged at all. The string is quite tight.

I'll try it.' So, drawing it back, he took an arrow, aimed, and shot the good old poet right in the heart. "'Do you see now that my bow is not spoiled?' he said, and, loudly laughing, ran away.

What a naughty boy! To shoot the old poet like that, who had taken him into his warm room, had been so good to him, and had given him the nicest wine and the best apple. The good old man lay upon the floor, crying. He was really shot in the heart.

"'Oh!' he cried. "'What a naughty boy this Cupid is! I shall tell all the good children about this, so that they take care never to play with him, lest he hurt them. And all good children.' Both girls and boys, whom he told about this, were on their guard against Wicked Cupid. But he deceives them all the same, for he is very deep. When the students come out of class, he walks beside them with a book under his arm and wearing a black coat. They cannot recognize him. And then, if they take him by the arm, believing him to be a student too, he sticks an arrow into their chest. And when the girls go to church to be confirmed, he is amongst them too. In fact, he is always after people. He sits in the large chandelier in the theater and blazes away so that people think it is a lamp, but they soon find out their mistake.

He walks about in the castle garden and on the promenades. Yes? Once he shot your father and your mother in the heart, too. Just ask them, and you will hear what they say. Oh, he is a bad boy, this Cupid, and you must never have anything to do with him, for he is after everyone. Just think, He even shot an arrow at old grandmother, but that was a long time ago. The wound has long been healed, but such things are never forgotten. Now you know what a bad boy this wicked Cupid is.

13 Great Claus and Little Claus 27:24

Great Claus and Little Claus by Hans Christian Andersen. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Margaret Espayat. Great Klaus and Little Klaus by Hans Christian Andersen. Translated by H. W. Delkin, Ph.D.

There lived two men in one village, and they had the same name. Each was called Klaus, but one had four horses, and the other only a single horse. To distinguish them from each other, folks called him who had four horses Great Klaus, and the one who had only a single horse Little Klaus. Now we shall hear what happened to each of them, for this is a true story. The whole week through, little Klaus was obliged to plough for Great Klaus, and to lend him his one horse. Then Great Klaus helped him out with all his four, but only once a week, and that on a holiday. Hurrah! How little Klaus smacked his whip over all five horses, for they were as good as his own on that one day. The sun shone gaily, and all the bells in the steeples were ringing.

The people were all dressed in their best and were going to church, with their hymn-books under their arms, to hear the clergymen preach. And they saw little Klaus ploughing with five horses. But he was so merry that he smacked his whip again and again, and cried, "'Gee up, all my five!' "'You must not talk so,' said great Klaus, "'for only one horse is yours.' But when no one was passing, little Klaus forgot that he was not to say this, and he cried, "'Gee up, all my horses!' "'Now, I must beg of you to let that alone,' cried great Klaus, "'for if you say it again, I shall hit your horse on the head so that it will fall down dead, and then it will be all over with him.' "'I will certainly not say it any more,' said little Klaus.

But when people came by soon afterwards and nodded good-day to him, he became very glad and thought it looked very well after all that he had five horses to plough his field, and so he smacked his whip again and cried, "'Gee up all my horses!' "'I'll gee up your horses,' said Great Klaus. And he took the hatchet and hit the only horse of little Klaus on the head, so that it fell down and was dead immediately. "'Oh, now I haven't any horse at all,' said little Klaus, and began to cry. Then he flayed the horse and let the hide dry in the wind, and put it in a sack and hung it over his shoulder, and went to the town to sell his horse's skin. He had a very long way to go, and was obliged to pass through a great dark wood, and the weather became dreadfully bad.

He went quite astray, and before he got into the right way again it was evening, and it was too far to get home again or even to the town before nightfall. Close by the road stood a large farmhouse. The shutters were closed outside the windows, but the light could still be seen shining out over them. "'I may be able to get leave to stop here through the night,' thought little Klaus, and he went and knocked. The farmer's wife opened the door, but when she heard what he wanted she told him to go away, declaring that her husband was not at home and she would not receive strangers. "'Then I shall have to lie outside,' said little Klaus, and the farmer's wife shut the door in his face. Close by stood a great haystack, and between this and the farmhouse was a little outhouse thatched with straw.

Up there I can lie," said little Klaus, when he looked up at the roof. That is a capital bed. I suppose the stork won't fly down and bite me in the legs. For a living stork was standing on the roof where he had his nest. Now little Klaus climbed up to the roof of the shed where he lay, and turned round to settle himself comfortably. The wooden shutters did not cover the windows at the top, and he could look straight into the room. There was a great table with the cloth laid, and wine, and roast meat, and a glorious fish upon it. The farmer's wife and the clerk were seated at the table, and nobody besides. She was filling his glass, and he was digging his fork into the fish, for that was his favourite dish.

If one could only get some, too, thought little Klaus, as he stretched out his head towards the window. Heavens, what a glorious cake he saw standing there. Yes, certainly that was a feast. Now he heard someone riding along the highroad. It was the woman's husband, who was coming home. He was a good man enough, but he had the strange peculiarity that he could never bear to see a clerk. If a clerk appeared before his eyes, he became quite wild. And that was the reason why the clerk had gone to the wife to wish her good day, because he knew that her husband was not at home, and the good woman therefore put the best fare she had before him. But when they heard the man coming, they were frightened, and the woman begged the clerk to creep into a great empty chest which stood there, and he did so, for he knew the husband could not bear the sight of a clerk.

The woman quickly hid all the excellent meat and wine in her baking-oven, for if the man had seen that he would have been certain to ask what it meant. Ah, yes, sighed little Klaus, up in his shed, when he saw all the good fare put away. Is there anyone up there? asked the farmer, and he looked up at little Klaus. Who are you lying there? Better come with me into the room. And little Klaus told him how he had lost his way, and asked leave to stay there for the night. Yes, certainly, said the peasant. But first we must have something to live on. The woman received them both in a very friendly way, spread the cloth on the long table, and gave them a great dish of porridge. The farmer was hungry and ate with a good appetite, but little Klaus could not help thinking of the capital roast meat, fish, and cake which he knew were in the oven.

Under the table at his feet he had laid the sack with the horse's hide in it, for we know that he had come out to sell it in the town. He could not relish the porridge, so he trod upon the sack, and the dry skin inside crackled quite loudly. "'Why, what have you in your sack?' asked the farmer. "'Oh, that's a magician,' answered little Klaus. "'He says we are not to eat porridge, for he has conjured the oven full of roast meat, fish, and cake.' "'Wonderful!' cried the farmer, and he opened the oven in a hurry, and found all the dainty provisions which his wife had hidden there, but which, as he thought, the wizard had conjured forth. The woman dared not say anything, but put the things at once on the table, and so they both ate of the meat, the fish, and the cake.

Now little Klaus again trod on his sack and made the hide creak. "'What does he say now?' said the farmer. He says, replied Klaus, that he has conjured three bottles of wine for us, too, and that they are standing there in the corner behind the oven. Now the woman was obliged to bring out the wine, which she had hidden, and the farmer drank it and became very merry. He would have been very glad to see such a conjurer as little Klaus had there in the sack. Can he conjure the demon forth? asked the farmer. I should like to see him, for now I am merry. Oh, yes," said little Klaus. My conjurer can do anything that I ask of him. Can you not? he added, and trod on the hide, so that it crackled. He says yes.

But the demon is very ugly to look at. We had better not see him. Oh, I'm not at all afraid. Pray, what will he look like? Why, he'll look the very image of a clerk. Ha! said the farmer. That is ugly. You must know I can't bear the sight of a clerk. But it doesn't matter now, for I know that he's a demon, so I shall easily stand it. Now I have courage, but he must not come too near me. Now I will ask my conjurer, said little Klaus, and he trod on the sack and held his ear down. What does he say? He says you may go and open the chest that stands in the corner, and you will see the demon crouching in it, but you must hold the lid so that it doesn't slip out. Will you help me to hold him? asked the farmer, and he went to the chest where the wife had hidden the real clerk, who sat in there and was very much afraid.

The farmer opened the lid a little way and peeped in underneath. "'Hugh!' he cried, and sprang backward. "'Yes, now I've seen him, and he looked exactly like our clerk. Oh, that was dreadful!' Upon this they must drink. So they sat and drank until late into the night. "'You must sell me that conjurer,' said the farmer. "'Ask as much as you like for him. I'll give you a whole bushel of money directly.' "'No, that I can't do,' said little Klaus. "'Only think how much use I can make of this conjurer.' "'Oh, I should so much like to have him,' cried the farmer, and he went on begging. "'Well,' said little Klaus at last, "'as you have been so kind as to give me shelter for the night, I will let it be so.' "'You shall have the conjurer for a bushel of money, but I must have the bushel heaped up.' "'That you shall have,' replied the farmer.

"'But you must take the chest yonder away with you. I will not keep it in my house an hour. One cannot know. Perhaps he may be there still.' Little Klaus gave the farmer his sack with a dry hide in it, and got in exchange a whole bushel of money, and that heaped up. The farmer also gave him a big truck on which to carry off his money and chest. "'Farewell,' said little Klaus, and he went off with his money and the big chest in which the clerk was still sitting. On the other side of the wood was a great deep river. The water rushed along so rapidly that one could scarcely swim against the stream. A fine new bridge had been built over it. Little Klaus stopped on the centre of the bridge and said quite loud so that the clerk could hear it, "'What shall I do with this stupid chest?

It's as heavy as if stones were in it. I shall only get tired if I drag it any further. So I'll throw it into the river. If it swims home to me well and good, and if it does not, it will be no great matter.' And he took the chest with one hand and lifted it up a little as if he intended to throw it into the river. "'No! let be!' cried the clerk from within the chest. "'Let me out first!' "'Phew!' exclaimed little Klaus, pretending to be frightened. "'He's in there still! I must make haste and throw him into the river, that he may be drowned!' "'Oh, no, no!' screamed the clerk. "'I'll give you a whole bushelful of money if you'll let me go!' Why, that's another thing, said little Klaus, and he opened the chest.

The clerk crept quickly out, pushed the empty chest into the water, and went to his house, where little Klaus received a whole bushelful of money. He had already received one from the farmer, and so now he had his truck loaded with money. See, I've been well paid for the horse, he said to himself when he had got home to his own room and was emptying all the money into a heap in the middle of the floor. That will vex great Klaus when he hears how rich I have grown through my one horse, but I won't tell him about it outright. So he sent a boy to great Klaus to ask for a bushel measure. What can he want with it? thought great Klaus. And he smeared some tar underneath the measure, so that some part of whatever was measured should stick to it.

And thus it happened, for when he received the measure back there were three new eight-shilling pieces adhering thereto. "'What's this?' cried Great Klaus, and he ran off at once to little Klaus. "'Where did you get all that money from?' "'Oh, that's from my horse's skin. I sold it yesterday evening.' That's really being well paid," said Great Klaus, and he ran home in a hurry, took an axe, and killed all his four horses. Then he flayed them and carried off their skins to the town. "'Hides! Hides! Who'll buy any hides?' he cried through the streets. All the shoemakers and tanners came running and asked how much he wanted for them. A bushel of money for each," said Great Klaus. Are you mad? said they.

Do you think we have money by the bushel? Hides! Hides! he cried again, and to all who asked him what the hides would cost he replied, A bushel of money! He wants to make fools of us! they all exclaimed. And the shoemakers took their straps, and the tanners their aprons, and they began to beat Great Klaus. "'Hides! Hides!' they called after him jeeringly. "'Yes, we'll tan your hide for you till the red broth runs down. Out of the town with him!' And great Klaus made the best haste he could, for he had never yet been thrashed as he was thrashed now. "'Well,' said he when he got home, "'Little Klaus shall pay for this. I'll kill him for it!' Now, at little Klaus's the old grandmother had died. She had been very harsh and unkind to him, but yet he was very sorry, and took the dead woman and laid her in his warm bed to see if she would not come to life again.

There he intended she should remain all through the night, and he himself would sit in the corner and sleep on a chair, as he had often done before. As he sat there in the night, the door opened, and Great Klaus came in with his axe. He knew where Little Klaus's bed stood, and going straight up to it, he hit the old grandmother on the head, thinking she was Little Klaus. "'Do you see?' said he. "'You shall not make a fool of me again.' And then he went home. That's a bad fellow, that man," said little Klaus. He wanted to kill me. It was a good thing for my old grandmother that she was dead already. He would have taken her life. And he dressed his grandmother in her Sunday clothes, borrowed a horse of his neighbor, harnessed it to a car, and put the old lady on the back seat so that she could not fall out when he drove.

And so they trundled through the wood. When the sun rose, they were in front of an inn. There little Klaus pulled up and went in to have some refreshment. The host had very, very much money. He was also a very good man, but exceedingly hot, as if he had pepper and tobacco in him. "'Good morning,' said he to little Klaus. "'You've put on your Sunday clothes early to-day.' "'Yes,' answered little Klaus. "'I'm going to town with my old grandmother. She's sitting there on the car without. I can't bring her into the room. Will you give her a glass of mead? But you must speak very loud, for she can't hear very well.' "'Yes, that I'll do,' said the host. And he poured out a great glass of mead, and went out with it to the dead grandmother, who had been placed upright in the carriage.

"'Here's a glass of mead from your son.' Quoth mine host. But the dead woman replied not a word, but sat quite still. "'Don't you hear?' cried the host, as loud as he could. "'Here is a glass of mead from your son.' Once more he called out the same thing, but as she persisted in not hearing him, he became angry at last and threw the glass in her face, so that the mead ran down over her nose and she tumbled backward into the car, for she had only been put upright and not bound fast. "'Hullo!' cried little Klaus, running out at the door and seizing the host by the breast. "'You've "'Killed my grandmother now. See, there's a big hole in her forehead.' "'Oh, here's a misfortune,' cried the host, wringing his hand.

