FAIRYTALES ARE FUN brought to you by LadyWeb.Biz turnkey websites.
Pink Fairy Book



The Pink Fairy Book

Edited by Andrew Lang





Preface



All people in the world tell nursery tales to their children. The
Japanese tell them, the Chinese, the Red Indians by their camp
fires, the Eskimo in their dark dirty winter huts. The Kaffirs of
South Africa tell them, and the modern Greeks, just as the old
Egyptians did, when Moses had not been many years rescued out of
the bulrushes. The Germans, French, Spanish, Italians, Danes,
Highlanders tell them also, and the stories are apt to be like
each other everywhere. A child who has read the Blue and Red and
Yellow Fairy Books will find some old friends with new faces in
the Pink Fairy Book, if he examines and compares. But the
Japanese tales will probably be new to the young student; the
Tanuki is a creature whose acquaintance he may not have made
before. He may remark that Andersen wants to 'point a moral,' as
well as to 'adorn a tale; ' that he is trying to make fun of the
follies of mankind, as they exist in civilised countries. The
Danish story of 'The Princess in the Chest' need not be read to a
very nervous child, as it rather borders on a ghost story. It has
been altered, and is really much more horrid in the language of
the Danes, who, as history tells us, were not a nervous or timid
people. I am quite sure that this story is not true. The other
Danish and Swedish stories are not alarming. They are translated
by Mr. W. A. Craigie. Those from the Sicilian (through the
German) are translated, like the African tales (through the
French) and the Catalan tales, and the Japanese stories (the
latter through the German), and an old French story, by Mrs.
Lang. Miss Alma Alleyne did the stories from Andersen, out of the
German. Mr. Ford, as usual, has drawn the monsters and mermaids,
the princes and giants, and the beautiful princesses, who, the
Editor thinks, are, if possible, prettier than ever. Here, then,
are fancies brought from all quarters: we see that black, white,
and yellow peoples are fond of just the same kinds of adventures.
Courage, youth, beauty, kindness, have many trials, but they
always win the battle; while witches, giants, unfriendly cruel
people, are on the losing hand. So it ought to be, and so, on the
whole, it is and will be; and that is all the moral of fairy
tales. We cannot all be young, alas ! and pretty, and strong; but
nothing prevents us from being kind, and no kind man, woman, or
beast or bird, ever comes to anything but good in these oldest
fables of the world. So far all the tales are true, and no
further.





Contents



The Cat's Elopement.
How the Dragon was Tricked
The Goblin and the Grocer
The House in the Wood
Uraschimataro and the Turtle
The Slaying of the Tanuki
The Flying Trunk
The Snow Man.
The Shirt-Collar
The Princess in the Chest
The Three Brothers
The Snow-queen
The Fir-Tree
Hans, the Mermaid's Son
Peter Bull
The Bird 'Grip'
Snowflake
I know what I have learned
The Cunning Shoemaker
The King who would have a Beautiful Wife
Catherine and her Destiny
How the Hermit helped to win the King's Daughter
The Water of Life
The Wounded Lion
The Man without a Heart
The Two Brothers
Master and Pupil
The Golden Lion
The Sprig of Rosemary
The White Dove
The Troll's Daughter
Esben and the Witch
Princess Minon-Minette
Maiden Bright-eye
The Merry Wives
King Lindorm
The Jackal, the Dove, and the Panther
The Little Hare
The Sparrow with the Slit Tongue
The Story of Ciccu
Don Giovanni de la Fortuna .






The Cat's Elopement
[ From the Japanische Marchen und Sagen, von David Brauns
(Leipzig: Wilhelm Friedrich).]



Once upon a time there lived a cat of marvellous beauty, with a
skin as soft and shining as silk, and wise green eyes, that could
see even in the dark. His name was Gon, and he belonged to a
music teacher, who was so fond and proud of him that he would not
have parted with him for anything in the world.

Now not far from the music master's house there dwelt a lady who
possessed a most lovely little pussy cat called Koma. She was
such a little dear altogether, and blinked her eyes so daintily,
and ate her supper so tidily, and when she had finished she
licked her pink nose so delicately with her little tongue, that
her mistress was never tired of saying, 'Koma, Koma, what should
I do without you?'

Well, it happened one day that these two, when out for an evening
stroll, met under a cherry tree, and in one moment fell madly in
love with each other. Gon had long felt that it was time for him
to find a wife, for all the ladies in the neighbourhood paid him
so much attention that it made him quite shy; but he was not easy
to please, and did not care about any of them. Now, before he had
time to think, Cupid had entangled him in his net, and he was
filled with love towards Koma. She fully returned his passion,
but, like a woman, she saw the difficulties in the way, and
consulted sadly with Gon as to the means of overcoming them. Gon
entreated his master to set matters right by buying Koma, but her
mistress would not part from her. Then the music master was asked
to sell Gon to the lady, but he declined to listen to any such
suggestion, so everything remained as before.

At length the love of the couple grew to such a pitch that they
determined to please themselves, and to seek their fortunes
together. So one moonlight night they stole away, and ventured
out into an unknown world. All day long they marched bravely on
through the sunshine, till they had left their homes far behind
them, and towards evening they found themselves in a large park.
The wanderers by this time were very hot and tired, and the grass
looked very soft and inviting, and the trees cast cool deep
shadows, when suddenly an ogre appeared in this Paradise, in the
shape of a big, big dog! He came springing towards them showing
all his teeth, and Koma shrieked, and rushed up a cherry tree.
Gon, however, stood his ground boldly, and prepared to give
battle, for he felt that Koma's eyes were upon him, and that he
must not run away. But, alas! his courage would have availed him
nothing had his enemy once touched him, for he was large and
powerful, and very fierce. From her perch in the tree Koma saw it
all, and screamed with all her might, hoping that some one would
hear, and come to help. Luckily a servant of the princess to whom
the park belonged was walking by, and he drove off the dog, and
picking up the trembling Gon in his arms, carried him to his
mistress.

So poor little Koma was left alone, while Gon was borne away full
of trouble, not in the least knowing what to do. Even the
attention paid him by the princess, who was delighted with his
beauty and pretty ways, did not console him, but there was no use
in fighting against fate, and he could only wait and see what
would turn up.

The princess, Gon's new mistress, was so good and kind that
everybody loved her, and she would have led a happy life, had it
not been for a serpent who had fallen in love with her, and was
constantly annoying her by his presence. Her servants had orders
to drive him away as often as he appeared; but as they were
careless, and the serpent very sly, it sometimes happened that he
was able to slip past them, and to frighten the princess by
appearing before her. One day she was seated in her room, playing
on her favourite musical instrument, when she felt something
gliding up her sash, and saw her enemy making his way to kiss her
cheek. She shrieked and threw herself backwards, and Gon, who had
been curled up on a stool at her feet, understood her terror, and
with one bound seized the snake by his neck. He gave him one bite
and one shake, and flung him on the ground, where he lay, never
to worry the princess any more. Then she took Gon in her arms,
and praised and caressed him, and saw that he had the nicest bits
to eat, and the softest mats to lie on; and he would have had
nothing in the world to wish for if only he could have seen Koma
again.

Time passed on, and one morning Gon lay before the house door,
basking in the sun. He looked lazily at the world stretched out
before him, and saw in the distance a big ruffian of a cat
teasing and ill-treating quite a little one. He jumped up, full
of rage, and chased away the big cat, and then he turned to
comfort the little one, when his heart nearly burst with joy to
find that it was Koma. At first Koma did not know him again, he
had grown so large and stately; but when it dawned upon her who
it was, her happiness knew no bounds. And they rubbed their heads
and their noses again and again, while their purring might have
been heard a mile off.

Paw in paw they appeared before the princess, and told her the
story of their life and its sorrows. The princess wept for
sympathy, and promised that they should never more be parted, but
should live with her to the end of their days. By-and-bye the
princess herself got married, and brought a prince to dwell in
the palace in the park. And she told him all about her two cats,
and how brave Gon had been, and how he had delivered her from her
enemy the serpent.

And when the prince heard, he swore they should never leave them,
but should go with the princess wherever she went. So it all fell
out as the princess wished; and Gon and Koma had many children,
and so had the princess, and they all played together, and were
friends to the end of their lives.





How the Dragon Was Tricked
From Griechtsche und Albanesische Marchen, von J. G. von Hahn.
(Leipzig: Engelmann. 1864.)




Once upon a time there lived a man who had two sons but they did
not get on at all well together, for the younger was much
handsomer than his elder brother who was very jealous of him.
When they grew older, things became worse and worse, and at last
one day as they were walking through a wood the elder youth
seized hold of the other, tied him to a tree, and went on his way
hoping that the boy might starve to death.

However, it happened that an old and humpbacked shepherd passed
the tree with his flock, and seeing the prisoner, he stopped and
said to him, 'Tell me, my son why are you tied to that tree?'

'Because I was so crooked,' answered the young man; 'but it has
quite cured me, and now my back is as straight as can be.'

'I wish you would bind me to a tree,' exclaimed the shepherd, 'so
that my back would get straight.'

'With all the pleasure in life,' replied the youth. 'If you will
loosen these cords I will tie you up with them as firmly as I
can.'

This was soon done, and then the young man drove off the sheep,
leaving their real shepherd to repent of his folly; and before he
had gone very far he met with a horse boy and a driver of oxen,
and he persuaded them to turn with him and to seek for
adventures.

By these and many other tricks he soon became so celebrated that
his fame reached the king's ears, and his majesty was filled with
curiosity to see the man who had managed to outwit everybody. So
he commanded his guards to capture the young man and bring him
before him.

And when the young man stood before the king, the king spoke to
him and said, 'By your tricks and the pranks that you have played
on other people, you have, in the eye of the law, forfeited your
life. But on one condition I will spare you, and that is, if you
will bring me the flying horse that belongs to the great dragon.
Fail in this, and you shall be hewn in a thousand pieces.'

'If that is all,' said the youth, 'you shall soon have it.'

So he went out and made his way straight to the stable where the
flying horse was tethered. He stretched his hand cautiously out
to seize the bridle, when the horse suddenly began to neigh as
loud as he could. Now the room in which the dragon slept was just
above the stable, and at the sound of the neighing he woke and
cried to the horse, 'What is the matter, my treasure? is anything
hurting you?' After waiting a little while the young man tried
again to loose the horse, but a second time it neighed so loudly
that the dragon woke up in a hurry and called out to know why the
horse was making such a noise. But when the same thing happened
the third time, the dragon lost his temper, and went down into
the stable and took a whip and gave the horse a good beating.
This offended the horse and made him angry, and when the young
man stretched out his hand to untie his head, he made no further
fuss, but suffered himself to be led quietly away. Once clear of
the stable the young man sprang on his back and galloped off,
calling over his shoulder, 'Hi! dragon! dragon! if anyone asks
you what has become of your horse, you can say that I have got
him!'


But the king said, 'The flying horse is all very well, but I want
something more. You must bring me the covering with the little
bells that lies on the bed of the dragon, or I will have you hewn
into a thousand pieces.'

'Is that all?' answered the youth. 'That is easily done.'