"'That all comes of my hot temper. "'Dear little Klaus, I'll give you a bushel of money, "'and have your grandmother buried as if she were my own. "'Only keep quiet, or I shall have my head cut off, "'and that would be so very disagreeable.' So little Klaus again received a whole bushel of money, and the host buried the old grandmother as if she had been his own. And when little Klaus came home with all his money, he at once sent his boy to great Klaus to ask to borrow a bushel measure. "'What's that?' said great Klaus. "'Have I not killed him? I must go myself and see to this.' And so he went over himself with the bushel to little Klaus. "'Now, where did you get all that money from?' he asked, and he opened his eyes wide when he saw all that had been brought together.

"'You killed my grandmother and not me,' replied little Klaus, "'and I've been and sold her and got a whole bushel of money for her.' "'That's really being well paid,' said great Klaus, and he hastened home, took an axe, and killed his own grandmother directly. Then he put her on a carriage and drove off to the town with her, to where the apothecary lived, and asked him if he would buy a dead person. "'Who is it, and where did you get them from?' asked the apothecary. "'It's my grandmother,' answered Great Klaus. "'I've killed her to get a bushel of money for her.' "'Heaven save us!' cried the apothecary. "'You're raving!' Don't say such things, or you may lose your head. And he told him earnestly what a bad deed this was that he had done, and what a bad man he was, and that he must be punished.

And great Klaus was so frightened that he jumped out of the surgery straight into his carriage, and whipped the horses and drove home. But the apothecary and all the people thought him mad, and so they let him drive whither he would. "'You shall pay for this,' said Great Klaus, when he was out upon the high road. "'Yes, you shall pay me for this, Little Klaus.' And directly he got home, he took the biggest sack he could find, and went over to Little Klaus, and said, "'Now you've tricked me again. First I killed my horses, and then my old grandmother. That's all your fault. But you shall never trick me any more.' And he seized little Klaus round the body, and thrust him into the sack, and took him upon his back, and called out to him, "'Now I shall go off with you and drown you!' It was a long way that he had to travel before he came to the river, and little Klaus was not too light to carry.

The road led him close to a church, the organ was playing, and the people were singing so beautifully. Then Great Klaus put down his sack with Little Klaus in it close to the church door, and thought it would be a very good thing to go in and hear a psalm before he went further, for Little Klaus could not get out, and all the people were in church, and so he went in. Ah, yes, yes, sighed Little Klaus in the sack, and he turned and twisted, but he found it impossible to loosen the cord. Then there came by an old drover with snow-white hair, and a great staff in his hand. He was driving a whole herd of cows and oxen before him, and they stumbled against the sack in which little Klaus was confined, so that it was overthrown.

"'Oh, dear!' sighed little Klaus. "'I'm so young yet, and am to go to heaven directly.' "'And I, poor fellow,' said the drover, I am so old already, and I can't get there yet. "'Open the sack!' cried little Klaus. "'Creep into it instead of me, and you will get to heaven directly.' "'With all my heart,' replied the drover, and he untied the sack, out of which little Klaus crept forth immediately. But will you look after the cattle?" said the old man, and he crept into the sack at once, whereupon little Klaus tied it up, and went his way with all the cows and oxen. Soon afterwards great Klaus came out of the church. He took the sack on his shoulders again, although it seemed to him as if the sack had become lighter, for the old drover was only half as heavy as little Klaus.

How light he is to carry now! Yes, that is because I have heard a psalm." So he went to the river, which was deep and broad, threw the sack with the old drover in it into the water, and called after him, thinking that it was little Klaus. "'You lie there! Now you shan't trick me any more!' Then he went home, but when he came to a place where there was a cross-road he met little Klaus driving all his beasts. "'What's this?' cried great Klaus. "'Have I not drowned you?' "'Yes,' replied little Klaus. "'You threw me into the river less than half an hour ago.' "'But wherever did you get all those fine beasts from?' asked great Klaus. These beasts are sea-cattle," replied little Klaus. I'll tell you the whole story, and thank you for drowning me, for now I'm at the top of the tree.

I am really rich. How frightened I was when I lay huddled in the sack, and the wind whistled about my ears when you threw me down from the bridge into the cold water! I sank to the bottom immediately, but I did not knock myself, for the most splendid soft grass grows down there. Upon that I fell, and immediately the sack was opened, and the loveliest maiden, with snow-white garments and a green wreath upon her wet hair, took me by the hand and said, Are you come, little Klaus? Here you have some cattle to begin with. A mile farther along the road there is a whole herd more which I will give to you. And now I saw that the river formed a great highway for the people of the sea. Down in its bed they walked and drove directly from the sea, and straight into the land to where the river ends.

Then it was so beautifully full of flowers and of the freshest grass. The fishes, which swam in the water, shot past my ears, just as hear the birds in the air. What pretty people there were there, and what fine cattle pasturing on mounds and in ditches! But why did you come up again to us directly? asked Great Klaus. I should not have done that if it is so beautiful down there. Why, replied little Klaus, in that I just acted with good policy. You heard me tell you that the sea maiden said, A mile farther along the road, and by the road she meant the river, for she can't go anywhere else. There's a whole herd of cattle for you. But I know what bends the stream makes. Sometimes this way, sometimes that.

There's a long way to go round. No, the thing can be managed in a shorter way by coming here to the land, and driving across the fields towards the river again. In this manner I save myself almost half a mile, and get all the quicker to my sea-cattle. "'Oh, you are a fortunate man,' said Great Klaus. "'Do you think I should get some sea-cattle, too, if I went down to the bottom of the river?' "'Yes, I think so,' replied Little Klaus. "'But I cannot carry you in the sack as far as the river. You are too heavy for me. "'But if you will go there and creep into the sack yourself, I will throw you in with a great deal of pleasure.' "'Thanks,' said Great Klaus. But if I don't get any sea-cattle when I am down there, I shall beat you.

You may be sure." Oh, no! Don't be so fierce. And so they went together to the river. When the beasts which were thirsty saw the stream, they ran as fast as they could to get at the water. See how they hurry? cried little Klaus. They are longing to get back to the bottom. Yes, but help me first, said great Klaus, or else you shall be beaten. And so he crept into the great sack, which had been laid across the back of one of the oxen. Put a stone in it, for I'm afraid I shan't sink else, said great Klaus. That can be done, replied little Klaus, and he put a big stone into the sack, Tied the rope tightly and pushed against it. Plump! There lay Great Klaus and the river, and sank at once to the bottom.

I'm afraid he won't find the cattle, said Little Klaus, and then he drove homeward with what he had.

14 The Daisy 10:24

The Daisy. The daisy by Hans Christian Andersen from The Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen. Now listen. In the country close by the high road stood a farmhouse. Perhaps you have passed by and seen it yourself. There was a little flower garden with painted wooden palings in front of it. Close by was a ditch. On its fresh green bank grew a little daisy. The sun shone as warmly and brightly upon it as on the magnificent garden flowers, and therefore it thrived well. One morning it had quite opened. and its little snow-white petals stood round the yellow centre like the rays of the sun. It did not mind that nobody saw it in the grass, and that it was a poor despised flower. On the contrary, it was quite happy, and turned towards the sun, looking upward and listening to the song of the lark high up in the air.

The little Daisy was as happy as if the day had been a great holiday, But it was only Monday. All the children were at school, and while they were sitting on the forums and learning their lessons, it sat on its thin green stalk and learnt from the sun and from its surroundings how kind God is, and it rejoiced that the song of the little lark expressed so sweetly and distinctly its own feelings. With a sort of reverence, the daisy looked up to the bird that could fly and sing, but it did not feel envious. "'I can see and hear,' it thought. "'The sun shines upon me, and the forest kisses me. How rich I am!' In the garden close by grew many large and magnificent flowers, and, strange to say, the less fragrance they had, the haughtier and prouder they were.

The peonies puffed themselves up. in order to be larger than the roses. But size is not everything. The tulips had the finest colors, and they knew it well, too, for they were standing bolt upright like candles, that one might see them the better. In their pride they did not see the little daisy, which looked over to them and thought, How rich and beautiful they are! I am sure the pretty bird will fly down and call upon them. Thank God that I stand so near, and can at least see all the splendor.

And while the daisy was still thinking, the lark came flying down, crying, but not to the peonies and tulips, no, into the grass to the poor daisy. Its joy was so great that it did not know what to think.

The little bird Hopped round it and sang, "'How beautifully soft the grass is, and what a lovely little flower with its golden heart and silver dress is growing here!' The yellow centre in the daisy did indeed look like gold, while the little petals shone as brightly as silver. How happy the daisy was! No one has the least idea. The bird kissed it with its beak, sang to it, and then rose again up to the blue sky. It was certainly more than a quarter of an hour before the daisy recovered its senses. Half ashamed, yet glad at heart, it looked over to the other flowers in the garden. Surely they had witnessed its pleasure and the honor that had been done to it. They understood its joy. But the tulips stood more stiffly than ever.

Their faces were pointed, and red, because they were vexed. The peonies were sulky. It was well that they could not speak, otherwise they would have given the daisy a good lecture. The little flower could very well see that they were ill at ease, and pitied them sincerely.

Shortly after this, A girl came into the garden with a large, sharp knife. She went to the tulips and began cutting them off, one after another. "'Ugh!' sighed the daisy. "'That is terrible. Now they are done for.' The girl carried the tulips away. The daisy was glad that it was outside, and only a small flower. It felt very grateful. At sunset it folded its petals, and when—' and fell asleep, and dreamt all night of the sun and the little bird.

On the following morning, when the flower once more stretched forth its tender petals, like little arms, towards the air and light, the daisy recognized the bird's voice. But what it sang sounded so sad. Indeed, the poor bird had good reason to be sad, for it had been caught and put into a cage, close by the open window. It sang of the happy days when it could merrily fly about, of fresh green corn in the fields, and of the time when it could soar almost up to the clouds. The poor lark was most unhappy as a prisoner in a cage. The little Daisy would have liked so much to help it, but what could be done? Indeed, That was very difficult for such a small flower to find out. It entirely forgot how beautiful everything around it was, how warmly the sun was shining, and how splendidly white its own petals were.

It could only think of the poor captive bird, for which it could do nothing. Then two little boys came out of the garden. One of them had a large, sharp knife, like that with which the girl had cut the tulips. They came straight towards the little daisy, which could not understand what they wanted. "'Here is a fine piece of turf for the lark,' said one of the boys, and began to cut out a square round the daisy, so that it remained in the center of the grass. "'Pluck the flower off!' said the other boy, and the daisy trembled for fear, for to be pulled off meant death to it, and it wished so much to live, as it was to go with the square of turf into the poor captive lark's cage. "'No, let it stay,' said the other boy.

"'It looked so pretty.' And so it stayed, and was brought into the lark's cage. The poor bird was lamenting its lost liberty and beating its wings against the wires, and the little Daisy could not speak or utter a consoling word, much as it would have liked to do so. So the forenoon passed. "'I have no water,' said the captive lark. "'They have all gone out and forgotten to give me anything to drink. My throat is dry and burning.' I feel as if I had fire and ice within me, and the air is so oppressive. Alas, I must die and part with the warm sunshine, the fresh green meadows, and all the beauty that God has created. And it thrust its beak into the piece of grass to refresh itself a little. Then it noticed the little daisy, and nodded to it, and kissed it with its beak, and said, "'You must also fade in here.' Poor little flower.

You and the piece of grass are all they have given me in exchange for the whole world, which I enjoyed outside. Each little blade of grass shall be a green tree for me, each of your white petals a fragrant flower. Alas, you only remind me of what I have lost."

I wish I could console the poor lark, thought the daisy. It could not move one of its leaves. But the fragrance of its delicate petals streamed forth, and was much stronger than such flowers usually have. The bird noticed it, although it was dying with thirst, and in its pain tore up the green blades of grass, but did not touch the flower.

The evening came, and nobody appeared to bring the poor bird a drop of water. It opened its beautiful wings, and fluttered about in anguish, A faint and mournful, "'Tweet, tweet,' was all it could utter. Then it bent its little head towards the flower, and its heart broke for want and longing. The flower could not, as on the previous evening, fold up its petals and sleep. It dropped sorrowfully. The boys only came the next morning. When they saw the dead bird, they began to cry bitterly Dug a nice grave for it, and adorned it with flowers. The bird's body was placed in a pretty red box. They wished to bury it with royal honors. While it was alive and sang, they forgot it, and let it suffer want in the cage.

Now they cried over it, and covered it with flowers. The piece of turf, with the little daisy in it, was thrown out on the dusty highway. Nobody thought of the flower which had felt so much for the bird, and had so greatly desired to comfort it.

15 The Girl Who Trod on the Loaf 13:37

The Girl Who Trod on the Loaf. Please visit LibriVox.

The Girl Who Trod on the Loaf by Hans Christian Andersen. Translated by H. P. Paul.

There was once a girl who trod on a loaf to avoid soiling her shoes, and the misfortunes that happened to her in consequence are well known. Her name was Inge. She was a poor child, but proud and presuming, and with a bad and cruel disposition. When quite a little child she would delight in catching flies, and tearing off their wings so as to make creeping things of them. When older she would take cockchafers and beetles, and stick pins through them. Then she pushed a green leaf or a little scrap of paper towards their feet, and when the poor creatures would seize it and hold it fast, and turn over and over in their struggles to get free from the pin, she would say, "'The cockchafer is reading.