And when night came he went away to the dragon's house and
climbed up on to the roof. Then he opened a little window in the
roof and let down the chain from which the kettle usually hung,
and tried to hook the bed covering and to draw it up. But the
little bells all began to ring, and the dragon woke and said to
his wife, 'Wife, you have pulled off all the bed-clothes!' and
drew the covering towards him, pulling, as he did so, the young
man into the room. Then the dragon flung himself on the youth and
bound him fast with cords saying as he tied the last knot,
'To-morrow when I go to church you must stay at home and kill him
and cook him, and when I get back we will eat him together.'

So the following morning the dragoness took hold of the young man
and reached down from the shelf a sharp knife with which to kill
him. But as she untied the cords the better to get hold of him,
the prisoner caught her by the legs, threw her to the ground,
seized her and speedily cut her throat, just as she had been
about to do for him, and put her body in the oven. Then he
snatched up the covering and carried it to the king.

The king was seated on his throne when the youth appeared before
him and spread out the covering with a deep bow. 'That is not
enough,' said his majesty; 'you must bring me the dragon himself,
or I will have you hewn into a thousand pieces.'

'It shall be done,' answered the youth; 'but you must give me two
years to manage it, for my beard must grow so that he may not
know me.'

'So be it,' said the king.

And the first thing the young man did when his beard was grown
was to take the road to the dragon's house and on the way he met
a beggar, whom he persuaded to change clothes with him, and in
the beggar's garments he went fearlessly forth to the dragon.

He found his enemy before his house, very busy making a box, and
addressed him politely, 'Good morning, your worship. Have you a
morsel of bread?'

'You must wait,' replied the dragon, 'till I have finished my
box, and then I will see if I can find one.'

'What will you do with the box when it is made?' inquired the
beggar.

'It is for the young man who killed my wife, and stole my flying
horse and my bed covering,' said the dragon.


'He deserves nothing better,' answered the beggar, 'for it was an
ill deed. Still that box is too small for him, for he is a big
man.'

'You are wrong,' said the dragon. 'The box is large enough even
for me.'

'Well, the rogue is nearly as tall as you,' replied the beggar,
'and, of course, if you can get in, he can. But I am sure you
would find it a tight fit.'

'No, there is plenty of room,' said the dragon, tucking himself
carefully inside.

But no sooner was he well in, than the young man clapped on the
lid and called out, 'Now press hard, just to see if he will be
able to get out.'

The dragon pressed as hard as he could, but the lid never moved.

'It is all right,' he cried; 'now you can open it.'

But instead of opening it, the young man drove in long nails to
make it tighter still; then he took the box on his back and
brought it to the king. And when the king heard that the dragon
was inside, he was so excited that he would not wait one moment,
but broke the lock and lifted the lid just a little way to make
sure he was really there. He was very careful not to leave enough
space for the dragon to jump out, but unluckily there was just
room for his great mouth, and with one snap the king vanished
down his wide red jaws. Then the young man married the king's
daughter and ruled over the land, but what he did with the dragon
nobody knows.





The Goblin and the Grocer
Translated from the German of Hans Andersen.



There was once a hard-working student who lived in an attic, and
he had nothing in the world of his own. There was also a
hard-working grocer who lived on the first floor, and he had the
whole house for his own.

The Goblin belonged to him, for every Christmas Eve there was
waiting for him at the grocer's a dish of jam with a large lump
of butter in the middle.

The grocer could afford this, so the Goblin stayed in the
grocer's shop; and this teaches us a good deal. One evening the
student came in by the back door to buy a candle and some cheese;
he had no one to send, so he came himself.


He got what he wanted, paid for it, and nodded a good evening to
the grocer and his wife (she was a woman who could do more than
nod; she could talk).

When the student had said good night he suddenly stood still,
reading the sheet of paper in which the cheese had been wrapped.

It was a leaf torn out of an old book--a book of poetry

'There's more of that over there!' said the grocer 'I gave an old
woman some coffee for the book. If you like to give me twopence
you can have the rest.'

'Yes,' said the student, 'give me the book instead of the cheese.
I can eat my bread without cheese. It would be a shame to leave
the book to be torn up. You are a clever and practical man, but
about poetry you understand as much as that old tub over there!'

And that sounded rude as far as the tub was concerned, but the
grocer laughed, and so did the student. It was only said in fun.

But the Goblin was angry that anyone should dare to say such a
thing to a grocer who owned the house and sold the best butter.

When it was night and the shop was shut, and everyone was in bed
except the student, the Goblin went upstairs and took the
grocer's wife's tongue. She did not use it when she was asleep,
and on whatever object in the room he put it that thing began to
speak, and spoke out its thoughts and feelings just as well as
the lady to whom it belonged. But only one thing at a time could
use it, and that was a good thing, or they would have all spoken
together.

The Goblin laid the tongue on the tub in which were the old
newspapers.

'Is it true,' he asked, ' that you know nothing about poetry?'

'Certainly not!' answered the tub. 'Poetry is something that is
in the papers, and that is frequently cut out. I have a great
deal more in me than the student has, and yet I am only a small
tub in the grocer's shop.'

And the Goblin put the tongue on the coffee-mill, and how it
began to grind! He put it on the butter-cask, and on the till,
and all were of the same opinion as the waste-paper tub. and one
must believe the majority.

'Now I will tell the student!' and with these words he crept
softly up the stairs to the attic where the student lived.

There was a light burning, and the Goblin peeped through the
key-hole and saw that he was reading the torn book that he had
bought in the shop.


But how bright it was! Out of the book shot a streak of light
which grew into a large tree and spread its branches far above
the student. Every leaf was alive, and every flower was a
beautiful girl's head, some with dark and shining eyes, others
with wonderful blue ones. Every fruit was a glittering star, and
there was a marvellous music in the student's room. The little
Goblin had never even dreamt of such a splendid sight, much less
seen it.

He stood on tiptoe gazing and gazing, till the candle in the
attic was put out; the student had blown it out and had gone to
bed, but the Goblin remained standing outside listening to the
music, which very softly and sweetly was now singing the student
a lullaby.

'I have never seen anything like this!' said the Goblin. 'I never
expected this! I must stay with the student.'

The little fellow thought it over, for he was a sensible Goblin.
Then he sighed, 'The student has no jam!'

And on that he went down to the grocer again. And it was a good
thing that he did go back, for the tub had nearly worn out the
tongue. It had read everything that was inside it, on the one
side, and was just going to turn itself round and read from the
other side when the Goblin came in and returned the tongue to its
owner.

But the whole shop, from the till down to the shavings, from that
night changed their opinion of the tub, and they looked up to it,
and had such faith in it that they were under the impression that
when the grocer read the art and drama critiques out of the paper
in the evenings, it all came from the tub.

But the Goblin could no longer sit quietly listening to the
wisdom and intellect downstairs. No, as soon as the light shone
in the evening from the attic it seemed to him as though its
beams were strong ropes dragging him up, and he had to go and
peep through the key-hole. There he felt the sort of feeling we
have looking at the great rolling sea in a storm, and he burst
into tears. He could not himself say why he wept, but in spite of
his tears he felt quite happy. How beautiful it must be to sit
under that tree with the student, but that he could not do; he
had to content himself with the key-hole and be happy there!

There he stood out on the cold landing, the autumn wind blowing
through the cracks of the floor. It was cold--very cold, but he
first found it out when the light in the attic was put out and
the music in the wood died away. Ah ! then it froze him, and he
crept down again into his warm corner; there it was comfortable
and cosy.

When Christmas came, and with it the jam with the large lump of
butter, ah! then the grocer was first with him.

But in the middle of the night the Goblin awoke, hearing a great
noise and knocking against the shutters--people hammering from
outside. The watchman was blowing his horn: a great fire had
broken out; the whole town was in flames.

Was it in the house? or was it at a neighbour's? Where was it?

The alarm increased. The grocer's wife was so terrified that she
took her gold earrings out of her ears and put them in her pocket
in order to save something. The grocer seized his account books.
and the maid her black silk dress.

Everyone wanted to save his most valuable possession; so did the
Goblin, and in a few leaps he was up the stairs and in the
student's room. He was standing quietly by the open window
looking at the fire that was burning in the neighbour's house
just opposite. The Goblin seized the book lying on the table, put
it in his red cap, and clasped it with both hands. The best
treasure in the house was saved, and he climbed out on to the
roof with it--on to the chimney. There he sat, lighted up by the
flames from the burning house opposite, both hands holding
tightly on his red cap, in which lay the treasure; and now he
knew what his heart really valued most--to whom he really
belonged. But when the fire was put out, and the Goblin thought
it over--then--

'I will divide myself between the two,' he said. 'I cannot quite
give up the grocer, because of the jam!'

And it is just the same with us. We also cannot quite give up the
grocer--because of the jam.





The House in the Wood
From the German of Grimm.



A poor woodcutter lived with his wife and three daughters in a
little hut on the borders of a great forest.

One morning as he was going to his work, he said to his wife,
'Let our eldest daughter bring me my lunch into the wood; and so
that she shall not lose her way, I will take a bag of millet with
me, and sprinkle the seed on the path.'

When the sun had risen high over the forest, the girl set out
with a basin of soup. But the field and wood sparrows, the larks
and finches, blackbirds and green finches had picked up the
millet long ago, and the girl could not find her way.

She went on and on, till the sun set and night came on. The trees
rustled in the darkness, the owls hooted, and she began to be
very much frightened. Then she saw in tile distance a light that
twinkled between the trees. 'There must be people living yonder,'
she thought, 'who will take me in for the night,' and she began
walking towards it.

Not long afterwards she came to a house with lights in the
windows.

She knocked at the door, and a gruff voice called, 'Come in!'

The girl stepped into the dark entrance, and tapped at the door
of the room.

'Just walk in,' cried the voice, and when she opened the door
there sat an old gray-haired man at the table. His face was
resting on his hands, and his white beard flowed over the table
almost down to the ground.

By the stove lay three beasts, a hen, a cock, and a brindled cow.
The girl told the old man her story, and asked for a night's
lodging.

The man said:

Pretty cock,
Pretty hen,
And you, pretty brindled cow,
What do you say now?

'Duks,' answered the beasts; and that must have meant, 'We are
quite willing,' for the old man went on, 'Here is abundance; go
into the back kitchen and cook us a supper.'

The girl found plenty of everything in the kitchen, and cooked a
good meal, but she did not think of the beasts.

She placed the full dishes on the table, sat down opposite the
gray-haired man, and ate till her hunger was appeased.

When she was satisfied, she said, 'But now I am so tired, where
is a bed in which I can sleep? '

The beasts answered:

You have eaten with him,
You have drunk with him,
Of us you have not thought,
Sleep then as you ought!

Then the old man said, 'Go upstairs, and there you will find a
bedroom; shake the bed, and put clean sheets on, and go to
sleep.'

The maiden went upstairs, and when she had made the bed, she lay
down.

After some time the gray-haired man came, looked at her by the
light of his candle, and shook his head. And when he saw that she
was sound asleep, he opened a trapdoor and let her fall into the
cellar.

The woodcutter came home late in the evening, and reproached his
wife for leaving him all day without food.

'No, I did not,' she answered; 'the girl went off with your
dinner. She must have lost her way, but will no doubt come back
to-morrow.'

But at daybreak the woodcutter started off into the wood, and
this time asked his second daughter to bring his food.

'I will take a bag of lentils,' said he; 'they are larger than
millet, and the girl will see them better and be sure to find her
way.'

At midday the maiden took the food, but the lentils had all gone;
as on the previous day, the wood birds had eaten them all.

The maiden wandered about the wood till nightfall, when she came
in the same way to the old man's house, and asked for food and a
night's lodging.

The man with the white hair again asked the beasts:

Pretty cock,
Pretty hen,
And you, pretty brindled cow,
What do you say now?

The beasts answered, 'Duks,' and everything happened as on the
former day.

The girl cooked a good meal, ate and drank with the old man, and
did not trouble herself about the animals.

And when she asked for a bed, they replied:

You have eaten with him
You have drunk with him,
Of us you have not thought,
Now sleep as you ought!

And when she was asleep, the old man shook his head over her, and
let her fall into the cellar.

On the third morning the woodcutter said to his wife, 'Send our
youngest child to-day with my dinner. She is always good and
obedient, and will keep to the right path, and not wander away
like her sisters, idle drones!'

But the mother said, 'Must I lose my dearest child too?'

'Do not fear,' he answered; 'she is too clever and intelligent to
lose her way. I will take plenty of peas with me and strew them
along; they are even larger than lentils, and will show her the
way.'

But when the maiden started off with the basket on her arm, the
wood pigeons had eaten up the peas, and she did not know which
way to go. She was much distressed, and thought constantly of her
poor hungry father and her anxious mother. At last, when it grew
dark, she saw the little light, and came to the house in the
wood. She asked prettily if she might stay there for the night,
and the man with the white beard asked his beasts again:

Pretty cock,
Pretty hen,
And you, pretty brindled cow,
What do you say now?

'Duks,' they said. Then the maiden stepped up to the stove where
the animals were lying, and stroked the cock and the hen, and
scratched the brindled cow between its horns.

And when at the bidding of the old man she had prepared a good
supper, and the dishes were standing on the table, she said,
'Shall I have plenty while the good beasts have nothing? There is
food to spare outside; I will attend to them first.'

Then she went out and fetched barley and strewed it before the
cock and hen, and brought the cow an armful of sweet-smelling
hay.

'Eat that, dear beasts,' she said,' and when you are thirsty you
shall have a good drink.'

Then she fetched a bowl of water, and the cock and hen flew on to
the edge, put their beaks in, and then held up their heads as
birds do when they drink, and the brindled cow also drank her
fill. When the beasts were satisfied, the maiden sat down beside
the old man at the table and ate what was left for her. Soon the
cock and hen began to tuck their heads under their wings, and the
brindled cow blinked its eyes, so the maiden said, 'Shall we not
go to rest now?'

Pretty cock,
Pretty hen,
And you, pretty brindled cow,
What do you say now?

The animals said, 'Duks:

You have eaten with us,
You have drunk with us,
You have tended us right,
So we wish you good night.'

The maiden therefore went upstairs, made the bed and put on clean
sheets and fell asleep. She slept peacefully till midnight, when
there was such a noise in the house that she awoke. Everything
trembled and shook; the animals sprang up and dashed themselves
in terror against the wall; the beams swayed as if they would be
torn from their foundations, it seemed as if the stairs were
tumbling down, and then the roof fell in with a crash. Then all
became still, and as no harm came to the maiden she lay down
again and fell asleep. But when she awoke again in broad
daylight, what a sight met her eyes! She was lying in a splendid
room furnished with royal splendour; the walls were covered with
golden flowers on a green ground; the bed was of ivory and the
counterpane of velvet, and on a stool near by lay a pair of
slippers studded with pearls. The maiden thought she must be
dreaming, but in came three servants richly dressed, who asked
what were her commands. 'Go,' said the maiden, 'I will get up at
once and cook the old man's supper for him, and then I will feed
the pretty cock and hen and the brindled cow.'

But the door opened and in came a handsome young man, who said,
'I am a king's son, and was condemned by a wicked witch to live
as an old man in this wood with no company but that of my three
servants, who were transformed into a cock, a hen, and a brindled
cow. The spell could only be broken by the arrival of a maiden
who should show herself kind not only to men but to beasts. You
are that maiden, and last night at midnight we were freed, and
this poor house was again transformed into my royal palace.

As they stood there the king's son told his three servants to go
and fetch the maiden's parents to be present at the wedding
feast.

'But where are my two sisters?' asked the maid.

'I shut them up in the cellar, but in the morning they shall be
led forth into the forest and shall serve a charcoal burner until
they have improved, and will never again suffer poor animals to
go hungry.'





Uraschimataro and the Turtle
From the Japanische Marchen und Sagen, von David Brauns (Leipzig:
Wilhelm Friedrich).




There was once a worthy old couple who lived on the coast, and
supported themselves by fishing. They had only one child, a son,
who was their pride and joy, and for his sake they were ready to
work hard all day long, and never felt tired or discontented with
their lot. This son's name was Uraschimataro, which means in
Japanese, 'Son of the island,' and he was a fine well-grown youth
and a good fisherman, minding neither wind nor weather. Not the
bravest sailor in the whole village dared venture so far out to
sea as Uraschimataro, and many a time the neighbours used to
shake their heads and say to his parents, 'If your son goes on
being so rash, one day he will try his luck once too often, and
the waves will end by swallowing him up.' But Uraschimataro paid
no heed to these remarks, and as he was really very clever in
managing a boat, the old people were very seldom anxious about
him.

One beautiful bright morning, as he was hauling his well-filled
nets into the boat, he saw lying among the fishes a tiny little
turtle. He was delighted with his prize, and threw it into a
wooden vessel to keep till he got home, when suddenly the turtle
found its voice, and tremblingly begged for its life. 'After
all,' it said, 'what good can I do you? I am so young and small,
and I would so gladly live a little longer. Be merciful and set
me free, and I shall know how to prove my gratitude.'

Now Uraschimataro was very good-natured, and besides, he could
never bear to say no, so he picked up the turtle, and put it back
into the sea.

Years flew by, and every morning Uraschimataro sailed his boat
into the deep sea. But one day as he was making for a little bay
between some rocks, there arose a fierce whirlwind, which
shattered his boat to pieces, and she was sucked under by the
waves. Uraschimataro himself very nearly shared the same fate.
But he was a powerful swimmer, and struggled hard to reach the
shore. Then he saw a large turtle coming towards him, and above
the howling of the storm he heard what it said: 'I am the turtle
whose life you once saved. I will now pay my debt and show my
gratitude. The land is still far distant, and without my help you
would never get there. Climb on my back, and I will take you
where you will.' Uraschimataro did not wait to be asked twice,
and thankfully accepted his friend's help. But scarcely was he
seated firmly on the shell, when the turtle proposed that they
should not return to the shore at once, but go under the sea, and
look at some of the wonders that lay hidden there.

Uraschimataro agreed willingly, and in another moment they were
deep, deep down, with fathoms of blue water above their heads.
Oh, how quickly they darted through the still, warm sea! The
young man held tight, and marvelled where they were going and how
long they were to travel, but for three days they rushed on, till
at last the turtle stopped before a splendid palace, shining with
gold and silver, crystal and precious stones, and decked here and
there with branches of pale pink coral and glittering pearls. But
if Uraschimataro was astonished at the beauty of the outside, he
was struck dumb at the sight of the hall within, which was
lighted by the blaze of fish scales.

'Where have you brought me?' he asked his guide in a low voice.

'To the palace of Ringu, the house of the sea god, whose subjects
we all are,' answered the turtle. 'I am the first waiting maid of
his daughter, the lovely princess Otohime, whom you will shortly
see.'

Uraschimataro was still so puzzled with the adventures that had
befallen him, that he waited in a dazed condition for what would
happen next. But the turtle, who had talked so much of him to the
princess that she had expressed a wish to see him, went at once
to make known his arrival. And directly the princess beheld him
her heart was set on him, and she begged him to stay with her,
and in return promised that he should never grow old, neither
should his beauty fade. 'Is not that reward enough?' she asked,
smiling, looking all the while as fair as the sun itself. And
Uraschimataro said 'Yes,' and so he stayed there. For how long?
That he only knew later.

His life passed by, and each hour seemed happier than the last,
when one day there rushed over him a terrible longing to see his
parents. He fought against it hard, knowing how it would grieve
the princess, but it grew on him stronger and stronger, till at
length he became so sad that the princess inquired what was
wrong. Then he told her of the longing he had to visit his old
home, and that he must see his parents once more. The princess
was almost frozen with horror, and implored him to stay with her,
or something dreadful would be sure to happen. 'You will never
come back, and we shall meet again no more,' she moaned bitterly.
But Uraschimataro stood firm and repeated, 'Only this once will I
leave you, and then will I return to your side for ever.' Sadly
the princess shook her head, but she answered slowly, 'One way
there is to bring you safely back, but I fear you will never
agree to the conditions of the bargain.'

'I will do anything that will bring me back to you,' exclaimed
Uraschimataro, looking at her tenderly, but the princess was
silent: she knew too well that when he left her she would see his
face no more. Then she took from a shelf a tiny golden box, and
gave it to Uraschimataro, praying him to keep it carefully, and
above all things never to open it. 'If you can do this,' she said
as she bade him farewell, 'your friend the turtle will meet you
at the shore, and will carry you back to me.'

Uraschimataro thanked her from his heart, and swore solemnly to
do her bidding. He hid the box safely in his garments, seated
himself on the back of the turtle, and vanished in the ocean
path, waving his hand to the princess. Three days and three
nights they swam through the sea, and at length Uraschimataro
arrived at the beach which lay before his old home. The turtle
bade him farewell, and was gone in a moment.

Uraschimataro drew near to the village with quick and joyful
steps. He saw the smoke curling through the roof, and the thatch
where green plants had thickly sprouted. He heard the children
shouting and calling, and from a window that he passed came the
twang of the koto, and everything seemed to cry a welcome for his
return. Yet suddenly he felt a pang at his heart as he wandered
down the street. After all, everything was changed. Neither men
nor houses were those he once knew. Quickly he saw his old home;
yes, it was still there, but it had a strange look. Anxiously he
knocked at the door, and asked the woman who opened it after his
parents. But she did not know their names, and could give him no
news of them.

Still more disturbed, he rushed to the burying ground, the only
place that could tell him what he wished to know. Here at any
rate he would find out what it all meant. And he was right. In a
moment he stood before the grave of his parents, and the date
written on the stone was almost exactly the date when they had
lost their son, and he had forsaken them for the Daughter of the
Sea. And so he found that since he had deft his home, three
hundred years had passed by.


Shuddering with horror at his discovery he turned back into the
village street, hoping to meet some one who could tell him of the
days of old. But when the man spoke, he knew he was not dreaming,
though he felt as if he had lost his senses.