See how he turns over the leaf.' She grew worse instead of better with years, and unfortunately she was pretty, which caused her to be excused when she should have been sharply reproved. Your headstrong will requires severity to conquer it," her mother often said to her. As a little child you used to trample on my apron, but one day I fear you will trample on my heart. And alas, this fear was realized. Inge was taken to the house of some rich people, who lived at a distance, and who treated her as their own child, and dressed her so fine that her pride and arrogance increased. When she had been there about a year, her patroness said to her, "'You ought to go for once and see your parents, Inge."

So Inge started to go and visit her parents, but she only wanted to show herself in her native place, that the people might see how fine she was. She reached the entrance of the village, and saw the young labouring man and maiden standing together chatting, and her own mother amongst them. Inge's mother was sitting on a stone to rest, with a faggot of sticks lying before her, which she had picked up in the wood. Then Inge turned back. She, who was so finely dressed, she felt ashamed of her mother, a poorly clad woman, who picked up wood in the forest. She did not turn back out of pity for her mother's poverty, but from pride. Another half-year went by, and her mistress said, "'You ought to go home again and visit your parents, Inge, and I will give you a large wheaten loaf to take to them.

They will be glad to see you, I am sure.' So Inge put on her best clothes, and her new shoes, drew her dress up around her, and set out, stepping very carefully, that she might be clean and neat about the feet, and there was nothing wrong in doing so. But when she came to the place where the footpath led across the moor, she found small pools of water, and a great deal of mud. So she threw the loaf into the mud, and trod upon it, that she might pass without wetting her feet. But as she stood with one foot on the loaf, and the other lifted up to step forward, the loaf began to sink under her, lower and lower, till she disappeared altogether, and only a few bubbles on the surface of the muddy pool remained to show where she had sunk.

And this is the story. But where did Inga go? She sank into the ground, and went down to the marshwoman, who was always brewing there. The Marshwoman is related to the elf-maidens, who are well known, for songs are sung and pictures painted about them. But of the Marshwoman nothing is known, excepting that when a mist arises from the meadows in summer-time, it is because she is brewing beneath them. To the Marshwoman's brewery, Inge sunk down to a place which no one can endure for long. A heap of mud is a palace compared with the Marshwoman's Brewery, and as Inga fell she shuddered in every limb, and soon became cold and stiff as marble. Her foot was still fastened to the loaf, which bowed her down as a golden ear of corn bends the stem.

An evil spirit soon took possession of Inge, and carried her to a still worse place, in which she saw crowds of unhappy people, waiting in a state of agony for the gates of mercy to be opened to them, and in every heart was a miserable and eternal feeling of unrest. It would take too much time to describe the various tortures these people suffered, but Inge's punishment consisted in standing there as a statue, with her foot fastened to the loaf. She could move her eyes about, and see all the misery about her, but she could not turn her head. And when she saw the people looking at her, she thought they were admiring her pretty face and fine clothes, for she was still vain and proud. But she had forgotten how soiled her clothes had become while in the marshwoman's brewery, and that they were covered with mud.

A snake had also fastened itself in her hair and hung down her back, while from each fold in her dress a great toad peeped out and croaked like an asthmatic poodle. Worse than all was the terrible hunger that tormented her, and she could not stoop to break off a piece of the loaf on which she stood. No, her back was too stiff, and her whole body like a pillar of stone. And then came creeping over her face and eyes, flies without wings. She winked and blinked, but they could not fly away, for their wings had been pulled off. This, added to the hunger she felt, was horrible torture. "'If this lasts much longer,' she said, "'I shall not be able to bear it.' But it did last, and she had to bear it, without being able to help herself.

A tear, followed by many scalding tears, fell upon her head, and rolled over her face and neck down to the loaf on which she stood. Who could be weeping for Inge? She had a mother in the world still, and the tears of sorrow which a mother sheds for her child will always find their way to the child's heart. But they often increased the torment instead of being a relief. And Inge could hear all that was said about her in the world she had left, and every one seemed cruel to her. The sin she had committed in treading on the loaf was known on earth, for she had been seen by the cowherd from the hill when she was crossing the marsh and had disappeared. When her mother wept and exclaimed, Ah! Inge, what grief thou hast caused thy mother!

she would say. Oh, that I had never been born! My mother's tears are useless now! And then the words of the kind people who had adopted her came to her ears, when they said, Inge was a sinful girl, who did not value the gifts of God, but trampled them under her feet. Ah! thought Inge, they should have punished me, and driven all my naughty tempers out of me. A song was made about the girl who trod on a loaf to keep her shoes from being soiled, and this song was sung everywhere. The story of her sin was also told to the little children, and they called her wicked Inge, and said she was so naughty that she ought to be punished. Inge heard all this, and her heart became hardened and full of bitterness.

But one day, while hunger and grief were gnawing in her hollow frame, she heard a little innocent child, while listening to the tale of the vain, haughty Inga, burst into tears and exclaim, "'But will she never come up again?' And she heard the reply, "'No, she will never come up again.' "'But if she were to say she was sorry, and ask pardon, and promise never to do so again,' asked the little one. "'Yes, then she might come, but she will not beg pardon.' was the answer. "'Oh, I wish she would,' said the child, who was quite unhappy about it. "'I should be so glad. I would give up my doll and all my playthings if she could only come here again. Poor Inga! It is so dreadful for her!' These pitying words penetrated to Inga's inmost heart, and seemed to do her good.

It was the first time any one had said, "'Poor Inga!' without saying something about her faults. A little innocent child was weeping and praying for mercy for her. It made her feel quite strange, and she would gladly have wept herself, and it added to her torment to find she could not do so. And while she thus suffered in a place where nothing changed, years passed away on earth, and she heard her name less frequently mentioned. But one day a sigh reached her, and the words, Inge, Inge, what a grief thou hast been to me! I said it would be so. It was the last sigh of her dying mother. After this, Inga heard her kind mistress say, Ah, poor Inga, shall I ever see thee again? Perhaps I may, for we know not what may happen in the future.

But Inga knew right well that her mistress would never come to that dreadful place. Time passed—a long, bitter time—then Inga heard her name pronounced once more, and saw what seemed two bright stars shining above her. They were two gentle eyes closing on earth. Many years had passed since the little girl had lamented and wept about poor Inga. That child was now an old woman, whom God was taking to himself. In the last hour of existence, the events of a whole life often appear before us, and this hour the old woman remembered how, when a child, she had shed tears over the story of Inga, and she prayed for her now. As the eyes of the old woman closed to earth, the eyes of the soul opened upon the hidden things of eternity, and then she, in whose last thoughts Inge had been so vividly present, saw how deeply the poor girl had sunk.

She burst into tears at the sight, and in heaven, as she had done when a little child on earth, she wept and prayed for poor Inge. Her tears and her prayers echoed through the dark void that surrounded the tormented captive soul, and the unexpected mercy was obtained for it through an angel's tears. As in thought, Inga seemed to act over again every sin she had committed on earth. She trembled, and tears she had never yet been able to weep rushed to her eyes. It seemed impossible that the gates of mercy could ever be opened to her. But while she acknowledged this in deep penitence, a beam of radiant light shot suddenly into the depths upon her. More powerful than the sunbeam that dissolves the man of snow which the children have raised, more quickly than the snowflake melts and becomes a drop of water on the warm lips of a child, was the stony form of Inge changed, and as a little bird she soared, with the speed of lightning, upward to the world of mortals.

A bird that felt timid and shy to all things around it, that seemed to shrink with shame from meeting any living creature, and hurriedly sought to conceal itself in a dark corner of an old ruined wall. There it sat, cowering and unable to utter a sound, for it was voiceless. Yet how quickly the little bird discovered the beauty of everything around it! The sweet, fresh air, the soft radiance of the moon, as its light spread over the earth. The fragrance which exhaled from bush and tree made it feel happy as it sat there clothed in its fresh, bright plumage. All creation seemed to speak of beneficence and love. The bird wanted to give utterance to thoughts that stirred in his breast, as the cuckoo and the nightingale in the spring, but it could not.

Yet in heaven can be heard the song of praise, even from a worm, and the notes trembling in the breast of the bird were as audible to heaven even as the psalms of David before they had fashioned themselves into words and song. Christmas time drew near, and a peasant who dwelt close by the old wall stuck up a pole with some ears of corn fastened to the top, that the birds of heaven might have feast and rejoice in the happy blessed time. And on Christmas morning, the sun arose and shone upon the ears of corn, which were quickly surrounded by a number of twittering birds. Then, from a hole in the wall, gushed forth in song the swelling thoughts of the bird, as he issued from his hiding-place to perform his first good deed on earth, and in heaven it was well known who that bird was.

The winter was very hard. The ponds were covered with ice, and there was very little food for either the beasts of the field or the birds of the air. Our little bird flew away into the public roads, and found here and there in the ruts of the sledges a grain of corn, and at the halting-places some crumbs. Of these he ate only a few, but he called around him the other birds and the hungry sparrows, that they too might have food. He flew into the towns and looked about, and wherever a kind hand had strewed bread on the window-sill for the birds, he ate only a single crumb himself, and gave all the rest to the rest of the other birds. In the course of the winter the bird had in this way collected many crumbs and given them to other birds, till they equalled the weight of the loaf on which Inge had trod to keep her shoes clean, and when the last breadcrumb had been found and given, the grey wings of the bird became white, and spread themselves out for flight.

"'Sea! Yonder is a sea-gull!' cried the children when they saw the white bird, as it dived into the sea, and rose again into the clear sunlight, white and glittering. But no one could tell whither it went then, although some declared it flew straight to the sun.

End of The Girl Who Trod on the Loaf by Hans Christian Andersen

16 The Angel 6:07

The Angel by Hans Christian Andersen. The Angel by Hans Christian Andersen.

Whenever a good child dies, an angel of God comes down from heaven, Takes the dead child in his arms, spreads out his great white wings, and flies with him over all the places which the child had loved during his life. Then he gathers a large handful of flowers, which he carries up to the Almighty, that they may bloom more brightly in heaven than they do on earth. And the Almighty presses the flowers to his heart, but he kisses the flower that pleases him best, and it receives a voice, and is able to join the song of the chorus of bliss. These words were spoken by an angel of God, as he carried a dead child up to heaven, and the child listened as if in a dream. Then they passed over well-known spots where the little one had often played, and through beautiful gardens full of lovely flowers.

"'Which of these shall we take with us to heaven to be transplanted there?' asked the angel. Close by grew a slender, beautiful rose-bush, but some wicked hand had broken the stem, and the half-opened rose-buds hung faded and withered on the trailing branches. "'Poor rose-bush,' said the child, "'let us take it with us to heaven, that it may bloom above in God's garden.' The angel took up the rose-bush, then he kissed the child, and the little one half-opened his eyes. The angel gathered also some beautiful flowers, as well as a few humble buttercups and heartseas. "'Now we have flowers enough,' said the child. But the angel only nodded. He did not fly upward to heaven. It was night, and quite still in the great town.

Here they remained, and the angel hovered over a small, narrow street, in which lay a large heap of straw, ashes, and sweepings from the houses of people who had removed. There lay fragments of plates, Pieces of plaster, rags, old hats, and other rubbish not pleasant to see. Amidst all this confusion, the angel pointed to the pieces of a broken flower-pot, and to a lump of earth which had fallen out of it. The earth had been kept from falling to pieces by the roots of a withered field-flower which had been thrown amongst the rubbish. "'We will take this with us,' said the angel. "'I will tell you why as we fly along.' And as they flew, the angel related the history. Down in that narrow lane, in a low cellar, lived a poor, sick boy.

He had been afflicted from his childhood, and even in his best days he could just manage to walk up and down the room on crutches once or twice, but no more. During some days in summer, the sunbeams would lie on the floor of the cellar for about half an hour. In this spot, the poor, sick boy would sit, warming himself in the sunshine, and watching the red blood through his delicate fingers as he held them before his face. Then he would say he had been out, yet he knew nothing of the green forest and its spring verdure, till a neighbor's sun brought him a green bough from a beech-tree. This he would place over his head, and fancy that he was in the beech-wood while the sun shone and the birds carolled gaily.

One spring day the neighbor's boy brought him some field-flowers, and among them was one to which the root still adhered. This he carefully planted in a flower-pot, and placed in a window-seat near his bed. And the flower had been planted by a fortunate hand, for it grew, put forth fresh shoots, and blossomed every year. It became a splendid flower-garden to the sick boy, and his little treasure upon earth. He watered it, and cherished it, and took care it should have the benefit of every sunbeam that found its way into the cellar, from the earliest morning ray to the evening sunset. The flower entwined itself even in his dreams. For him it bloomed, for him spread its perfume. And it gladdened his eyes, and to the flower he turned even in death when the Lord called him.

He has been one year with God. During that time the flower had stood in the window, withered and forgotten, Till at length cast out among the sweepings into the street on the day of the lodge's removal. And this poor flower, withered and faded as it is, we have added to our nosegay, because it gave more real joy than the most beautiful flower in the garden of a queen. "'But how do you know all this?' asked the child, whom the angel was carrying to heaven. "'I know it,' said the angel. Because I myself was the poor sick boy who walked upon crutches, and I know my own flower well. Then the child opened his eyes, and looked into the glorious happy face of the angel, and at the same moment they found themselves in that heavenly home where all is happiness and joy.