In despair he bethought him of the box which was the gift of the
princess. Perhaps after all this dreadful thing was not true. He
might be the victim of some enchanter's spell, and in his hand
lay the countercharm. Almost unconsciously he opened it, and a
purple vapour came pouring out. He held the empty box in his
hand, and as he looked he saw that the fresh hand of youth had
grown suddenly shrivelled, like the hand of an old, old man. He
ran to the brook, which flowed in a clear stream down from the
mountain. and saw himself reflected as in a mirror. It was the
face of a mummy which looked back at him. Wounded to death, he
crept back through the village, and no man knew the old, old man
to be the strong handsome youth who had run down the street an
hour before. So he toiled wearily back, till he reached the
shore, and here he sat sadly on a rock, and called loudly on the
turtle. But she never came back any more, but instead, death came
soon, and set him free. But before that happened, the people who
saw him sitting lonely on the shore had heard his story, and when
their children were restless they used to tell them of the good
son who from love to his parents had given up for their sakes the
splendour and wonders of the palace in the sea, and the most
beautiful woman in the world besides.





The Slaying of the Tanuki
From the Japanische Murchen und Sagen.



Near a big river, and between two high mountains, a man and his
wife lived in a cottage a long, long time ago. A dense forest
lay all round the cottage, and there was hardly a path or a tree
in the whole wood that was not familiar to the peasant from his
boyhood. In one of his wanderings he had made friends with a
hare, and many an hour the two passed together, when the man was
resting by the roadside, eating his dinner.

Now this strange friendship was observed by the Tanuki, a wicked,
quarrelsome beast, who hated the peasant, and was never tired of
doing him an ill turn. Again and again he had crept to the hut,
and finding some choice morsel put away for the little hare, had
either eaten it if he thought it nice, or trampled it to pieces
so that no one else should get it, and at last the peasant lost
patience, and made up his mind he would have the Tanuki's blood.

So for many days the man lay hidden, waiting for the Tanuki to
come by, and when one morning he marched up the road thinking of
nothing but the dinner he was going to steal, the peasant threw
himself upon him and bound his four legs tightly, so that he
could not move. Then he dragged his enemy joyfully to the house,
feeling that at length he had got the better of the mischievous
beast which had done him so many ill turns. 'He shall pay for
them with his skin,' he said to his wife. 'We will first kill
him, and then cook him.' So saying, he hanged the Tanuki, head
downwards, to a beam, and went out to gather wood for a fire.

Meanwhile the old woman was standing at the mortar pounding the
rise that was to serve them for the week with a pestle that made
her arms ache with its weight. Suddenly she heard something
whining and weeping in the corner, and, stopping her work, she
looked round to see what it was. That was all that the rascal
wanted, and he put on directly his most humble air, and begged
the woman in his softest voice to loosen his bonds, which her
hurting him sorely. She was filled with pity for him, but did
not dare to set him free, as she knew that her husband would be
very angry. The Tanuki, however, did not despair, and seeing
that her heart was softened, began his prayers anew. 'He only
asked to have his bonds taken from him,' he said. 'He would give
his word not to attempt to escape, and if he was once set free he
could soon pound her rice for her.' 'Then you can have a little
rest,' he went on, 'for rice pounding is very tiring work, and
not at all fit for weak women.' These last words melted the good
woman completely, and she unfastened the bonds that held him.
Poor foolish creature! In one moment the Tanuki had seized her,
stripped off all her clothes, and popped her in the mortar. In a
few minutes more she was pounded as fine as the rice; and not
content with that, the Tanuki placed a pot on the hearth and made
ready to cook the peasant a dinner from the flesh of his own
wife!

When everything was complete he looked out of the door, and saw
the old man coming from the forest carrying a large bundle of
wood. Quick as lightning the Tanuki not only put on the woman's
clothes, but, as he was a magician, assumed her form as well.
Then he took the wood, kindled the fire, and very soon set a
large dinner before the old man, who was very hungry, and had
forgotten for the moment all about his enemy. But when the
Tanuki saw that he had eaten his fill and would be thinking about
his prisoner, he hastily shook off the clothes behind a door and
took his own shape. Then he said to the peasant, 'You are a nice
sort of person to seize animals and to talk of killing them! You
are caught in your own net. It is your own wife that you have
eaten, and if you want to find her bones you have only to look
under the floor.' With these words he turned and made for the
forest.

The old peasant grew cold with horror as he listened, and seemed
frozen to the place where he stood. When he had recovered
himself a little, he collected the bones of his dead wife, buried
them in the garden, and swore over the grave to be avenged on the
Tanuki. After everything was done he sat himself down in his
lonely cottage and wept bitterly, and the bitterest thought of
all was that he would never be able to forget that he had eaten
his own wife.

While he was thus weeping and wailing his friend the hare passed
by, and, hearing the noise, pricked up his ears and soon
recognised the old man's voice. He wondered what had happened,
and put his head in at the door and asked if anything was the
matter. With tears and groans the peasant told him the whole
dreadful story, and the hare, filled with anger and compassion,
comforted him as best he could, and promised to help him in his
revenge. 'The false knave shall not go unpunished,' said he.

So the first thing he did was to search the house for materials
to make an ointment, which he sprinkled plentifully with pepper
and then put in his pocket. Next he took a hatchet, bade
farewell to the old man, and departed to the forest. He bent his
steps to the dwelling of the Tanuki and knocked at the door. The
Tanuki, who had no cause to suspect the hare, was greatly pleased
to see him, for he noticed the hatchet at once, and began to lay
plots how to get hold of it.

To do this he thought he had better offer to accompany the hare,
which was exactly what the hare wished and expected, for he knew
all the Tanuki's cunning, and understood his little ways. So he
accepted the rascal's company with joy, and made himself very
pleasant as they strolled along. When they were wandering in
this manner through the forest the hare carelessly raised his
hatchet in passing, and cut down some thick boughs that were
hanging over the path, but at length, after cutting down a good
big tree, which cost him many hard blows, he declared that it
was too heavy for him to carry home, and he must just leave it
where it was. This delighted the greedy Tanuki, who said that
they would be no weight for him, so they collected the large
branches, which the hare bound tightly on his back. Then he
trotted gaily to the house, the hare following after with his
lighter bundle.

By this time the hare had decided what he would do, and as soon
as they arrived, he quietly set on fire the wood on the back of
the Tanuki. The Tanuki, who was busy with something else,
observed nothing, and only called out to ask what was the meaning
of the crackling that he heard. 'It is just the rattle of the
stones which are rolling down the side of the mountain,' the hare
said; and the Tanuki was content, and made no further remarks,
never noticing that the noise really sprang from the burning
boughs on his back, until his fur was in flames, and it was
almost too late to put it out. Shrieking with pain, he let fall
the burning wood from his back, and stamped and howled with
agony. But the hare comforted him, and told him that he always
carried with him an excellent plaster in case of need, which
would bring him instant relief, and taking out his ointment he
spread it on a leaf of bamboo, and laid it on the wound. No
sooner did it touch him than the Tanuki leapt yelling into the
air, and the hare laughed, and ran to tell his friend the peasant
what a trick he had played on their enemy. But the old man shook
his head sadly, for he knew that the villain was only crushed for
the moment, and that he would shortly be revenging himself upon
them. No, the only way every to get any peace and quiet was to
render the Tanuki harmless for ever. Long did the old man and
the hare puzzle together how this was to be done, and at last
they decided that they would make two boats, a small one of wood
and a large one of clay. Then they fell to work at once, and
when the boats were ready and properly painted, the hare went to
the Tanuki, who was still very ill, and invited him to a great
fish-catching. The Tanuki was still feeling angry with the hare
about the trick he had played him, but he was weak and very
hungry, so he gladly accepted the proposal, and accompanied the
hare to the bank of the river, where the two boats were moored,
rocked by the waves. They both looked exactly alike, and the
Tanuki only saw that one was bigger than the other, and would
hold more fish, so he sprang into the large one, while the hare
climbed into the one which was made of wood. They loosened their
moorings, and made for the middle of the stream, and when they
were at some distance from the bank, the hare took his oar, and
struck such a heavy blow at the other boat, that it broke in two.
The Tanuki fell straight into the water, and was held there by
the hare till he was quite dead. Then he put the body in his
boat and rowed to land, and told the old man that his enemy was
dead at last. And the old man rejoiced that his wife was
avenged, and he took the hare into his house, and they lived
together all their days in peace and quietness upon the mountain.





The Flying Trunk
Translated from the German of Hans Andersen.



There was once a merchant who was so rich that he could have
paved the whole street, and perhaps even a little side-street
besides, with silver. But he did not do that; he knew another
way of spending his money. If he spent a shilling he got back a
florin-such an excellent merchant he was till he died.

Now his son inherited all this money. He lived very merrily; he
went every night to the theatre, made paper kites out of
five-pound notes, and played ducks and drakes with sovereigns
instead of stones. In this way the money was likely to come soon
to an end, and so it did.

At last he had nothing left but four shillings, and he had no
clothes except a pair of slippers and an old dressing-gown.

His friends did not trouble themselves any more about him; they
would not even walk down the street with him.

But one of them who was rather good-natured sent him an old trunk
with the message, 'Pack up!" That was all very well, but he had
nothing to pack up, so he got into the trunk himself.

It was an enchanted trunk, for as soon as the lock was pressed it
could fly. He pressed it, and away he flew in it up the chimney,
high into the clouds, further and further away. But whenever the
bottom gave a little creak he was in terror lest the trunk should
go to pieces, for then he would have turned a dreadful
somersault-just think of it!

In this way he arrived at the land of the Turks. He hid the
trunk in a wood under some dry leaves, and then walked into the
town. He could do that quite well, for all the Turks were
dressed just as he was-in a dressing-gown and slippers.

He met a nurse with a little child.

'Halloa! you Turkish nurse,' said he, 'what is that great castle
there close to the town? The one with the windows so high up?'

'The sultan's daughter lives there,' she replied. 'It is
prophesied that she will be very unlucky in her husband, and so
no one is allowed to see her except when the sultan and sultana
are by.'

'Thank you,' said the merchant's son, and he went into the wood,
sat himself in his trunk, flew on to the roof, and crept through
the window into the princess's room.

She was lying on the sofa asleep, and was so beautiful that the
young merchant had to kiss her. Then she woke up and was very
much frightened, but he said he was a Turkish god who had come
through the air to see her, and that pleased her very much.

They sat close to each other, and he told her a story about her
eyes. They were beautiful dark lakes in which her thoughts swam
about like mermaids. And her forehead was a snowy mountain,
grand and shining. These were lovely stories.

Then he asked the princess to marry him, and she said yes at
once.

'But you must come here on Saturday,' she said, 'for then the
sultan and the sultana are coming to tea with me. They will be
indeed proud that I receive the god of the Turks. But mind you
have a really good story ready, for my parents like them
immensely. My mother likes something rather moral and
high-flown, and my father likes something merry to make him
laugh.'

'Yes, I shall only bring a fairy story for my dowry,' said he,
and so they parted. But the princess gave him a sabre set with
gold pieces which he could use.

Then he flew away, bought himself a new dressing-gown, and sat
down in the wood and began to make up a story, for it had to be
ready by Saturday, and that was no easy matter.

When he had it ready it was Saturday.

The sultan, the sultana, and the whole court were at tea with the
princess.

He was most graciously received.

'Will you tell us a story?' said the sultana; 'one that is
thoughtful and instructive?'

'But something that we can laugh at,' said the sultan.

'Oh, certainly,' he replied, and began: 'Now, listen attentively.
There was once a box of matches which lay between a tinder-box
and an old iron pot, and they told the story of their youth.