And God pressed the dead child to his heart, and wings were given him so that he could fly with the angel hand in hand. Then the Almighty pressed all the flowers to his heart, but he kissed the withered fieldflower, and it received a voice. Then it joined in the song of the angels, who surrounded the throne, some near, and others in a distant circle, but all equally happy. They all joined in the chorus of praise, both great and small, the good happy child, and the poor fieldflower that once lay withered, and cast away on a heap of rubbish in a narrow, dark street.

End of The Angel by Hans Christian Andersen.

17 The Buckwheat 4:19

The Buckwheat by Hans Christian Andersen. Very often, after a violent thunderstorm, a field of buckwheat appears blackened and singed, as if a flame of fire had passed over it. The country people say that this appearance is caused by lightning, but I will tell you what the sparrow says, and the sparrow heard it from an old willow tree, which grew near a field of buckwheat, and is there still. It is a large, venerable tree, though a little crippled by age. The trunk has been split, and out of the crevice grass and brambles grow. The tree bends forward slightly, and the branches hang quite down to the ground, just like green hair. Corn grows in the surrounding fields. Not only rye and barley, but oats, pretty oats that, when ripe, look like a number of little golden canary-birds sitting on a bough.

The corn has a smiling look, and the heaviest and richest ears bend their heads low, as if in pious humility. Once there was also a field of buckwheat, and this field was exactly opposite to old willow-tree. The buckwheat did not bend like the other grain, but erected its head proudly and stiffly on the stem. "'I am as valuable as any other corn.' said he, and I am much handsomer. My flowers are as beautiful as the bloom of the apple-blossom, and it is a pleasure to look at us. Do you know of anything prettier than we are, you old willow-tree? And the willow-tree nodded his head, as if he would say, Indeed I do. But the buckwheat spread itself out with pride, and said, Stupid tree! He is so old that grass grows out of his body.

There arose a very terrible storm. All the field-flowers folded their leaves together, or bowed their little heads, while the storm passed over them. But the buckwheat stood erect in its pride. "'Bend your head as we do,' said the flowers. "'I have no occasion to do so,' replied the buckwheat. "'Bend your head as we do,' cried the ears of corn. "'The angel of the storm is coming. His wing spread from the sky above to the earth beneath. He will strike you down before you can cry for mercy. But I will not bend my head," said the buckwheat. Close your flowers and bend your leaves," said the old willow-tree. Do not look at the lightning when the cloud bursts. Even men cannot do that. In a flash of lightning heaven opens, and we can look in, but the sight will strike even human beings blind.

What, then, must happen to us, who only grow out of the earth and are so inferior to them, if we venture to do so? Inferior indeed, said the buckwheat. Now I intend to have a peep into heaven. Proudly and boldly he looked up, while the lightning flashed across the sky, as if the whole world were in flames. When the dreadful storm had passed, the flowers and the corn raised their drooping heads in the pure, still air, refreshed by the rain, but the buckwheat lay like a weed in the field, burnt to blackness by the lightning. The branches of the old willow-tree rustled in the wind, and large water-drops fell from his green leaves, as if the old willow were weeping. Then the sparrows asked why he was weeping, when all around him seemed so cheerful.

See! They said, "'How the sun shines, and the clouds float in the blue sky! Do you not smell the sweet perfume from flower and bush? Wherefore do you weep, old willow-tree?' Then the willow told them of the haughty pride of the buckwheat, and of the punishment which followed in consequence. This is the story told me by the sparrows one evening, when I begged them to relate some tale to me."

18 The Darning-needle 8:59

The Darning Needle by Hans Christian Andersen.

There was once a darning needle who thought herself so fine she imagined she was an embroidering needle. "'Take care, and mind you hold me tight,' she said to the fingers that took her out. "'Don't let me fall. If I fall on the ground, I shall certainly never be found again, for I'm so fine.' "'That's as it may be,' said the fingers, and they grasped her round the body. "'See, I'm coming with the train,' said the downing needle. And she drew a long thread after her, but there was no knot in the thread. The fingers pointed the needle just at the cook's slipper in which the upper leather had burst, and was to be sewn together. That's vulgar work, said the darling needle. I shall never get through.

I'm breaking, I'm breaking! And she really broke. Did I not say so? said the darling needle. "'I'm too fine!' "'Now it's quite useless,' said the fingers. But they were obliged to hold her fast all the same, for the cook dropped some sealing-wax upon the needle, and pinned her handkerchief together with it in front. "'So now I'm a breast-pin,' said the darling needle. "'I knew very well that I should come to honour,' When one is something, one comes to something. And she laughed quietly to herself, and one can never see when a dawning needle laughs. There she sat, as proud as if she was in a state-coach, and looked all about her. "'May I be permitted to ask if you are of gold?' she inquired of the pin her neighbor.

"'You have a very pretty appearance, and a peculiar head. But it is only little. You must take pains to grow, for it's not everyone that has sealing wax dropped upon him. And the darning needle drew herself up so proudly that she fell out of the handkerchief right into the sink, which the cook was rinsing out. "'Now we're going on a journey,' said the darning needle. "'If I only don't get lost!' But she really was lost. I'm too fine for this world, she observed as she lay in the gutter. But I know who I am, and there's always something in that. So the Darning Needle kept her proud behavior, and did not lose her good humor. And things of many kinds swam over her, chips and straws and pieces of old newspapers.

Only look how they sail, said the Darning Needle. They don't know what is under them. I'm here. I remain firmly here. See? There goes a chip thinking of nothing in the world but of himself, of a chip. There's a straw going by now. How he turns, how he twirls about. Don't think only of yourself. You might easily run up against a stone. There swims a bit of newspaper. What's written upon it has long been forgotten, and yet it gives itself airs. I sit quietly and patiently here. I know who I am, and I shall remain what I am. One day, something lay close beside her that glittered splendidly. Then the darning-needle believed that it was a diamond. But it was a bit of broken bottle, and because it shone, the darning-needle spoke to it, introducing herself as a breast-pin.

"'I suppose you are a diamond?' she observed. "'Why, yes, something of that kind.' And then each believed the other to be a very valuable thing, and they began speaking about the world, and how very conceited it was. "'I hath been in a lady's box,' said the darling needle, "'and this lady was a cook. She had five fingers on each hand, and I never saw Anything so conceited as those five fingers. And yet they were only there that they might take me out of the box and put me back into it. "'Were they of good birth?' asked the bit of bottle. "'No, indeed,' replied the darning needle. "'But very hearty. There were five brothers, all of the finger family. They kept very proudly together.' Though they were of different lengths, the outermost, the thumbling, was short and fat.

He walked out in front of the ranks, and only had one joint in his back, and could only make a single bow. But he said that if he was hacked off a man, that man was useless for service in war. Dainty Mount, the second finger, thrust himself into sweet and sour, pointed to sun and moon, and gave the impression when they wrote. Longman, the third, looked at all the others over his shoulder. Goldborda, the fourth, went about with a golden belt round his waist. And little Playman did nothing at all, and was proud of it. There was nothing but bragging among them, and therefore I went away. And now we sit here and glitter. said the bit of bottle. At that moment, more water came into the gutter, so that it overflowed, and the bit of bottle was carried away.

"'So he is disposed of,' observed the darning needle. "'I remain here. I'm too fine. But that's my pride, and my pride is honorable.' And proudly she sat there, and had many great thoughts. I could almost believe I have been born of a sunbeam. I'm so fine. It really appears as if the sunbeams were always seeking for me under the water. Ah, I'm so fine that my mother cannot find me. If I had my old eye, which broke off, I think I should cry. But no, I should not do that. It's not genteel to cry. One day, A couple of street boys lay grubbing in the gutter, where they sometimes found old nails, farthings, and similar treasures. It was dirty work, but they took great delight in it. "'Oh!' cried one, who had pricked himself with the darning needle.

"'There's a fellow for you.' "'I'm not a fellow. I'm a young lady,' said the darning needle. But nobody listened to her. The sealing wax had come off, And she had turned black, but black makes one look slender, and she thought herself finer even than before. "'Here comes an eggshell sailing along,' said the boys, and they stuck the darning needle fast in the eggshell. "'White walls and black myself, that looks well,' remarked the darning needle. "'No one can see me. I only hope I shall not be seasick.' But she was not sea-sick at all. It is good against sea-sickness, if one has a still stomach and does not forget that one is a little more than an ordinary person. Now my sea-sickness is over, and the finer one is, the more one can bear.

Kerk, when the egg-shell for a wagon went over her. Good heavens, how it crushes one! said the darning needle. "'I'm getting seasick now. I'm quite sick.' But she was not really sick, though the wagon went over her. She lay there at full length, and there she may lie."

19 The Bell Deep 10:10

The Bell Deep by Hans Christian Andersen. The Bell Deep by Hans Christian Andersen. Translated by H.W. Delkin.

Ding dong, ding dong. It sounds up from the bell-deep in the Odense Au. Every child in the old town of Odense on the island of Funen knows the Au, which washes the gardens round about the town and flows on under the wooden bridges from the dam to the water-mill. In the Au grow the yellow water-lilies and brown feathery reeds. The dark, velvety flag grows there, high and thick, Old and decayed willows, slanting and tottering, hang far out over the stream beside the monk's meadow and by the bleaching ground. But opposite there are gardens upon gardens, each different from the rest, some with pretty flowers and bowers like little dolls' pleasure grounds, often displaying only cabbage and other kitchen plants, and here and there the gardens cannot be seen at all, For the great elder trees that spread themselves out by the bank, and hang far out over the streaming waters, which are deeper here and there than an oar can fathom.

Opposite the old nunnery is the deepest place which is called the Bell Deep, and there dwells the old water spirit, the Auman. This spirit sleeps through the day while the sun shines down upon the water. But in starry and moonlit nights he shows himself. He is very old. Grandmother says that she has heard her own grandmother tell of him. He is said to lead a solitary life and to have nobody with whom he can converse save the great old church bell. Once the bell hung in the church tower, but now there is no trace left of the tower or of the church, which was called St. Albans. Ding-dong, ding-dong, sounded the bell when the tower still stood there, and one evening, while the sun was setting and the bell was swinging away bravely, it broke loose and came flying down through the air, the brilliant metal shining in the ruddy beam.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, now I'll return. "'Tired to rest,' sang the bell, and flew down into the Odense Owl, where it is deepest, and that is why the place is called the Bell Deep. But the bell got neither rest nor sleep. Down in the Aumann's haunt it sounds and rings, so that the tones sometimes pierce upward through the waters, and many people maintain that its strains forbode the death of someone. But that is not true, for then the bell is only talking with the Aumann, who is now no longer alone. And what is the bell telling? It is old, very old, as we have already observed, and it was there long before grandmother's grandmother was born, and yet it is but a child in comparison with the Alman, who is an old, quiet personage, an oddity with his hose of eel-skin, and his scaly jacket with the yellow lilies for buttons, and a wreath of reed in his hair, and seaweed in his beard.

But he looks very pretty for all that. What the bell tells? To repeat it all would require years and days, for year by year it is telling the old stories, sometimes short ones, sometimes long ones, according to its whim. It tells of old times, of the dark hard times, thus. In the church of St. Alban the monk mounted up into the tower. He was young and handsome, but thoughtful exceedingly. He looked through the loophole out upon the Odense Au, when the bed of water was yet broad and the monk's meadow was still a lake. He looked out over it and over the rampart and over the nun's hill opposite, where the convent lay, and the light Gleamed forth from the nun's cell. He had known the nun right well, and he thought of her, and his heart beat quicker as he thought.

Ding-dong, ding-dong. Yes, this was the story the bell told. Into the tower came also the dapper man-servant of the bishop, and when I, the bell, who am made of metal, rang hard and loud and swung to and fro, I might have beaten out his brains. He sat down close under me and played with two little sticks, as if they had been a stringed instrument, and he sang to it. Now I may sing it aloud, though at other times I may not whisper it. I may sing of everything that is kept concealed behind lock and bars. Yonder it is cold and wet. The rats are eating her up alive. Nobody knows of it. Nobody hears of it. Not even now, for the bell is ringing and singing its loud ding-dong-ding-dong. There was a king in those days.

They called him Canute. He bowed himself before bishop and monk, but when he offended the free peasants with heavy taxes and hard words, they seized their weapons and put him to flight like a wild beast. He sought shelter in the church, and shut gate and door behind him. The violent band surrounded the church. I heard tell of it. The crows, ravens, and magpies started up in terror at the yelling and shouting that sounded around. They flew into the tower and out again. They looked down upon the throng below, and they also looked into the windows of the church, and screamed out aloud what they saw there. King Canute knelt before the altar in prayer. His brothers Eric and Benedict stood by him as guard with drawn swords.

But the king's servant, the treacherous Blake, betrayed his master. The throng in front of the church knew where they could hit the king, and one of them flung a stone through a pane of glass, and the king lay there dead. The cries and screams of the savage horde and of the birds sounded through the air, and I joined in it also, for I sang, Ding-dong, ding-dong.

The church-bell hangs high and looks far around, and sees the birds around it and understands their language. The wind roars in upon it through windows and loopholes, and the wind knows everything, for he gets it from the air, which encircles all things, and the church-bell understands his tongue and rings it out into the world. Ding-dong, ding-dong. But this was too much for me to hear and know. I was not able any longer to wring it out. I became so tired, so heavy, that the beam broke, and I flew out into the gleaming owl where the water is deepest, and where the owl-man lives, solitary and alone. And year by year I tell him what I have heard, and what I know. Ding-dong, ding-dong. Thus it sounds complainingly out of the bell-deep in the Odense Au.

That is what Grandmother told us. But the schoolmaster says, That there was not any bell that rung down there, for that it could not do so, and that no Aumann dwelt yonder, for there was no Aumann at all. And when all other church bells are sounding sweetly, he says that it is not really the bells that are sounding, but that it is the air itself which sends forth the notes. And Grandmother said to us that the bell itself said it was the air who told it him. Consequently, they are agreed on that point, and this much is sure. Be cautious, cautious, and take good heed to thyself, they both say. The air knows everything. It is around us, it is in us, it talks of our thoughts and of our deeds, and it speaks longer of them than does the bell down in the depths of the Odense Au, where the Au Man dwells.

It rings out into the vault of heaven, far, far out, for ever and ever, till the heaven bells sound. Ding-dong! Ding dong. End of the video. The Bell Deep by Hans Christian Andersen.

20 The Elf of the Rose 12:00

The Elf of the Rose by Hans Christian Andersen. The Elf of the Rose by Hans Christian Andersen.

In the midst of a garden, grew a rose-tree in full blossom, and in the prettiest of all the roses lived an elf. He was such a little wee thing that no human eye could see him. Behind each leaf of the rose he had a sleeping chamber. He was as well formed and as beautiful as a little child could be, and had wings that reached from his shoulders to his feet. Oh, what sweet fragrance there was in his chambers! And how clean and beautiful were the walls, for they were the blushing leaves of the rose. During the whole day he enjoyed himself in the warm sunshine, flew from flower to flower, and danced on the wings of the flying butterflies. Then he took it into his head to measure how many steps he would have to go through the roads and cross-roads that are on the leaf of a linden-tree.

What we call the veins on a leaf he took for roads. Ay, and very long roads they were for him. For before he had half finished his task, the sun went down. He had commenced his work too late. It became very cold. The dew fell, and the wind blew. So he thought the best thing he could do would be to return home. He hurried himself as much as he could, but he found the roses all closed up, and he could not get in. Not a single rose stood open. The poor little elf was very much frightened. He had never before been out at night, but had always slumbered secretly behind the warm rose-leaves. This would certainly be his death. At the other end of the garden he knew there was an arbor overgrown with beautiful honeysuckles.

The blossoms looked like large painted horns, and he thought to himself he would go and sleep in one of these till the morning. He flew thither, but—hush! Two people were in the arbor. A handsome young man and a beautiful lady. They sat side by side, and wished that they might never be obliged to part. They loved each other much more than the best child can love its father and mother.

But we must part, said the young man. Your brother does not like our engagement, and therefore he sends me so far away on business, over mountains and seas. Farewell, my sweet bride, for so you are to me. And then they kissed each other, and the girl wept, and gave him a rose, but before she did so, she pressed a kiss upon it so fervently that the flower opened. Then the little elf flew in, and leaned his head on the delicate, fragrant walls. Here he could plainly hear them say, Farewell, Farewell, and he felt that the rose had been placed on the young man's breast. Oh, how his heart did beat! The little elf could not go to sleep, it thumped so loudly. The young man took it out as he walked through the dark wood alone, and kissed the flower so often and so violently that the little elf was almost crushed.

He could feel through the leaf how hot the lips of the young man were, and the rose had opened as if from the heat of the noonday sun.

There came another man, who looked gloomy and wicked. He was the wicked brother of the beautiful maiden. He drew out a sharp knife, and while the other was kissing the rose, the wicked man stabbed him to death. Then he cut off his head and buried it with the body in the soft earth under the linden-tree. Now he is gone, and will soon be forgotten, thought the wicked brother. He will never come back again. He was going on a long journey over mountains and seas. It is easy for a man to lose his life in such a journey. My sister will suppose he is dead, for he cannot come back, and she will not dare to question me about him. Then he scattered the dry leaves over the light earth with his foot, and went home through the darkness.

But he went not alone, as he thought. The little elf accompanied him. He sat in a dry rolled-up linden leaf, which had fallen from the tree on to the wicked man's head as he was digging the grave. The hat was on the head now, which made it very dark, and the little elf shuddered with fright and indignation at the wicked deed.

It was the dawn of the morning before the wicked man reached home. He took off his hat and went into his sister's room. There lay the beautiful, blooming girl, dreaming of him whom she loved so, and who was now, she supposed, traveling far away over mountain and sea. Our wicked brother stooped over her, and laughed hideously, as fiends only can laugh. The dry leaf fell out of his hair upon the counterpane, but he did not notice it, and went to get a little sleep during the early morning hours. But the elf slipped out of the withered leaf, placed himself by the ear of the sleeping girl, and told her, as in a dream, of the horrid murder described the place where her brother had slain her lover and buried his body, and told her of the linden-tree in full blossom that stood close by.

"'That you may not think this is only a dream that I have told you,' he said. "'You will find on your bed a withered leaf.' Then she awoke and found it there. Oh, what bitter tears she shed! And she could not open her heart to anyone for relief.

The window stood open the whole day, and the little elf could easily have reached the roses or any of the flowers, but he could not find it in his heart to leave one so afflicted. In the window stood a bush bearing monthly roses. He seated himself in one of the flowers, and gazed on the poor girl. Her brother often came into the room, and would be quite cheerful in spite of his base conduct. So she dared not say a word to him of her heart's grief. As soon as night came on, she slipped out of the house, and went into the wood to the spot where the linden-tree stood. And after removing the leaves from the earth, she turned it up, and there found him who had been murdered. Oh, how she wept, and prayed that she also might die!

Gladly would she have taken the body home with her, but that was impossible. So she took up the poor head with the closed eyes, kissed the cold lips, and shook the mould out of the beautiful hair. "'I will keep this,' said she. And as soon as she had covered the body again with the earth and leaves, she took the head and a little sprig of jasmine that bloomed in the wood near the spot where he was buried, and carried them home with her. As soon as she was in her room, she took the largest flower-pot she could find, and in this she placed the head of the dead man. Covered it up with earth, and planted the twig of jasmine in it. Farewell, farewell, whispered the little elf.

He could not any longer endure to witness all this agony of grief. He therefore flew away to his rose in the garden. But the rose was faded. Only a few dry leaves still clung to the green hedge behind it. Alas, how soon all that is good and beautiful passes away! Sied the elf. After a while he found another rose, which became his home, for among its delicate, fragrant leaves he could dwell in safety. Every morning he flew to the window of the poor girl, and always found her weeping by the flower-pot. The bitter tears fell upon the jasmine-twig, and each day, as she became paler and paler, the sprig appeared to grow greener and fresher. One shoot after another sprouted forth, and little white buds blossomed, which the poor girl fondly kissed.

But her wicked brother scolded her, and asked her if she was going mad. He could not imagine why she was weeping over that flower-pot, and it annoyed him. He did not know whose closed eyes were there, nor what red lips were fading beneath the earth. And one day she sat and leaned her head against the flower-pot. The little elf of the rose found her asleep. Then he seated himself by her ear, talked to her of that evening in the arbor, of the sweet perfume of the rose, and the loves of the elves. Sweetly she dreamed, and while she dreamt, her life passed away calmly and gently, and her spirit was with him whom she loved in heaven. And the jasmine opened its large white bells, and spread forth its sweet fragrance.

It had no other way of showing its grief for the dead. But the wicked brother, considered the beautiful blooming plant as his own property, left to him by his sister, and he placed it in his sleeping-room, close by his bed, for it was very lovely in appearance, and the fragrance sweet and delightful. The little elf of the rose followed it. and flew from flower to flower, telling each little spirit that dwell in them the story of the murdered young man, whose head now formed part of the earth beneath them, and of the wicked brother and the poor sister. "'We know it,' said each little spirit in the flowers. "'We know it, for have we not sprung from the eyes and lips of the murdered one? We know it.

We know it.' And the flowers nodded with their heads in a peculiar manner. The elf of the rose could not understand how they could rest so quietly in the matter, so he flew to the bees who were gathering honey, and told them of the wicked brother. The bees told it to their queen, who commanded that the next morning they should go and kill the murderer. But during the night, the first after the sister's death, while the brother was sleeping in his bed, close to where he had placed the fragrant jasmine, Every flower-cup opened, and invisibly the little spirits stole out, armed with poisoned spears. They placed themselves by the ear of the sleeper, told him dreadful dreams, and then flew across his lips and pricked his tongue with their poisoned spears.

"'Now we have revenge the dead,' said they, and flew back into the white bells of the jasmine-flowers. When the morning came, as soon as the window was opened, the rose-elf, The queen-bee and the whole swarm of bees rushed in to kill him, but he was already dead. People were standing round the bed, and saying that the scent of the jasmine had killed him. And the elf of the rose understood the revenge of the flowers, and explained it to the queen-bee, and she, with the whole swarm, buzzed about the flower-pot. The bees could not be driven away. Then a man took it up to remove it, and one of the bees stung him in the hand, so that he let the flower-pot fall, and it was broken to pieces. Then everyone saw the whitened skull, and they knew the dead man in the bed was a murderer.

And the queen-bee hummed in the air, and sang of the revenge of the flowers, and of the elf of the rose, and said that behind the smallest leaf dwells one who can discover evil deeds, and punish them also.

End of The Elf of the Rose by Hans Christian Andersen.

21 The Beetle Who Went On His Travels 16:21

The Beetle Who Went On His Travels.

There was once an emperor who had a horse shod with gold. He had a golden shoe on each foot, and why was this? He was a beautiful creature with slender legs, bright, intelligent eyes, and a mane that hung down over his neck like a veil. He had carried his master through fire and smoke in the battlefield, with the bullets whistling round him. He had kicked and bitten and taken part in the fight when the enemy advanced, and with his master on his back he had dashed over the fallen foe and saved the golden crown and the emperor's life, which was of more value than the brightest gold. This is the reason of the emperor's horse wearing golden shoes. A beetle came creeping forth from the stable where the farrier had been shoeing the horse.

Great ones, first, of course, said he, and then the little ones. But size is not always a proof of greatness. He stretched out his thin leg as he spoke. "'And pray, what do you want?' asked the farrier. "'Golden shoes,' replied the beetle. "'Why, you must be out of your senses,' cried the farrier. "'Golden shoes for you, indeed.' "'Yes, certainly, golden shoes,' replied the beetle. Am I not just as good as that great creature yonder who is waited upon and brushed and has food and drink placed before him? And don't I belong to the royal stables? But why does the horse have golden shoes? asked the farrier. Of course you understand the reason. Understand? Well, I understand that it is a personal slight to me, cried the beetle.

It is done to annoy me, so I intend to go out into the world and seek my fortune. Go along with you, said the farrier. "'You're a rude fellow,' cried the beetle, as he walked out of the stable, and then he flew for a short distance till he found himself in a beautiful flower-garden, all fragrant with roses and lavender. The lady-birds, with red and black shells on their backs and delicate wings, were flying about, and one of them said, "'Is it not sweet and lovely here? Oh, how beautiful everything is!' "'I am accustomed to better things,' said the beetle. "'Do you call this beautiful? Why, there is not even a dung-heap!' Then he went on, and under the shadow of a large haystack he found a caterpillar crawling along.

"'How beautiful this world is,' said the caterpillar. "'The sun is so warm, I quite enjoy it. And soon I shall go to sleep, and die, as they call it, but I shall wake up with beautiful wings to fly with, like a butterfly.' "'How conceited you are!' exclaimed the beetle. "'Fly about as a butterfly, indeed! What of that?' I have come out of the Emperor's stable, and no one there, not even the Emperor's horse, who in fact wears my cast-off golden shoes, has any idea of flying except myself. To have wings and fly. Why, I can do that already. And so saying, he spread his wings and flew away. I don't want to be disgusted, he said to himself, and yet I can't help it. Soon after, he fell down upon an extensive lawn, and for a time pretended to sleep.

But at last fell asleep in earnest. Suddenly a heavy shower of rain came falling from the clouds. The beetle woke up with the noise, and would have been glad to creep into the earth for shelter, but he could not. He was tumbled over and over with the rain, sometimes swimming on his stomach and sometimes on his back, and as for flying, that was out of the question. He began to doubt whether he should escape with his life, so he remained quietly lying where he was. After a while, the weather cleared up a little, and the beetle was able to rub the water from his eyes and look about him. He saw something gleaming, and he managed to make his way up to it. It was linen which had been laid to bleach on the grass.

He crept into a fold of the damp linen, which certainly was not so comfortable a place to lie in as the warm stable, but there was nothing better. So he remained lying there for a whole day and night, and the rain kept on all the time. Towards morning he crept out of his hiding-place, feeling in a very bad temper with the climate. Two frogs were sitting on the linen, and their bright eyes actually glistened with pleasure. "'Wonderful weather, this!' cried one of them, "'and so refreshing. This linen holds the water together so beautifully that my hind legs quiver as if I were going to swim.' "'I should like to know,' said another, "'if the swallow who flies so far in her many journeys to foreign lands ever met with a better climate than this.' What delicious moisture!

It is as pleasant as lying in a wet ditch. I am sure anyone who does not enjoy this has no love for his fatherland. "'Have you ever been in the Emperor's stable?' asked the beetle. "'There the moisture is warm and refreshing. That's the climate for me, but I could not take it with me on my travels. Is there not even a dunghill here, in this garden, where a person of rank like myself could take up his abode and feel at home?' But the frogs either did not or would not understand him. "'I never ask a question twice,' said the beetle, after he had asked this one three times and received no answer. Then he went on a little farther and stumbled against a piece of broken crockeryware, which certainly ought not to have been lying there.