'"We used to be on the green fir-boughs. Every morning and
evening we had diamond-tea, which was the dew, and the whole day
long we had sunshine, and the little birds used to tell us
stories. We were very rich, because the other trees only dressed
in summer, but we had green dresses in summer and in winter.
Then the woodcutter came, and our family was split up. We have
now the task of making light for the lowest people. That is why
we grand people are in the kitchen."

'"My fate was quite different," said the iron pot, near which the
matches lay.

'"Since I came into the world I have been many times scoured, and
have cooked much. My only pleasure is to have a good chat with
my companions when I am lying nice and clean in my place after
dinner."

'"Now you are talking too fast," spluttered the fire.

'"Yes, let us decide who is the grandest!" said the matches.

'"No, I don't like talking about myself," said the pot.

'"Let us arrange an evening's entertainment. I will tell the
story of my life.

'"On the Baltic by the Danish shore-"

'What a beautiful beginning!" said all the plates. "That's a
story that will please us all."

'And the end was just as good as the beginning. All the plates
clattered for joy.

'"Now I will dance," said the tongs, and she danced. Oh! how
high she could kick!

'The old chair-cover in the corner split when he saw her.

'The urn would have sung but she said she had a cold; she could
not sing unless she boiled.

'In the window was an old quill pen. There was nothing
remarkable about her except that she had been dipped too deeply
into the ink. But she was very proud of that.

'"If the urn will not sing," said she, "outside the door hangs a
nightingale in a cage who will sing."

'"I don't think it's proper," said the kettle, "that such a
foreign bird should be heard."

'"Oh, let us have some acting," said everyone. "Do let us!"

'Suddenly the door opened and the maid came in. Everyone was
quite quiet. There was not a sound. But each pot knew what he
might have done, and how grand he was.

'The maid took the matches and lit the fire with them. How they
spluttered and flamed, to be sure! "Now everyone can see," they
thought, "that we are the grandest! How we sparkle! What a
light-"

'But here they were burnt out.'

'That was a delightful story!' said the sultana. 'I quite feel
myself in the kitchen with the matches. Yes, now you shall marry
our daughter.'

'Yes, indeed,' said the sultan, 'you shall marry our daughter on
Monday.' And they treated the young man as one of the family.

The wedding was arranged, and the night before the whole town was
illuminated.

Biscuits and gingerbreads were thrown among the people, the
street boys stood on tiptoe crying hurrahs and whistling through
their fingers. It was all splendid.

'Now I must also give them a treat,' thought the merchant's son.
And so he bought rockets, crackers, and all the kinds of
fireworks you can think of, put them in his trunk, and flew up
with them into the air.

Whirr-r-r, how they fizzed and blazed!

All the Turks jumped so high that their slippers flew above their
heads; such a splendid glitter they had never seen before.

Now they could quite well understand that it was the god of the
Turks himself who was to marry the princess.

As soon as the young merchant came down again into the wood with
his trunk he thought, 'Now I will just go into the town to see
how the show has taken.'

And it was quite natural that he should want to do this.

Oh! what stories the people had to tell!

Each one whom he asked had seen it differently, but they had all
found it beautiful.

'I saw the Turkish god himself,' said one. 'He had eyes like
glittering stars, and a beard like foaming water.'

'He flew away in a cloak of fire,' said another. They were
splendid things that he heard, and the next day was to be his
wedding day.

Then he went back into the wood to sit in his trunk; but what had
become of it? The trunk had been burnt. A spark of the
fireworks had set it alight, and the trunk was in ashes. He
could no longer fly, and could never reach his bride.

She stood the whole day long on the roof and waited; perhaps she
is waiting there still.

But he wandered through the world and told stories; though they
are not so merry as the one he told about the matches.





The Snow-man
Translated from the German of Hans Andersen.



'How astonishingly cold it is! My body is cracking all over!'
said the Snow-man. 'The wind is really cutting one's very life
out! And how that fiery thing up there glares!' He meant the
sun, which was just setting. 'It sha'n't make me blink, though,
and I shall keep quite cool and collected.'

Instead of eyes he had two large three-cornered pieces of slate
in his head; his mouth consisted of an old rake, so that he had
teeth as well.

He was born amidst the shouts and laughter of the boys, and
greeted by the jingling bells and cracking whips of the sledges.

The sun went down, the full moon rose, large, round, clear and
beautiful, in the dark blue sky.

'There it is again on the other side!' said the Snow-man, by
which he meant the sun was appearing again. 'I have become quite
accustomed to its glaring. I hope it will hang there and shine,
so that I may be able to see myself. I wish I knew, though, how
one ought to see about changing one's position. I should very
much like to move about. If I only could, I would glide up and
down the ice there, as I saw the boys doing; but somehow or
other, I don't know how to run.'

'Bow-wow!' barked the old yard-dog; he was rather hoarse and
couldn't bark very well. His hoarseness came on when he was a
house-dog and used to lie in front of the stove. 'The sun will
soon teach you to run! I saw that last winter with your
predecessor, and farther back still with his predecessors! They
have all run away!'

'I don't understand you, my friend,' said the Snow-man. 'That
thing up there is to teach me to run?' He meant the moon.
'Well, it certainly did run just now, for I saw it quite plainly
over there, and now here it is on this side.'

'You know nothing at all about it,' said the yard-dog. 'Why, you
have only just been made. The thing you see there is the moon;
the other thing you saw going down the other side was the sun.
He will come up again tomorrow morning, and will soon teach you
how to run away down the gutter. The weather is going to change;
I feel it already by the pain in my left hind-leg; the weather is
certainly going to change.'

'I can't understand him,' said the Snow-man; 'but I have an idea
that he is speaking of something unpleasant. That thing that
glares so, and then disappears, the sun, as he calls it, is not
my friend. I know that by instinct.'

'Bow-wow!' barked the yard-dog, and walked three times round
himself, and then crept into his kennel to sleep. The weather
really did change. Towards morning a dense damp fog lay over the
whole neighbourhood; later on came an icy wind, which sent the
frost packing. But when the sun rose, it was a glorious sight.
The trees and shrubs were covered with rime, and looked like a
wood of coral, and every branch was thick with long white
blossoms. The most delicate twigs, which are lost among the
foliage in summer-time, came now into prominence, and it was like
a spider's web of glistening white. The lady-birches waved in
the wind; and when the sun shone, everything glittered and
sparkled as if it were sprinkled with diamond dust, and great
diamonds were lying on the snowy carpet.

'Isn't it wonderful?' exclaimed a girl who was walking with a
young man in the garden. They stopped near the Snow-man, and
looked at the glistening trees. 'Summer cannot show a more
beautiful sight,' she said, with her eyes shining.

'And one can't get a fellow like this in summer either,' said the
young man, pointing to the Snow-man. 'He's a beauty!'

The girl laughed, and nodded to the Snow-man, and then they both
danced away over the snow.

'Who were those two?' asked the Snow-man of the yard-dog. 'You
have been in this yard longer than I have. Do you know who they
are?'

'Do I know them indeed?' answered the yard-dog. 'She has often
stroked me, and he has given me bones. I don't bite either of
them!'

'But what are they?' asked the Snow-man.

'Lovers!' replied the yard-dog. 'They will go into one kennel
and gnaw the same bone!'

'Are they the same kind of beings that we are?' asked the
Snow-man.

'They are our masters,' answered the yard-dog. 'Really people
who have only been in the world one day know very little.'
That's the conclusion I have come to. Now I have age and wisdom;
I know everyone in the house, and I can remember a time when I
was not lying here in a cold kennel. Bow-wow!'

'The cold is splendid,' said the Snow-man. 'Tell me some more.
But don't rattle your chain so, it makes me crack!'

'Bow-wow!' barked the yard-dog. 'They used to say I was a pretty
little fellow; then I lay in a velvet-covered chair in my
master's house. My mistress used to nurse me, and kiss and
fondle me, and call me her dear, sweet little Alice! But
by-and-by I grew too big, and I was given to the housekeeper, and
I went into the kitchen. You can see into it from where you are
standing; you can look at the room in which I was master, for so
I was when I was with the housekeeper. Of course it was a
smaller place than upstairs, but it was more comfortable, for I
wasn't chased about and teased by the children as I had been
before. My food was just as good, or even better. I had my own
pillow, and there was a stove there, which at this time of year
is the most beautiful thing in the world. I used to creep right
under that stove. Ah me! I often dream of that stove still!
Bow-wow!'

'Is a stove so beautiful?' asked the Snow-man. 'Is it anything
like me?'

'It is just the opposite of you! It is coal-black, and has a
long neck with a brass pipe. It eats firewood, so that fire
spouts out of its mouth. One has to keep close beside it-quite
underneath is the nicest of all. You can see it through the
window from where you are standing.'

And the Snow-man looked in that direction, and saw a smooth
polished object with a brass pipe. The flicker from the fire
reached him across the snow. The Snow-man felt wonderfully
happy, and a feeling came over him which he could not express;
but all those who are not snow-men know about it.

'Why did you leave her?' asked the Snow-man. He had a feeling
that such a being must be a lady. 'How could you leave such a
place?'

'I had to!' said the yard-dog. 'They turned me out of doors, and
chained me up here. I had bitten the youngest boy in the leg,
because he took away the bone I was gnawing; a bone for a bone, I
thought! But they were very angry, and from that time I have
been chained here, and I have lost my voice. Don't you hear how
hoarse I am? Bow-wow! I can't speak like other dogs. Bow-wow!
That was the end of happiness!'

The Snow-man, however, was not listening to him any more; he was
looking into the room where the housekeeper lived, where the
stove stood on its four iron legs, and seemed to be just the same
size as the Snow-man.

'How something is cracking inside me!' he said. 'Shall I never
be able to get in there? It is certainly a very innocent wish,
and our innocent wishes ought to be fulfilled. I must get there,
and lean against the stove, if I have to break the window first!'

'You will never get inside there!' said the yard-dog; 'and if you
were to reach the stove you would disappear. Bow-wow!'

'I'm as good as gone already!' answered the Snow-man. 'I believe
I'm breaking up!'

The whole day the Snow-man looked through the window; towards
dusk the room grew still more inviting; the stove gave out a mild
light, not at all like the moon or even the sun; no, as only a
stove can shine, when it has something to feed upon. When the
door of the room was open, it flared up-this was one of its
peculiarities; it flickered quite red upon the Snow-man's white
face.

'I can't stand it any longer!' he said. 'How beautiful it looks
with its tongue stretched out like that!'

It was a long night, but the Snow-man did not find it so; there
he stood, wrapt in his pleasant thoughts, and they froze, so that
he cracked.

Next morning the panes of the kitchen window were covered with
ice, and the most beautiful ice-flowers that even a snow-man
could desire, only they blotted out the stove. The window would
not open; he couldn't see the stove which he thought was such a
lovely lady. There was a cracking and cracking inside him and
all around; there was just such a frost as a snow-man would
delight in. But this Snow-man was different: how could he feel
happy?

'Yours is a bad illness for a Snow-man!' said the yard-dog. 'I
also suffered from it, but I have got over it. Bow-wow!' he
barked. 'The weather is going to change!' he added.

The weather did change. There came a thaw.

When this set in the Snow-man set off. He did not say anything,
and he did not complain, and those are bad signs.

One morning he broke up altogether. And lo! where he had stood
there remained a broomstick standing upright, round which the
boys had built him!

'Ah! now I understand why he loved the stove,' said the yard-dog.
'That is the raker they use to clean out the stove! The Snow-man
had a stove-raker in his body! That's what was the matter with
him! And now it's all over with him! Bow-wow!'

And before long it was all over with the winter too! 'Bow-wow!'
barked the hoarse yard-dog.

But the young girl sang:

Woods, your bright green garments don!
Willows, your woolly gloves put on!
Lark and cuckoo, daily sing--
February has brought the spring!
My heart joins in your song so sweet;
Come out, dear sun, the world to greet!

And no one thought of the Snow-man.





The Shirt-collar
Translated from the German of Hans Andersen.



There was once a fine gentleman whose entire worldly possessions
consisted of a boot-jack and a hair-brush; but he had the most
beautiful shirt-collar in the world, and it is about this that we
are going to hear a story.

The shirt-collar was so old that he began to think about
marrying; and it happened one day that he and a garter came into
the wash-tub together.

'Hulloa!' said the shirt-collar, 'never before have I seen
anything so slim and delicate, so elegant and pretty! May I be
permitted to ask your name?'

'I shan't tell you,' said the garter.

'Where is the place of your abode?' asked the shirt-collar.

But the garter was of a bashful disposition, and did not think it
proper to answer.

'Perhaps you are a girdle?' said the shirt-collar, 'an under
girdle? for I see that you are for use as well as for ornament,
my pretty miss!'

'You ought not to speak to me!' said the garter' 'I'm sure I
haven't given you any encouragement!'

'When anyone is as beautiful as you,' said the shirt-collar, 'is
not that encouragement enough?'

'Go away, don't come so close!' said the garter. 'You seem to be
a gentleman!'

'So I am, and a very fine one too!' said the shirt-collar; 'I
possess a boot-jack and a hair-brush!'

That was not true; it was his master who owned these things; but
he was a terrible boaster.

'Don't come so close,' said the garter. 'I'm not accustomed to
such treatment!'

'What affectation!' said the shirt-collar. And then they were
taken out of the wash-tub, starched, and hung on a chair in the
sun to dry, and then laid on the ironing-board. Then came the
glowing iron.

'Mistress widow!' said the shirt-collar, 'dear mistress widow! I
am becoming another man, all my creases are coming out; you are
burning a hole in me! Ugh! Stop, I implore you!'

'You rag!' said the iron, travelling proudly over the
shirt-collar, for it thought it was a steam engine and ought to
be at the station drawing trucks.

'Rag!' it said.

The shirt-collar was rather frayed out at the edge, so the
scissors came to cut off the threads.

'Oh!' said the shirt-collar, 'you must be a dancer! How high you
can kick! That is the most beautiful thing I have ever s een!
No man can imitate you!'

'I know that!' said the scissors.

'You ought to be a duchess!' said the shirt-collar. 'My worldly
possessions consist of a fine gentleman, a boot-jack, and a
hair-brush. If only I had a duchy!'

'What! He wants to marry me?' said the scissors, and she was so
angry that she gave the collar a sharp snip, so that it had to be
cast aside as good for nothing.

'Well, I shall have to propose to the hair-brush!' thought the
shirt-collar. 'It is really wonderful what fine hair you have,
madam! Have you never thought of marrying?'

'Yes, that I have!' answered the hair-brush; 'I'm engaged to the
boot-jack!'

'Engaged!' exclaimed the shirt-collar. And now there was no one
he could marry, so he took to despising matrimony.

Time passed, and the shirt-collar came in a rag-bag to the
paper-mill. There was a large assortment of rags, the fine ones
in one heap, and the coarse ones in another, as they should be.
They had all much to tell, but no one more than the shirt-collar,
for he was a hopeless braggart.

'I have had a terrible number of love affairs!' he said. 'They
give me no peace. I was such a fine gentleman, so stiff with
starch! I had a boot-jack and a hair-brush, which I never used!
You should just have seen me then! Never shall I forget my first
love! She was a girdle, so delicate and soft and pretty! She
threw herself into a wash-tub for my sake! Then there was a
widow, who glowed with love for me. But I left her alone, till
she became black. Then there was the dancer, who inflicted the
wound which has caused me to be here now; she was very violent!
My own hair-brush was in love with me, and lost all her hair in
consequence. Yes, I have experienced much in that line; but I
grieve most of all for the garter,-I mean, the girdle, who threw
herself into a wash-tub. I have much on my conscience; it is
high time for me to become white paper!'

And so he did! he became white paper, the very paper on which
this story is printed. And that was because he had boasted so
terribly about things which were not true. We should take this
to heart, so that it may not happen to us, for we cannot indeed
tell if we may not some day come to the rag-bag, and be made into
white paper, on which will be printed our whole history, even the
most secret parts, so that we too go about the world relating it,
like the shirt-collar.






The Princess in the Chest
Translated from the Danish.



There were once a king and a queen who lived in a beautiful
castle, and had a large, and fair, and rich, and happy land to
rule over. From the very first they loved each other greatly,
and lived very happily together, but they had no heir.

They had been married for seven years, but had neither son nor
daughter, and that was a great grief to both of them. More than
once it happened that when the king was in a bad temper, he let
it out on the poor queen, and said that here they were now,
getting old, and neither they nor the kingdom had an heir, and it
was all her fault. This was hard to listen to, and she went and
cried and vexed herself.

Finally, the king said to her one day, 'This can't be borne any
longer. I go about childless, and it's your fault. I am going
on a journey and shall be away for a year. If you have a child
when I come back again, all will be well, and I shall love you
beyond all measure, and never more say an angry word to you. But
if the nest is just as empty when I come home, then I must part
with you.'

After the king had set out on his journey, the queen went about
in her loneliness, and sorrowed and vexed herself more than ever.
At last her maid said to her one day, 'I think that some help
could be found, if your majesty would seek it.' Then she told
about a wise old woman in that country, who had helped many in
troubles of the same kind, and could no doubt help the queen as
well, if she would send for her. The queen did so, and the wise
woman came, and to her she confided her sorrow, that she, was
childless, and the king and his kingdom had no heir.

The wise woman knew help for this. 'Out in the king's garden,'
said she, 'under the great oak that stands on the left hand, just
as one goes out from the castle, is a little bush, rather brown
than green, with hairy leaves and long spikes. On that bush
there are just at this moment three buds. If your majesty goes
out there alone, fasting, before sunrise, and takes the middle
one of the three buds, and eats it, then in six months you will
bring a princess into the world. As soon as she is born, she
must have a nurse, whom I shall provide, and this nurse must live
with the child in a secluded part of the palace; no other person
must visit the child; neither the king nor the queen must see it
until it is fourteen years old, for that would cause great sorrow
and misfortune.'

The queen rewarded the old woman richly, and next morning, before
the sun rose, she was down in the garden, found at once the
little bush with the three buds, plucked the middle one and ate
it. It was sweet to taste, but afterwards was as bitter as gall.
Six months after this, she brought into the world a little girl.
There was a nurse in readiness, whom the wise woman had provided,
and preparations were made for her living with the child, quite
alone, in a secluded wing of the castle, looking out on the
pleasure-park. The queen did as the wise woman had told her; she
gave up the child immediately, and the nurse took it and lived
with it there.

When the king came home and heard that a daughter had been born
to him, he was of course very pleased and happy, and wanted to
see her at once.

The queen had then to tell him this much of the story, that it
had been foretold that it would cause great sorrow and misfortune
if either he or she got a sight of the child until it had
completed its fourteenth year.

This was a long time to wait. The king longed so much to get a
sight of his daughter, and the queen no less than he, but she
knew that it was not like other children, for it could speak
immediately after it was born, and was as wise as older folk.
This the nurse had told her, for with her the queen had a talk
now and again, but there was no one who had ever seen the
princess. The queen had also seen what the wise woman could do,
so she insisted strongly that her warning should be obeyed. The
king often lost his patience, and was determined to see his
daughter, but the queen always put him off the idea, and so
things went on, until the very day before the princess completed
her fourteenth year.

The king and the queen were out in the garden then, and the king
said, 'Now I can't and I won't wait any longer. I must see my
daughter at once. A few hours, more or less, can't make any
difference.'

The queen begged him to have patience till the morning. When
they had waited so long, they could surely wait a single day
more. But the king was quite unreasonable. 'No nonsense,' said
he; 'she is just as much mine as yours, and I will see her,' and
with that he went straight up to her room.

He burst the door open, and pushed aside the nurse, who tried to
stop him, and there he saw his daughter. She was the loveliest
young princess, red and white, like milk and blood, with clear
blue eyes and golden hair, but right in the middle of her
forehead there was a little tuft of brown hair.

The princess went to meet her father, fell on his neck and kissed
him, but with that she said, 'O father, father! what have you
done now? to-morrow I must die, and you must choose one of three
things: either the land must be smitten with the black
pestilence, or you must have a long and bloody war, or you must
as soon as I am dead, lay me in a plain wooden chest, and set it
in the church, and for a whole year place a sentinel beside it
every night.'

The king was frightened indeed, and thought she was raving, but
in order to please her, he said, 'Well, of these three things I
shall choose the last; if you die, I shall lay you at once in a
plain wooden chest, and have it set in the church, and every
night I shall place a sentinel beside it. But you shall not die,
even if you are ill now.'

He immediately summoned all the best doctors in the country, and
they came with all their prescriptions and their medicine
bottles, but next day the princess was stiff and cold in death.
All the doctors could certify to that and they all put their
names to this and appended their seals, and then they had done
all they could.

The king kept his promise. The princess's body was lain the same
day in a plain wooden chest, and set in the chapel of the castle,
and on that night and every night after it, a sentinel was
posted in the church, to keep watch over the chest.

The first morning when they came to let the sentinel out, there
was no sentinel there. They thought he had just got frightened
and run away, and next evening a new one was posted in the
church. In the morning he was also gone. So it went every
night. When they came in the morning to let the sentinel out,
there was no one there, and it was impossible to discover which
way he had gone if he had run away. And what should they run
away for, every one of them, so that nothing more was over heard
or seen of them, from the hour that they were set on guard beside
the princess's chest?

It became now a general belief that the princess's ghost walked,
and ate up all those who were to guard her chest, and very soon
there was no one left who would be placed on this duty, and the
king's soldiers deserted the service, before their turn came to
be her bodyguard. The king then promised a large reward to the
soldier who would volunteer for the post. This did for some
time, as there were found a few reckless fellows, who wished to
earn this good payment. But they never got it, for in the
morning, they too had disappeared like the rest.

So it had gone on for something like a whole year; every night a
sentinel had been placed beside the chest, either by compulsion
or of his own free will, but not a single one of the sentinels
was to be seen, either on the following day or any time
thereafter. And so it had also gone with one, on the night
before a certain day, when a merry young smith came wandering to
the town where the king's castle stood. It was the capital of
the country, and people of every king came to it to get work.
This smith, whose name was Christian, had come for that same
purpose. There was no work for him in the place he belonged to,
and he wanted now to seek a place in the capital.