But as it was there, it formed a good shelter against wind and weather to several families of earwigs who dwelt in it. Their requirements were not many, They were very sociable and full of affection for their children, so much so that each mother considered her own child the most beautiful and clever of them all. "'Our dear son has engaged himself,' said one mother. "'Dear innocent boy, his greatest ambition is that he may one day creep into a clergyman's ear. That is a very artless and lovable wish, and being engaged will keep him steady. What happiness for a mother!' "'Our son,' said another, had scarcely crept out of the egg when he was off on his travels. He is all life and spirits. I expect he will wear out his horns with running.

How charming this is for a mother! Is it not, Mr. Beadle? For she knew the stranger by his horny coat. "'You are both quite right,' said he. So they begged him to walk in, that is, to come as far as he could under the broken piece of earthenware. Now you shall also see my little ear-wigs," said a third and a fourth mother. They are lovely little things, and highly amusing. They are never ill-behaved, except when they are uncomfortable in their inside, which unfortunately often happens at their age. Thus each mother spoke of her baby, and their babies talked after their own fashion, and made use of the little nippers they have in their tails to nip the beard of the beetle. They are always busy about something, the little rogues.

said the mother, beaming with maternal pride. But the beetle felt it a bore, and he therefore inquired the way to the nearest dung-heap. "'That is quite out in the great world on the other side of the ditch,' answered Eniurwig. "'I hope none of my children will ever go so far. It would be the death of me.' "'But I shall try to get so far,' said the beetle, and he walked off without taking any formal leave, which is considered a polite thing to do. When he arrived at the ditch, he met several friends. All of them beetles. "'We live here,' they said, "'and we are very comfortable. May we ask you to step down into this rich mud? You must be fatigued after your journey.' "'Certainly,' said the beetle.

"'I shall be most happy. I have been exposed to the rain, and have had to lie upon linen, and cleanliness is a thing that greatly exhausts me. I have also pains in one of my wings from standing in the draught under a piece of broken crockery.' It is really quite refreshing to be with one's own kindred again. Perhaps you came from a dung-heap, observed the oldest of them. No, indeed, I came from a much grander place, replied the beetle. I came from the emperor's stable, where I was born, with golden shoes on my feet. I am travelling on a secret embassy, but you must not ask me any questions, for I cannot betray my secret. Then the beetle stepped down into the rich mud. where sat three young lady beetles, who tittered because they did not know what to say.

"'None of them are engaged yet,' said their mother, and the beetle maidens tittered again, this time quite in confusion. "'I have never seen greater beauties, even in the royal stables,' exclaimed the beetle, who was now resting himself. "'Don't spoil my girls,' said the mother, "'and don't talk to them. Pray, unless you have serious intentions.' But of course the beetle's intentions were serious, and after a while our friend was engaged. The mother gave them her blessing, and all the other beetles cried hurrah. Immediately after the betrothal came the marriage, for there was no reason to delay. The following day passed very pleasantly, and the next was tolerably comfortable, but on the third it became necessary for him to think of getting food for his wife, and perhaps for children.

"'I have allowed myself to be taken in,' said our beetle to himself, "'and now there's nothing to be done but to take them in, in return.' No sooner said than done. Away he went, and stayed away all day and all night, and his wife remained behind, a forsaken widow. "'Oh,' said the other Beatles, "'this fellow that we have received into our family is nothing but a complete vagabond. He has gone away and left his wife a burden upon our hands.' "'Well, she can be unmarried again, and remain here with my other daughters,' said the mother. "'Fee on the villain that forsook her.' In the meantime, the beetle, who had sailed across the ditch on a cabbage leaf, had been journeying on the other side. In the morning, two persons came up to the ditch.

When they saw him, they took him up and turned him over and over, looking very learned all the time, especially one who was a boy. Allah sees the black beetle in the black stone and the black rock. Is not that written in the Koran? He asked. Then he translated the beetle's name into Latin, and set a great deal upon the creature's nature and history. The second person, who was older and a scholar, proposed to carry the beetle home, as they wanted just such good specimens as this. Our beetle considered this speech a great insult, so he flew suddenly out of the speaker's hand. His wings were dry now, so they carried him to a great distance, till at last he reached a hot-house, where a sash of the glass roof was partly opened.

So he quietly slipped in and buried himself in the warm earth. It is very comfortable here, he said to himself, and soon after fell asleep. Then he dreamed that the emperor's horse was dying and had left him his golden shoes, and also promised that he should have two more. All this was very delightful, and when the beetle woke up, he crept forth and looked around him. What a splendid place the hothouse was! At the back, large palm trees were growing, and the sunlight made the leaves look quite glossy. And beneath them, what a profusion of luxuriant green, and of flowers red like flame, yellow as amber, or white as new-fallen snow. What a wonderful quantity of plants, cried the beetle. How good they will taste when they are decayed.

This is a capital store-room. There must certainly be some relations of mine living here. I will just see if I can find anyone with whom I can associate. I'm proud, certainly, but I'm also proud of being so. Then he prowled about in the earth and thought what a pleasant dream that was about the dying horse and the golden shoes he had inherited. Suddenly a hand seized the beetle and squeezed him and turned him round and round. The gardener's little son and his playfellow had come into the hot-house, and seeing the beetle wanted to have some fun with him. First he was wrapped in a vine-leaf and put into a warm trousers pocket. He twisted and turned about with all his might, but he got a good squeeze from the boy's hand as a hint for him to keep quiet.

Then the boy went quickly towards a lake that lay at the end of the garden. Here the beetle was put into an old broken wooden shoe, in which a little stick had been fastened upright for a mast, and to this mast the beetle was bound with a piece of worsted. Now he was a sailor and had to sail away. The lake was not very large, but to the beetle it seemed an ocean, and he was so astonished at its size that he fell over on his back and kicked out his legs. Then the little ship sailed away. Sometimes the current of the water seized it, but whenever it went too far from the shore, one of the boys turned up his trousers and went in after it, and brought it back to land. But at last, just as it went merrily out again, the two boys were called, and so angrily that they hastened to obey, and ran away as fast as they could from the pond, so that the little ship was left to its fate.

It was carried away farther and farther from the shore till it reached the open sea. This was a terrible prospect for the beetle, for he could not escape in consequence of being bound to the mast. Then a fly came and paid him a visit. "'What beautiful weather,' said the fly. "'I shall rest here and sun myself. You must have a pleasant time of it.' "'You speak without knowing the facts,' replied the beetle. "'Don't you see that I am a prisoner?' "'Ah, but I'm not a prisoner,' remarked the fly, and away he flew." Well, now I know the world," said the beetle to himself. It's an abominable world. I'm the only respectable person in it. First they refuse me my golden shoes. Then I have to lie on damp linen, and to stand in a draught, and to crown all they fasten a wife upon me.

Then, when I have made a step forward in the world and found out a comfortable position, just as I could wish it to be, one of these human boys comes and ties me up. and leaves me to the mercy of the wild waves, while the emperor's favorite horse goes prancing about proudly on his golden shoes. This vexes me more than anything, but it is useless to look for sympathy in this world. My career has been very interesting, but what's the use of that if nobody knows anything about it? The world does not deserve to be made acquainted with my adventures, for it ought to have given me golden shoes when the emperor's horse was shod, and I stretched out my feet to be shod too. If I had received golden shoes, I should have been an ornament to the stable.

Now I am lost to the stable and to the world. It is all over with me. But all was not over yet. A boat in which were a few young girls came rowing up. Look, yonder is an old wooden shoe sailing along, said one of the younger girls. And there's a poor little creature bound fast in it, said another. The boat now came close to our beetle's ship, and the young girls fished it out of the water. One of them drew a small pair of scissors from her pocket and cut the worsted without hurting the beetle, and when she stepped on shore, she placed him on the grass. "'There,' she said, "'creep away, or fly, if thou canst. It is a splendid thing to have thy liberty.' Away flew the beetle, straight through the open window of a large building.

There he sank down, tired and exhausted, Exactly on the mane of the Emperor's favorite horse, who was standing in his stable, and the beetle found himself at home again. For some time he clung to the mane that he might recover himself. "'Well,' he said, "'here I am, seated on the Emperor's favorite horse, sitting upon him as if I were the Emperor himself.' "'But what was it the farrier asked me?' "'Ah, I remember now. That's a good thought. He asked me why the golden shoes were given to the horse.' The answer is quite clear to me now. They were given to the horse on my account. And this reflection put the beetle into a good temper. The sun's rays also came streaming into the stable, and shone upon him, and made the place lively and bright.

"'Traveling expands the mind very much,' said the beetle. "'The world is not so bad, after all, if you know how to take things as they come.'" End of The Beetle Who Went On His Travels by Hans Christian Andersen.

22 The Pea Blossom 9:37

The Pea Blossom by Hans Christian Andersen. There were once five peas in one shell. They were green. The shell was green, and so they believed the whole world must be green also, which was a very natural conclusion. The shell grew, and the peas grew. They accommodated themselves to their position, and sat all in a row. The sun shone without and warmed the shell, and the rain made it clear and transparent. It was mild and agreeable in broad daylight, and dark at night, as it generally is, And the peas, as they sat there, grew bigger and bigger and more thoughtful as they mused, for they felt there must be something else for them to do. "'Are we to sit here forever?' asked one. "'Shall we not become hard by sitting so long?

It seems to me there must be something outside, and I feel sure of it.' And as weeks passed by, The peas became yellow, and the shell became yellow. "'All the world is turning yellow, I suppose,' said they, and perhaps they were right. Suddenly they felt a pull at the shell. It was torn off and held in human hands, then slipped into the pocket of a jacket in company with other full pods. "'Now we shall soon be opened,' said one. Just what they all wanted. "'I should like to know which of us will travel farthest,' said the smallest of the five, "'for we shall soon see now.' "'What is to happen will happen,' said the largest pea. "'Crack!' went the shell as it burst, and the five peas rolled out into the bright sunshine.

There they lay in a child's hand. A little boy was holding them tightly, and said they were fine peas for his pea-shooter, and immediately he put one in and shot it out. "'Now I am flying out into the wide world,' said he. "'Catch me if you can,' and he was gone in a moment. "'I,' said the second, intend to fly straight into the sun. That is a shell that lets itself be seen, and it would suit me exactly.' And away he went.

"'We will go to sleep wherever we find ourselves,' said the two next. "'We shall still be rolling onwards.' And they did, certainly, fall on the floor and roll about, before they got into the pea-shooter. But they were put in, for all that. "'We shall go farther than the others,' said they. "'What is to happen?' "'Will happen,' exclaimed the last, as he was shot out of the pea-shooter. And as he spoke, he flew up against an old board under a garret window, and fell into a little crevice, which was almost filled up with moss and soft earth. The moss closed itself around him, and there he lay, a captive indeed, but not unnoticed by God. "'What is to happen will happen,' said he to himself.

Within the little garret lived a poor woman, who went out to clean stoves, chop wood into small pieces, and performed such-like hard work, for she was strong and industrious, yet she remained always poor. And at home in the garret lay her only daughter, not quite grown up, and very delicate. and weak. For a whole year she had kept to her bed, and it seemed as if she would neither live nor die. "'She is going to her little sister,' said the woman. "'I had but the two children, and it was not an easy thing to support both of them. But the good God has helped me in my work, and took one of them to himself, and provided for her.' Now, I would gladly keep the other that was left to me, but I suppose they are not to be separated, and my sick girl will very soon go to her sister above.

But the sick girl still remained where she was. Quietly and patiently, she lay all the day long while her mother was away from home at her work.

Spring came. And one morning, early, the sun shone brightly through the little window, and through its rays, over the floor of the room, just as the mother was going to her work. The sick girl fixed her gaze on the lowest pane of the window. "'Mother!' she exclaimed. "'What can that little green thing be that peeps in at the window? It is moving in the wind.' The mother stepped to the window, and half opened it. "'Oh,' she said, There's actually a little pea which has taken root. It's putting out its green leaves. How could it have gotten into this crack? Well, now, here is a little garden for you to amuse yourself with. So the bed of the sick girl was drawn nearer to the window that she might see the budding plant, and the mother went out to her work.

"'Mother, I believe I shall get well,' said the sick child. in the evening. The sun has shone in here so brightly and warmly to-day, and the little pea is thriving so well. I shall get on better, too, and go out into the warm sunshine again. "'Oh, God grant it,' said the mother, but she did not believe it would be so. But she propped up with a little stick the green plant which had given her child such pleasant hopes of life, so that it might not be broken by the winds. She tied the piece of string to the window-sill and to the upper part of the frame, so that the pea-tendrils might twine round it when it shot up. And it did shoot up. Indeed. It might almost be seen to grow from day to day. "'Now, really, here is a flower coming,' said the woman one morning, and now at last she began to encourage the hope that her sick daughter might really recover.

She remembered that for some time the child had spoken more cheerfully, and during the last few days she had raised herself up in bed in the morning to look with sparkling eyes at her little garden, which contained only a single pea-plant. A week after, the invalid sat up for the first time a whole hour, feeling quite happy by the open window and the warm sunshine, while outside grew the little plant. and on it a pink pea-blossom in full bloom. The little maiden bent down and gently kissed the delicate leaves. This day was to her like a festival. Our Heavenly Father himself has planted that pea. And made it to grow and flourish and bring joy to you and hope to me, my blessed child," said the happy mother, and she smiled at the flower as if it had been an angel from God.