There he entered an inn where he sat down in the public room, and
got something to eat. Some under-officers were sitting there,
who were out to try to get some one enlisted to stand sentry.
They had to go in this way, day after day, and hitherto they had
always succeeded in finding one or other reckless fellow. But on
this day they had, as yet, found no one. It was too well known
how all the sentinels disappeared, who were set on that post, and
all that they had got hold of had refused with thanks. These sat
down beside Christian, and ordered drinks, and drank along with
him. Now Christian was a merry fellow who liked good company; he
could both drink and sing, and talk and boast as well, when he
got a little drop in his head. He told these under-officers that
he was one of that kind of folk who never are afraid of anything.
Then he was just the kind of man they liked, said they, and he
might easily earn a good penny, before he was a day older, for
the king paid a hundred dollars to anyone who would stand as
sentinel in the church all night, beside his daughter's chest.

Christian was not afraid of that he wasn't afraid of anything, so
they drank another bottle of wine on this, and Christian went
with them up to the colonel, where he was put into uniform with
musket, and all the rest, and was then shut up in the church, to
stand as sentinel that night.

It was eight o'clock when he took up his post, and for the first
hour he was quite proud of his courage; during the second hour he
was well pleased with the large reward that he would get, but in
the third hour, when it was getting near eleven, the effects of
the wine passed off, and he began to get uncomfortable, for he
had heard about this post; that no one had ever escapeed alive
from it, so far as was known. But neither did anyone know what
had become of all the sentinels. The thought of this ran in his
head so much, after the wine was out of it, that he searched
about everywhere for a way of escape, and finally, at eleven
o'clock, he found a little postern in the steeple which was not
locked, and out at this he crept, intending to run away.

At the same moment as he put his foot outside the church door, he
saw standing before him a little man, who said, 'Good evening,
Christian, where are you going?'

With that he felt as if he were rooted to the spot and could not
move.

'Nowhere,' said he.

'Oh, yes,' said the little man, 'You were just about to run away,
but you have taken upon you to stand sentinel in the church
to-night, and there you must stay.'

Christian said, very humbly, that he dared not, and therefore
wanted to get away, and begged to be let go.

'No,' said the little one, 'you must remain at your post, but I
shall give you a piece of good advice; you shall go up into the
pulpit, and remain standing there. You need never mind what you
see or hear, it will not be able to do you any harm, if you
remain in your place until you hear the lid of the chest slam
down again behind the dead; then all danger is past, and you can
go about the church, wherever you please.'

The little man then pushed him in at the door again, and locked
it after him. Christian made haste to get up into the pulpit,
and stood there, without noticing anything, until the clock
struck twelve. Then the lid of the princess's chest sprang up,
and out of it there came something like the princess, dressed as
you see in the picture. It shrieked and howled, 'Sentry, where
are you? Sentry, where are you? If you don't come, you shall
get the most cruel death anyone had ever got.'

It went all round the church, and when it finally caught sight of
the smith, up in the pulpit, it came rushing thither and mounted
the steps. But it could not get up the whole way, and for all
that it stretched and strained, it could not touch Christian, who
meanwhile stood and trembled up in the pulpit. When the clock
struck one, the appearance had to go back into the chest again,
and Christian heard the lid slam after it. After this there was
dead silence in the church. He lay down where he was and fell
asleep, and did not awake before it was bright daylight, and he
heard steps outside, and the noise of the key being put into the
lock. Then he came down from the pulpit, and stood with his
musket in front of the princess's chest.

It was the colonel himself who came with the patrol, and he was
not a little surprised when he found the recruit safe and sound.
He wanted to have a report, but Christian would give him none, so
he took him straight up to the king, and announced for the first
time that here was the sentinel who had stood guard in the church
over-night. The king immediately got out of bed, and laid the
hundred dollars for him on the table, and then wanted to question
him. 'Have you seen anything?' said he. 'Have you seen my
daughter?' 'I have stood at my post,' said the young smith, 'and
that is quite enough; I undertook nothing more.' He was not sure
whether he dared tell what he had seen and heard, and besides he
was also a little conceited because he had done what no other man
had been able to do, or had had courage for. The king professed
to be quite satisfied, and asked him whether he would engage
himself to stand on guard again the following night. 'No, thank
you,' said Christian, 'I will have no more of that!'

'As you please,' said the king, 'you have behaved like a brave
fellow, and now you shall have your breakfast. You must be
needing something to strengthen you after that turn.'

The king had breakfast laid for him, and sat down at the table
with him in person; he kept constantly filling his glass for him
and praising him, and drinking his health. Christian needed no
pressing, but did full justice both to the food and drink, and
not least to the latter. Finally he grew bold, and said that if
the king would give him two hundred dollars for it, he was his
man to stand sentry next night as well.

When this was arranged, Christian bade him 'Good-day,' and went
down among the guards, and then out into the town along with
other soldiers and under-officers. He had his pocket full of
money, and treated them, and drank with them and boasted and made
game of the good-for-nothings who were afraid to stand on guard,
because they were frightened that the dead princess would eat
them. See whether she had eaten him! So the day passed in mirth
and glee, but when eight o'clock came, Christian was again shut
up in the church, all alone.

Before he had been there two hours, he got tired of it, and
thought only of getting away. He found a little door behind the
altar which was not locked, and at ten o'clock he slipped out at
it, and took to his heels and made for the beach. He had got
half-way thither, when all at once the same little man stood in
front of him and said, 'Good evening, Christian, where are you
going?' 'I've leave to go where I please,' said the smith, but
at the same time he noticed that he could not move a foot. 'No,
you have undertaken to keep guard to-night as well,' said the
little man, 'and you must attend to that.' He then took hold of
him, and however unwilling he was, Christian had to go with him
right back to the same little door that he had crept out at.
When they got there, the little man said to him, 'Go in front of
the altar now, and take in your hand the book that is lying
there. There you shall stay till you hear the lid of the chest
slam down over the dead. In that way you will come to no harm.'

With that the little man shoved him in at the door, and locked
it. Christian then immediately went in front of the altar, and
took the book in his hand, and stood thus until the clock struck
twelve, and the appearance sprang out of the chest. 'Sentry,
where are you? Sentry, where are you?' it shrieked, and then
rushed to the pulpit, and right up into it. But there was no one
there that night. Then it howled and shrieked again,

My father has set no sentry in,
War and Pest this night begin.

At the same moment, it noticed the smith standing in front of the
altar, and came rushing towards him. 'Are you there?' it
screamed; 'now I'll catch you.' But it could not come up over
the step in front of the altar, and there it continued to howl,
and scream, and threaten, until the clock struck one, when it had
to go into the chest again, and Christian heard the lid slam
above it. That night, however, it had not the same appearance as
on the previous one; it was less ugly.

When all was quiet in the church, the smith lay down before the
altar and slept calmly till the following morning, when the
colonel came to fetch him. He was taken up to the king again,
and things went on as the day before. He got his money, but
would give no explanation whether he had seen the king's
daughter, and he would not take the post again, he said. But
after he had got a good breakfast, and tasted well of the king's
wines, he undertook to go on guard again the third night, but he
would not do it for less than the half of the kingdom, he said,
for it was a dangerous post, and the king had to agree, and
promise him this.

The remainder of the day went like the previous one. He played
the boastful soldier, and the merry smith, and he had comrades
and boon-companions in plenty. At eight o'clock he had to put on
his uniform again, and was shut up in the church. He had not
been there for an hour before he had come to his senses, and
thought, 'It's best to stop now, while the game is going well.'
The third night, he was sure, would be the worst; he had been
drunk when he promised it, and the half of the kingdom, the king
could never have been in earnest about that! So he decided to
leave, without waiting so long as on the previous nights. In
that way he would escape the little man who had watched him
before. All the doors and posterns were locked, but he finally
though of creeping up to a window, and opening that, and as the
clock struck nine, he crept out there. It was fairly high in the
wall, but he got to the ground with no bones broken, and started
to run. He got down to the shore without meeting anyone, and
there he got into a boat, and pushed off from land. He laughed
immensely to himself at the thought of how cleverly he had
managed and how he had cheated the little man. Just then he
heard a voice from the shore, 'Good evening, Christian, where are
you going?' He gave no answer. 'To-night your legs will be too
short,' he thought, and pulled at the oars. But he then felt
something lay hold of the boat, and drag it straight in to shore,
for all that he sat and struggled with the oars.

The man then laid hold of him, and said, 'You must remain at your
post, as you have promised,' and whether he liked it or not,
Christian had just to go back with him the whole way to the
church.

He could never get in at that window again, Christian said; it
was far too high up.

'You must go in there, and you shall go in there,' said the
little man, and with that he lifted him up on to the window-sill.
Then he said to him: 'Notice well now what you have to do. This
evening you must stretch yourself out on the left-hand side of
her chest. The lid opens to the right, and she comes out to the
left. When she has got out of the chest and passed over you, you
must get into it and lie there, and that in a hurry, without her
seeing you. There you must remain lying until day dawns, and
whether she threatens you or entreats you, you must not come out
of it, or give her any answer. Then she has no power over you,
and both you and she are freed.'

The smith then had to go in at the window, just as he came out,
and went and laid himself all his length on the left side of the
princess's chest, close up to it, and there he lay stiff as a
rock until the clock struck twelve. Then the lid sprang up to
the right, and the princess came out, straight over him, and
rushed round the church, howling and shrieking 'Sentry, where are
you? Sentry, where are you?' She went towards the altar, and
right up to it, but there was no one there; then she screamed
again,

My father has set no sentry in,
War and Pest will now begin.

Then she went round the whole church, both up and down, sighing
and weeping,

My father has set no sentry in,
War and Pest will now begin.

Then she went away again, and at the same moment the clock in the
tower struck one.

Then the smith heard in the church a soft music, which grew
louder and louder, and soon filled the whole building. He heard
also a multitude of footsteps, as if the church was being filled
with people. He heard the priest go through the service in front
of the altar, and there was singing more beautiful than he had
ever heard before. Then he also heard the priest offer up a
prayer of thanksgiving because the land had been freed from war
and pestilence, and from all misfortune, and the king's daughter
delivered from the evil one. Many voices joined in, and a hymn
of praise was sung; then he heard the priest again, and heard his
own name and that of the princess, and thought that he was being
wedded to her. The church was packed full, but he could see
nothing. Then he heard again the many footsteps as ol' folk
leaving the church, while the music sounded fainter and fainter,
until it altogether died away. When it was silent, the light of
day began to break in through the windows.

The smith sprang up out of the chest and fell on his knees and
thanked God. The church was empty, but up in front of the altar
lay the princess, white and red, like a human being, but sobbing
and crying, and shaking with cold in her white shroud. The smith
took his sentry coat and wrapped it round her; then she dried her
tears, and took his hand and thanked him, and said that he had
now freed her from all the sorcery that had been in her from her
birth, and which had come over her again when her father broke
the command against seeing her until she had completed her
fourteenth year.

She said further, that if he who had delivered her would take her
in marriage, she would be his. If not, she would go into a
nunnery, and he could marry no other as long as she lived, for he
was wedded to her with the service of the dead, which he had
heard.