But what became of the other piece? Why, the one who flew out into the wide world and said, Catch me if you can, fell into a gutter on the roof of a house and ended his travels in the crop of a pigeon. The two lazy ones were carried Quite as far, for they were also eaten by pigeons, so they were at least of some use. But the fourth, who wanted to reach the sun, fell into a sink, and lay there in the dirty water for days and weeks till he had swelled to a great size. "'I am getting beautifully fat,' said the pea. "'I expect I shall burst at last, and no pea could do more than that, I think.' I am the most remarkable of all the five which were in the shell. And the sink confirmed the opinion. But the young maiden stood at the open garret window with sparkling eyes and the rosy hue of health on her cheeks.

She folded her thin hands over the pea-blossom and thanked God for what he had done.

I, said the sink, shall stand up for my pea.

End of the Pea Blossom by Hans Christian Andersen

23 The Fir Tree 18:14

The Fur Tree. The Fur Tree by Hans Christian Andersen. Far down in the forest, where the warm sun and the fresh air made a sweet resting-place, grew a pretty little fir-tree, and yet it was not happy. It wished so much to be tall like its companions, the pines and firs which grew around it. The sun shone, and the soft air fluttered its leaves, and the little peasant children passed by, prattling merrily, but the fir-tree heeded them not. Sometimes the children would bring a large basket of raspberries or strawberries, wreathed on a straw, and seat themselves near the fir-tree, and say, Is it not a pretty little tree? Which made it feel more unhappy than before. And yet all this while the tree grew a notch or joint taller every year, for by the number of joints in the stem of a fir-tree we can discover its age.

Still, as it grew, it complained, Oh, how I wish I were as tall as the other trees! Then I would spread out my branches on every side, and my top would overlook the wide world. I should have the birds building their nests on my boughs, and when the wind blew, I should bow with stately dignity like my tall companions. The tree was so discontented that it took no pleasure in the warm sunshine, the birds, or the rosy clouds that floated over it morning and evening. Sometimes, in winter, when the snow lay white and glittering on the ground, a hare would come springing along and jump right over the little tree, and then how mortified it would feel. Two winters passed, and when the third arrived, the tree had grown so tall that the hare was obliged to run around it, yet it remained unsatisfied, and would exclaim, "'Oh, if I could but keep on growing tall and old, there is nothing else worth caring for in the world.'" In the autumn, as usual, the woodcutters came and cut down several of the tallest trees, and the young fir-tree, which was now grown to its full height, shuddered as the noble trees fell to the earth with a crash.

After the branches were lopped off, the trunks looked so slender and bare that they could scarcely be recognized. Then they were placed upon wagons and drawn by horses out of the forest. Where are they going? What would become of them? The young fir-tree wished very much to know, so in the spring, when the swallows and the storks came, it asked, "'Do you know where those trees were taken? Did you meet them?' The swallows knew nothing, but the stork, after a little reflection, nodded his head and said, "'Yes, I think I do. I met several new ships when I flew from Egypt, and they had fine masts that smelt like fir. I think these must have been the trees. I assure you they were stately, very stately.'" Oh, how I wish I were tall enough to go on the sea," said the fir-tree.

What is the sea, and what does it look like? It would take too much time to explain, said the stork, flying quickly away. Rejoice in thy youth, said the sunbeam. Rejoice in thy fresh growth and the young life that is in thee. And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew watered it with tears, but the fir-tree regarded them not. Christmas time drew near, and many young trees were cut down, some even smaller and younger than the fir-tree, who enjoyed neither rest nor peace with longing to leave its forest home. These young trees, which were chosen for their beauty, kept their branches, and were also laid on wagons and drawn by horses out of the forest. "'Where are they going?' asked the fir-tree. "'They are not taller than I am.' "'Indeed, one is much less.

And why are the branches not cut off? Where are they going?' "'We know, we know,' sang the sparrows. "'We have looked in at the windows of the houses in the town, and we know what is done with them. They are dressed up in the most splendid manner. We have seen them standing in the middle of a warm room, and adorned with all sorts of beautiful things—honey cakes, gilded apples, playthings, and many hundreds of wax tapers.' "'And then,' asked the fir-tree, trembling through all its branches, "'and then what happens?' We did not see any more, said the sparrows, but this was enough for us. I wonder whether anything so brilliant will ever happen to me, thought the fir-tree. It would be much better than crossing the sea.

I long for it almost with pain. Oh, when will Christmas be here? I am now as tall and well-grown as those trees which were taken away last year. Oh, that I were now laid on the wagon, or standing in the warm room, with all that brightness and splendor around me. Something better and more beautiful is to come after, or the trees would not be so decked out. Yes, what follows will be grander and more splendid. What can it be? I am weary with longing. I scarcely know how I feel. Rejoice with us, said the air in the sunlight. Enjoy thine own bright life in the fresh air. But the tree would not rejoice. Though it grew taller every day, and winter and summer its dark green foliage might be seen in the forest, while passers-by would say, What a beautiful tree!

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

On the walls hung pictures, and near the great stove stood great china vases with lions on the lids. There were rocking-chairs and silken sofas, large tables covered with pictures, books, and playthings, worth a great deal of money. At least the children said so. Then the fir-tree was placed in a large tub, full of sand. But green bays hung all around it, so that no one could see it was a tub, and it stood on a very handsome carpet. How the fir-tree trembled. What was going to happen to him now? Some young ladies came, and the servants helped them to adorn the tree. On one branch they hung little bags cut out of colored paper, and each bag was filled with sweetmeats. From other branches hung gilded apples and walnuts, as if they had grown there.

And above and all around were hundreds of red, blue, and white tapers, which were fastened on the branches. Dolls, exactly like real babies, were placed under the green leaves. The tree had never seen such things before, and at the very top was fastened a glittering star, made of tinsel. Oh, it was very beautiful. This evening, they all exclaimed, how bright it will be! Oh, that the evening were come, thought the tree, and the tapers lighted. Then I shall know what else is going to happen. Will the trees of the forest come to see me? I wonder if the sparrows will peep in at the windows as they fly. Shall I grow faster here and keep on all these ornaments summer and winter? But guessing was of very little use.

It made his bark ache, and this pain is as bad for a slender fir-tree as headache is for us. At last the tapers were lighted, and then what a glistening blaze of light the tree presented. It trembled so with joy in all its branches that one of the candles fell among the green leaves and burnt some of them. Help! Help! exclaimed the young ladies, but there was no danger, for they quickly extinguished the fire. After this, the tree tried not to tremble at all, though the fire frightened him. He was so anxious not to hurt any of the beautiful ornaments, even while the brilliancy dazzled him. And now the folding doors were thrown open, and a troop of children rushed in as if they intended to upset the tree.

They were followed more silently by their elders. For a moment the little ones stood silent with astonishment, and then they shouted for joy, till the room rang and they danced merrily round the tree, while one present after another was taken from it. "'What are they doing? What will happen next?' thought the fir. At last the candles burnt down to the branches and were put out. Then the children received permission to plunder the tree. Oh, how they rushed upon it, till the branches cracked, and had it not been fastened with the glistening star to the ceiling, it must have been thrown down. The children then danced about with their pretty toys, and no one noticed the tree, except the children's maid, who came and peeped among the branches to see if an apple or a fig had been forgotten.

"'A story, a story!' cried the children. Pulling a little fat man towards the tree. "'Now we shall be in the green shade,' said the man, as he seated himself under it, "'and the tree will have the pleasure of hearing also. But I shall only relate one story. What shall it be?' "'Eved-aved, or Humpty Dumpty,' who fell downstairs, but soon got up again, and at last married a princess. "'Eved-aved!' cried some. "'Humpty Dumpty!' cried others. And there was a fine shouting and crying out. But the fir-tree remained quite still and thought to himself, Shall I have anything to do with all this? But he had already amused them as much as they wished. Then the old man told them the story of Humpty Dumpty, how he fell down the stairs and was raised up again and married a princess.

And the children clapped their hands and cried, Tell another, tell another, for they wanted to hear the story of Ived Aved, but they only had Humpty Dumpty. After this, the fir-tree became quite silent and thoughtful. Never had the birds in the forest told such tales as Humpty Dumpty, who fell down the stairs and yet married a princess. Ah, yes, so it happens in the world, thought the fir-tree. He believed it all because it was related by such a nice man. Ah, well, he thought, who knows? Perhaps I may fall down, too, and marry a princess. And he looked forward joyfully to the next evening, expecting to be again decked out with lights and playthings, gold and fruit. "'Tomorrow I will not tremble,' thought he.

"'I will enjoy all my splendour, and I shall hear the story of Humpty Dumpty again, and perhaps Ived Aved.'" And the tree remained quiet and thoughtful all night. In the morning the servants and the housemaid came in. "'Now,' thought the fir, "'all my splendour is going to begin again.' But they dragged him out of the room and upstairs to the garret and threw him on the floor in a dark corner where no daylight shone, and there they left him. What does this mean? thought the tree. What am I to do here? I can hear nothing in a place like this. And he had time enough to think, for days and nights passed and no one came near him, and when at last somebody did come it was only to put away large boxes in a corner.

So the tree was completely hidden from sight, as if it had never existed. It is winter now, thought the tree. The ground is hard and covered with snow, so that people cannot plant me. I shall be sheltered here, I dare say, until spring comes. How thoughtful and kind everybody is to me. Still, I wish this place were not so dark, as well as lonely, with not even a little hair to look at. How pleasant it was out in the forest while the snow lay on the ground. When the hare would run by, yes, and jump over me too, although I did not like it then. Oh, it is terrible lonely here. Squeak, squeak, said a little mouse, creeping cautiously towards the tree. Then came another, and they both sniffed at the fir-tree and crept between the branches.

Oh, it is very cold, said the little mouse, or else we should be so comfortable here, shouldn't we, you old fir-tree? "'I am not old,' said the fir-tree. "'There are many who are older than I am.' "'Where do you come from, and what do you know?' asked the mice, who were full of curiosity. "'Have you seen the most beautiful places in the world, and can you tell us all about them? And have you been in the store-room, where cheeses lie on the shelf and hams hang from the ceiling? One can run about on tallow-candles there and go in thin and come out fat.' "'I know nothing of that place,' said the fir-tree. But I know the wood where the sun shines and the birds sing. And then the tree told the little mice all about its youth.

They had never heard such an account in their lives, and after they had listened to it attentively, they said, "'What a number of things you have seen! You must have been very happy!' "'Happy!' exclaimed the fir-tree. And then, as he reflected upon what he had been telling them, he said, "'Ah, yes, after all, those were happy days!' But when he went on and related all about Christmas Eve and how he had been dressed up with cakes and lights, the mice said, "'How happy you must have been, you old fir-tree!' "'I am not old at all,' replied the tree. "'I only came from the forest this winter. I am now checked in my growth.' "'What splendid stories you can relate,' said the little mice. And the next night four other mice came with him to hear what the tree had to tell.

The more he talked, the more he remembered, and then he thought to himself—' Those were happy days, but they may come again. Humpty Dumpty fell down stairs, and yet he married the princess. Perhaps I may marry a princess, too. And the fir-tree thought of the pretty little birch-tree that grew in the forest, which was to him a real beautiful princess. "'Who is Humpty Dumpty?' asked the little mice. And then the tree related the whole story. He could remember every single word, and the little mice was so delighted with it that they were ready to jump to the top of the tree. The next night, a great many more mice made their appearance, and on Sunday two rats came with them, but they said it was not a pretty story at all, and the little mice were very sorry, for it made them also think less of it.

"'Do you know only one story?' asked the rats. "'Only one,' replied the fir-tree. "'I heard it on the happiest evening of my life, but I did not know I was so happy at the time.' "'We think it is a very miserable story,' said the rats. Don't you know any story about bacon or tallow in the store-room?" No," replied the tree. Many thanks to you, then," replied the rats, and they marched off. The little mice also kept away after this, and the tree sighed and said, It was very pleasant when the merry little mice sat round me and listened while I talked. Now that is all past two. However, I shall consider myself happy when someone comes to take me out of this place. But would this ever happen? Yes.

One morning people came to clear out the garret. The boxes were packed away, and the tree was pulled out of the corner and thrown roughly on the garret floor. Then the servant dragged it out upon the staircase where the daylight shone. Now life is beginning again, said the tree, rejoicing in the sunshine and fresh air. Then it was carried downstairs and taken into the courtyard so quickly that it forgot to think of itself and could only look about. There was so much to be seen. The court was close to a garden where everything looked blooming. Fresh and fragrant roses hung over the little palings. The linden-trees were in blossom, while the swallows flew here and there, crying, Twit, twit, twit, my mate is coming.

But it was not the fir-tree they meant. Now I shall live, cried the tree, joyfully spreading out its branches. But alas, they were all withered and yellow, and it lay in a corner amongst weeds and nettles. The star of gold paper still stuck in the top of the tree and glittered in the sunshine. In the same courtyard, two of the merry children were playing, who had danced round the tree at Christmas, and had been so happy. The youngest saw the gilded star and ran and pulled it off the tree. "'Look what is sticking to the ugly old fir-tree,' said the child, treading on the branches till they crackled under his boots. And the tree saw all the fresh bright flowers in the garden, and then looked at itself, and wished it had remained in the dark corner of the garret.

It thought of its fresh youth in the forest, of the Merry Christmas evening, and of the little mice who had listened to the story of Humpty Dumpty. "'Past, past,' said the old tree. "'Oh, had I but enjoyed myself while I could have done so. But now it is too late.' Then a lad came and chopped the tree into small pieces, till a large bundle lay in a heap on the ground. The pieces were placed in a fire under the copper, and they quickly blazed up brightly, while the tree sighed so deeply that each sigh was like a pistol shot. Then the children who were at play came and seated themselves in front of the fire, and looked at it and cried, Pop! Pop! But at each pop... Which was a deep sigh. The tree was thinking of a summer day in the forest, and of Christmas evening, and of Humpty Dumpty, the only story it had ever heard or knew how to relate, till at last it was consumed.

The boy still played in the garden, and the youngest wore the golden star in his breast, with which the tree had been adorned during the happiest evening of its existence. Now all was past, the tree's life was past, and the story also. For all stories must come to an end at last.

24 What the old man does is always right 13:37

What the Old Man Does is Always Write by Hans Christian Andersen.

What the Old Man Does is Always Write by Hans Christian Andersen. Translator Unknown.

I will tell you a story that was told me when I was a little boy.

Every time I thought of this story, it seemed to me more and more charming, for it is with stories as it is with many people. They become better as they grow older. I have no doubt that you have been in the country and seen a very old farmhouse with a thatched roof and mosses and small plants growing wild upon it. There is a stork's nest on the ridge of the gable, for we cannot do without the stork. The walls of the house are sloping, and the windows are low, and only one of the latter is made to open. The baking-oven sticks out of the wall like a great knob. An elder-tree hangs over the palings, and beneath its branches, at the foot of the paling, is a pool of water in which a few ducks are disporting themselves.

There is a yard-dog, too, who barks at all corners. Just such a farmhouse as this stood in a country lane, and in it dwelt an old couple, a peasant and his wife. Small as their possessions were, they had one article they could not do without, and that was a horse, which contrived to live upon the grass which is found by the side of the high rod. The old peasant rode into the town upon this horse, and his neighbors often borrowed it of him, and paid for the loan of it by rendering some service to the old couple. After a time they thought it would be as well to sell the horse, or exchange it for something which might be more useful to them. But what might this something be? You'll know best, old man, said the wife.

It is fair day to-day. So ride into town, and get rid of the horse for money, or make a good exchange. Whichever you do will be right to me. So, ride to the fair.

And she fastened his neckerchief for him, for she could do that better than he could, and she could also tie it very prettily in a double bow. She also smoothed his head round and round with the palm of her hand, and gave him a kiss. Then he rode away upon the horse that was to be sold or bartered for something else. Yes, the old man knew what he was about. The sun shone with great heat, and not a cloud was to be seen in the sky. The road was very dusty, for a number of people, all going to the fair, were driving, riding, or walking upon it. There was no shelter anywhere from the hot sunshine.

Among the rest, a man came trudging along and driving a cow to the fair. The cow was as beautiful a creature as any cow could be. She gives good milk, I'm certain, said the peasant to himself. That would be a very good exchange, the cow for the horse. Hello there, you with the cow, he said. I tell you what, I dare say a horse is of more value than a cow, But I don't care for that. A cow will be more useful to me. So, if you like, we'll exchange. To be sure I will, said the man. Accordingly, the exchange was made, and as the matter was settled, the peasant might have turned back, for he had done the business he came to do. But having made up his mind to go to the fair, he determined to do so, if only to have a look at it.

So on he went to the town with his cow. Leading the animal, he strode on sturdily, and after a short time overtook a man who was driving a sheep. It was a good, fat sheep, with a fine fleece on its back. "'I would like to have that fellow,' said the peasant to himself. "'There is plenty of grass for him by our palings, and in the winter we could keep him in the room with us. Perhaps it would be more profitable to have a sheep than a cow.' Shall I exchange? The man with the sheep was quite ready, and the bargain was quickly made. And then our peasant continued his way on the high-road with his sheep.

Soon after this he overtook another man, who had come into the road from a field, and was carrying a large goose under his arm. "'What a heavy creature you have there,' said the peasant. It has plenty of feathers and plenty of fat, and would look well tied to a string or paddling in the water at our place. That would be very useful to my old woman. She could make all sorts of profits out of it. How often, she has said, if now we only had a goose. Now, here is an opportunity, and if possible, I will get it for her. Shall we exchange? I will give you my sheep for your goose, And thanks into the bargain. The offer had not the least objection, and accordingly the exchange was made, and our peasant became the possessor of the goose.

By this time he had arrived very near the town. The crowd on the highroad had been gradually increasing, and there was quite a rush of men and cattle. The cattle walked on the path and by the palings, and at the turnpike gate they even walked into the toll-keeper's potato field, where one fowl was strutting about with a string tied to its leg for fear it should take fright at the crowd and run away and get lost. The tail feathers of the fowl were very short, and it winked with both its eyes and looked very cunning as it said cluck-cluck. What were the thoughts of the fowl as it said this? I cannot tell you, but directly our good man saw it. He thought, Why, that's the finest fowl I ever saw in my life.

It's finer than our Parsons, Bradham. Upon my words. I should like to have that fowl. Fowls can always pick up a few grains, and lie about, and almost keep themselves. I think it would be a good exchange if I could get it for my goose. "'Shall we exchange?' he asked the toll-keeper. "'Exchange,' repeated the man. "'Well, it would not be a bad thing.' And so they made an exchange. The toll-keeper, at the turnpike-gate, kept the goose, and the peasant carried out the fowl. Now he had really done a great deal of business on his way to the fair, and he was hot and tired. He wanted something to eat and a glass of ale to refresh himself. So he turned his step to an inn. He was just about to enter when the ostler came out, and they met at the door.

The ostler was carrying a sack. "'What have you in that sack?' asked the peasant. "'Rotten apples,' answered the ostler. "'A whole sackful of them.' "'They will do to feed the pigs with.' "'Why, that will be terrible waste,' he replied. "'I should like to take them home to my old woman.' Last year the old apple-tree by the grass-plot only bore one apple, and we kept it in the cupboard till it was quite withered and rotten. It was always property, my old woman said, and here she would see a great deal of property, a whole sackful. I should like to show them to her. "'What will you give me for the sackful?' asked the ostler. "'What will I give?' "'Well, I will give you my fowl in exchange.' So he gave him the fowl and received the apples, which he carried into the inn-parlour.

He leaned the sack carefully against the stove, and then went to the table. But the stove was hot, and he had not thought of that.

Many guests were present, horse-dealers, cattle-drovers, and two Englishmen. The Englishmen were so rich that their pockets quite bulged out and seemed ready to burst. And they could bed too, as you shall hear. Is-is! What could that be by the stove? The apples were beginning to roast. What is that? asked one. Why, do you know? said our peasant. And then he told them the whole story of the horse which he had exchanged for a cow, and all the rest of it down to the apples. Well, the old woman will give it you well when you get home. said one of the Englishmen. Won't there be a noise? What? Give me what? said the peasant. Why? She will kiss me and say what the old man does is always right. Let us lay your wager on it, said the Englishman.

We'll wager you a ton of coined gold, a hundred pounds to the hundred weights. No. A bushel will be enough, replied the peasant. I can only set a bushel of apples against it, and I'll throw myself and my old woman into the bargain. That will pile up the measure, I fancy. Done. Taken. And so the bet was made. Then the landlord's coach came to the door, and the two Englishmen and the peasant got in, and away they drove, and soon arrived and stopped at the peasant's hut. "'Good evening, old woman. Good evening, old man. I've made the exchange.' "'Ah, well, you understand what you're about,' said the woman, and she embraced him and paid no attention to the strangers, nor did she notice the sack. "'I got a cow in exchange for the horse.' "'Thank heaven,' said she, "'now we shall have plenty of milk and butter and cheese on the table.' That was a capital exchange.

Yes, but I changed the cow for a sheep. Ah, better still, cried the wife. You always think of everything. We have just enough pasture for a sheep. You with milk and cheese, wooden jackets and stockings. The cow could not give all these, and her hair only falls off. How you think of everything! But I changed away the sheep for a goose. Then we shall have roast goose to eat this year. You dear old man, you are always thinking of something to please me. This is delightful. We can let the goose walk about with a string tied to her leg, so she will be fatter still before we roast her. But I gave away the goose for a fowl. A fowl! Well, that was a good exchange, replied the woman. The fowl will lay eggs and hatch them, and we shall have chickens.

We shall soon have a poultry-yard. Oh, this is just what I was wishing for. Yes, but I exchanged the fowl for a sack of shrivelled apples. What? I really must give you a kiss for that, exclaimed the wife. My dear good husband, now I'll tell you something. Do you know? Almost as soon as you left me this morning, I began to think of what I could give you nice for supper this evening, and then I thought of fried eggs and bacon with sweet herbs. I had eggs and bacon, but I wanted the herbs, so I went over to the schoolmasters. I knew they had plenty of herbs, but the schoolmistress is very mean, although she can smile so sweetly. I begged her to lend me a handful of herbs. "'Lend,' she exclaimed.

"'I have nothing to lend. Nothing at all grows in our garden, not even a shrivelled apple. I could not even lend you a shrivelled apple, my dear woman.' "'But now I can lend her ten, or a whole sackful, which I'm very glad of. It makes me laugh to think about it.' And then she gave him a hearty kiss. "'Well, I like all this,' said both the Englishmen. Always going down the hill, and yet always merry. It's worth the money to see it. So they paid a hundredweight of gold to the peasant, who, whatever he did, was not scolded, but kissed.

Yes, it always pays best when wife sees and maintains that her husband knows best, and whatever he does is right.

That is a story which I heard when I was a child, and now you have heard it too. And know that what the old man does is always right.

25 The Butterfly 7:48

The Butterfly by Hans Christian Andersen. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org.

The Butterfly by Hans Christian Andersen. There was once a butterfly who wished for a bride, and, As may be supposed, he wanted to choose a very pretty one from among the flowers. He glanced with a very critical eye at all the flower-beds, and found that the flowers were seated quietly and demurely on their stalks, just as maidens should sit before they are engaged. But there was a great number of them, and it appeared as if his search would become very wearisome. The butterfly did not like to take too much trouble, so he flew off on a visit to the daisies. The French call this flower Marguerite, and they say that the little daisy can prophesy. Lovers pluck off the leaves, and as they pluck each leaf, they ask a question about their lovers.

Thus, does he or she love me, ardently, distractedly, very much? A little? Not at all? And so on. Every one speaks these words in his own language. The butterfly came also to Marguerite to inquire, but he did not pluck off her leaves. He pressed a kiss on each of them, for he thought there was always more to be done by kindness. "'Darling Marguerite Daisy,' he said to her, You are the wisest woman of all the flowers. Pray tell me which of the flowers I shall choose for my wife, which will be my bride. When I know, I will fly directly to her and propose. But Marguerite did not answer him. She was offended that he should call her a woman when she was only a girl, and there is a great difference.

He asked her a second time. and then a third, but she remained dumb, and answered not a word. Then he would wait no longer, but flew away to commence his wooing at once. It was in the early spring, when the crocus and the snowdrop were in full bloom. They are very pretty, thought the butterfly, charming little lasses, but they are rather formal. Then, as the young lads often do, he looked out for the elder girls. He next flew to the Anemones. These were rather sore to his taste. The violet, a little too sentimental. The lime-blossom, too small, and besides, there was such a large family of them. The apple-blossom, though they looked like roses, bloomed to-day, But might fall off tomorrow with the first wind that blew, and he thought that a marriage with one of them might last too short a time.

The pea-blossom pleased him most of all. She was white and red, graceful and slender, and belonged to those domestic maidens who have a pretty appearance, and can yet be useful in the kitchen. He was just about to make her an offer, when— Close by the maiden, he saw a pot with a withered flower hanging at the end. "'Who is that?' he asked. "'That is my sister,' replied the pea-blossom. "'Oh, indeed! And you will be like her some day,' he said, and he flew away directly, for he felt quite shocked. A honeysuckle hung forth from the hatch in full bloom. But there were so many girls like her, with long faces and swallow complexions. No, he did not like her. But which one did he like? Spring went by, and summer drew towards its close.

Autumn came, but he had not decided. The flowers now appeared in their most gorgeous robes, but all in vain. They had not the fresh, fragrant air of youth. For the heart asks for fragrance even when it is no longer young, and there is very little of that to be found in the dahlias or the dry chrysanthemums. Therefore the butterfly turned to the mint on the ground. You know, this plant has no blossom, but it is sweetness all over, full of fragrance from head to foot, with the scant of a flower in every leaf. "'I will take her,' said the butterfly, and he made her an offer. But the min stood silent and stiff as she listened to him. At last she said, "'Friendship, if you please. Nothing more. I am old, and you are old, but we may live for each other just the same.

As to marrying, no, don't let us appear ridiculous at our age.' And so it happened that the butterfly got no wife at all. He had been too long choosing, which is always a bad plan, and the butterfly became what is called an old bachelor. It was late in autumn, with rainy and cloudy weather. The cold wind blew over the bowed backs of the willows so that they creaked again. It was not the weather of flying about in summer clothes, but fortunately the butterfly was not out in it. He had got a shelter by chance. It was in a room, heated by a stove, and as warm as the summer. He could exist there, he said, well enough. But it is not enough merely to exist, said he. I need freedom. sunshine, and a little flower for companion.

Then he flew against the window-pane, and was seen and admired by those in the room who caught him and stuck him on a pin and in a box of curiosities. They could not do more for him. "'Now I am perched on the stark, like the flowers,' said the butterfly. It is not very pleasant, certainly. I should imagine it is something like being married, for here I am stuck fast. And with this thought he consoled himself a little. "'That seems very poor, Consolation,' said one of the plants in the room that grew in a pot. "'Ah,' thought the butterfly, One can't very well trust these plants in pots. They have too much to do with mankind.

The Butterfly by Hans Christian Andersen.

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