She was now the most beautiful young princess that anyone could
wish to see, and he was now lord of half the kingdom, which had
been promised him for standing on guard the third nigh. So they
agreed that they would have each other, and love each other all
their days.

With the first sunbeam the watch came and opened the church, and
not only was the colonel there, but the king in person, come to
see what had happened to the sentinel. He found them both
sitting hand in hand on the step in front of the altar, and
immediately knew his daughter again, and took her in his arms,
thanking God and her deliverer. He made no objections to what
they had arranged, and so Christian the smith held his wedding
with the princess, and got half the kingdom at once, and the
whole of it when the king died.

As for the other sentries, with so many doors and windows open,
no doubt they had run away, and gone into the Prussian service.
And as for what Christian said he saw, he had been drinking more
wine than was good for him.





The Three Brothers
Translated from the German of the Brothers Grimm.



There was once a man who had three sons, and no other possessions
beyond the house in which he lived. Now the father loved his
three sons equally, so that he could not make up his mind which
of them should have the house after his death, because he did not
wish to favour any one more than the others. And he did not want
to sell the house, because it had belonged to his family for
generations; otherwise he could have divided the money equally
amongst them. At last an idea struck him, and he said to his
sons: 'You must all go out into the owrld, and look about you,
and each learn a trade, and then, when you return, whoever can
produce the best masterpiece shall have the house.'

The sons were quite satisfied. The eldest wished to be a
blacksmith, the second a barber, and the third a fencing-master.
They appointed a time when they were to return home, and then
they all set out.

It so happened that each found a good master, where he learnt all
that was necessary for his trade in the best possible way. The
blacksmith had to shoe the king's horses, and thought to himself,
'Without doubt the house will be yours!' The barber shaved the
best men in the kingdom, and he, too, made sure that the house
would be his. The fencing-master received many a blow, but he
set his teeth, and would not allow himself to be troubled by
them, for he thought to himself, 'If you are afraid of a blow you
will never get the house.'

When the appointed time had come the three brothers met once
more, and they sat down and discussed the best opportunity of
showing off their skill. Just then a hare came running across
the field towards them. 'Look!' said the barber, 'here comes
something in the nick of time!' seized basin and soap, made a
lather whilst the hare was approaching, and then, as it ran at
full tilt, shaved its moustaches, without cutting it or injuring
a single hair on its body.

'I like that very much indeed,' said the father. 'Unless the
others exert themselves to the utmost, the house will be yours.'

Soon after they saw a man driving a carriage furiously towards
them. 'Now, father, you shall see what I can do!' said the
blacksmith, and he sprang after the carriage, tore off the four
shoes of the horse as it was going at the top of its speed, and
shod it with four new ones without checking its pace.

'You are a clever fellow!' said the father, 'and know your trade
as well as your brother. I really don't know to which of you I
shall give the house.'

Then the third son said, 'Father, let me also show you
something;' and, as it was beginning to rain, he drew his sword
and swung it in cross cuts above his head, so that not a drop
fell on him, and the rain fell heavier and heavier, till at last
it was coming down like a waterspout, but he swung his sword
faster and faster, and kept as dry as if he were under cover.

When the father saw this he was astonished, and said, 'You have
produced the greatest masterpiece: the house is yours.'

Both the other brothers were quite satisfied, and praised him
too, and as they were so fond of each other they all three
remained at home and plied their trades: and as they were so
experienced and skilful they earned a great deal of money. So
they lived happily together till they were quite old, and when
one was taken ill and died the two others were so deeply grieved
that they were also taken ill and died too. And so, because they
had all been so clever, and so fond of each other, they were all
laid in one grave.





The Snow-queen
Translated from the German of Hans Andersen by Miss Alma Alleyne.



There was once a dreadfully wicked hobgoblin. One day he was in
capital spirits because he had made a looking-glass which
reflected everything that was good and beautiful in such a way
that it dwindled almost to nothing, but anything that was bad and
ugly stood out very clearly and looked much worse. The most
beautiful landscapes looked like boiled spinach, and the best
people looked repulsive or seemed to stand on their heads with no
bodies; their faces were so changed that they could not be
recognised, and if anyone had a freckle you might be sure it
would be spread over the nose and mouth.

That was the best part of it, said the hobgoblin.

But one day the looking-glass was dropped, and it broke into a
million-billion and more pieces.

And now came the greatest misfortune of all, for each of the
pieces was hardly as large as a grain of sand and they flew about
all over the world, and if anyone had a bit in his eye there it
stayed, and then he would see everything awry, or else could only
see the bad sides of a case. For every tiny splinter of the
glass possessed the same power that the whole glass had.

Some people got a splinter in their hearts, and that was
dreadful, for then it began to turn into a lump of ice.

The hobgoblin laughed till his sides ached, but still the tiny
bits of glass flew about.

And now we will hear all about it.

In a large town, where there were so many people and houses that
there was not room enough for everybody to have gardens, lived
two poor children. They were not brother and sister, but they
loved each other just as much as if they were. Their parents
lived opposite one another in two attics, and out on the leads
they had put two boxes filled with flowers. There were sweet
peas in it, and two rose trees, which grow beautifully, and in
summer the two children were allowed to take their little chairs
and sit out under the roses. Then they had splendid games.

In the winter they could not do this, but then they put hot
pennies against the frozen window-panes, and made round holes to
look at each other through.

His name was Kay, and hers was Gerda.

Outside it was snowing fast.

'Those are the white bees swarming,' said the old grandmother.

'Have they also a queen bee?' asked the little boy, for he knew
that the real bees have one.

'To be sure,' said the grandmother. 'She flies wherever they
swarm the thickest. She is larger than any of them, and never
stays upon the earth, but flies again up into the black clouds.
Often at midnight she flies through the streets, and peeps in at
all the windows, and then they freeze in such pretty patterns and
look like flowers.'

'Yes, we have seen that,' said both children; they knew that it
was true.

'Can the Snow-queen come in here?' asked the little girl.

'Just let her!' cried the boy, 'I would put her on the stove, and
melt her!'

But the grandmother stroked his hair, and told some more stories.

In the evening, when little Kay was going to bed, he jumped on
the chair by the window, and looked through the little hole. A
few snow-flakes were falling outside, and one of the, the
largest, lay on the edge of one of the window-boxes. The
snow-flake grew larger and larger till it took the form of a
maiden, dressed in finest white gauze.

She was so beautiful and dainty, but all of ice, hard bright ice.

Still she was alive; her eyes glittered like two clear stars, but
there was no rest or peace in them. She nodded at the window,
and beckoned with her hand. The little boy was frightened, and
sprang down from the chair. It seemed as if a great white bird
had flown past the window.

The next day there was a harder frost than before.

Then came the spring, then the summer, when the roses grew and
smelt more beautifully than ever.

Kay and Gerda were looking at one of their picture-books--the
clock in the great church-tower had just struck five, when Kay
exclaimed, 'Oh! something has stung my heart, and I've got
something in my eye!'

The little girl threw her arms round his neck; he winked hard
with both his eyes; no, she could see nothing in them.

'I think it is gone now,' said he; but it had not gone. It was
one of the tiny splinters of the glass of the magic mirror which
we have heard about, that turned everything great and good
reflected in it small and ugly. And poor Kay had also a splinter
in his heart, and it began to change into a lump of ice. It did
not hurt him at all, but the splinter was there all the same.

'Why are you crying?' he asked; 'it makes you look so ugly!
There's nothing the matter with me. Just look! that rose is all
slug-eaten, and this one is stunted! What ugly roses they are!'

And he began to pull them to pieces.

'Kay, what are you doing?' cried the little girl.

And when he saw how frightened she was, he pulled off another
rose, and ran in at his window away from dear little Gerda.

When she came later on with the picture book, he said that it was
only fit for babies, and when his grandmother told them stories,
he was always interrupting with, 'But--' and then he would get
behind her and put on her spectacles, and speak just as she did.
This he did very well, and everybody laughed. Very soon he could
imitate the way all the people in the street walked and talked.

His games were now quite different. On a winter's day he would
take a burning glass and hold it out on his blue coat and let the
snow-flakes fall on it.

'Look in the glass, Gerda! Just see how regular they are! They
are much more interesting than real flowers. Each is perfect;
they are all made according to rule. If only they did not melt!'

One morning Kay came out with his warm gloves on, and his little
sledge hung over his shoulder. He shouted to Gerda, 'I am going
to the market-place to play with the other boys,' and away he
went.

In the market-place the boldest boys used often to fasten their
sledges to the carts of the farmers, and then they got a good
ride.

When they were in the middle of their games there drove into the
square a large sledge, all white, and in it sat a figure dressed
in a rough white fur pelisse with a white fur cap on.

The sledge drove twice round the square, and Kay fastened his
little sledge behind it and drove off. It went quicker and
quicker into the next street. The driver turned round, and
nodded to Kay ina friendly way as if they had known each other
before. Every time that Kay tried to unfasten his sledge the
driver nodded again, and Kay sat still once more. Then they
drove out of the town, and the snow began to fall so thickly that
the little boy could not see his hand before him, and on and on
they went. He quickly unfastened the cord to get loose from the
big sledge, but it was of no use; his little sledge hung on fast,
and it went on like the wind.

Then he cried out, but nobody heard him. He was dreadfully
frightened.

The snowflakes grew larger and larger till they looked like great
white birds. All at once they flew aside, the large sledge stood
still, and the figure who was driving stood up. The fur cloak
and cap were all of snow. It was a lady, tall and slim, and
glittering. It was the Snow-queen.

'We have come at a good rate,' she said; 'but you are almost
frozen. Creep in under my cloak.'

And she set him close to her in the sledge and drew the cloak
over him. He felt as though he were sinking into a snow-drift.

'Are you cold now?' she asked, and kissed his forehead. The kiss
was cold as ice and reached down to his heart, which was already
half a lump of ice.

'My sledge! Don't forget my sledge!' He thought of that first,
and it was fastened to one of the great white birds who flew
behind with the sledge on its back.

The Snow-queen kissed Kay again, and then he forgot all about
little Gerda, his grandmother, and everybody at home.

'Now I must not kiss you any more,' she said, 'or else I should
kiss you to death.'

Then away they flew over forests and lakes, over sea and land.
Round them whistled the cold wind, the wolves howled, and the
snow hissed; over them flew the black shrieking crows. But high
up the moon shone large and bright, and thus Kay passed the long
winter night. In the day he slept at the Snow-queen's feet.

But what happened to little Gerda when Kay did not come back?

What had become of him? Nobody knew. The other boys told how
they had seen him fasten his sledge on to a large one which had
driven out of the town gate.

Gerda cried a great deal. The winter was long and dark to her.

Then the spring came with warm sunshine. 'I will go and look for
Kay,' said Gerda.

So she went down to the river and got into a little boat that was
there. Presently the stream began to carry it away.

'Perhaps the river will take me to Kay,' thought Gerda. She
glided down, past trees and fields, till she came to a large
cherry garden, in which stood a little house with strange red and
blue windows and a straw roof. Before the door stood two wooden
soldiers, who were shouldering arms.

Gerda called to them, but they naturally did not answer. The
river carried the boat on to the land.

Gerda called out still louder, and there came out of the house a
very old woman. She leant upon a crutch, and she wore a large
sun-hat which was painted with the most beautiful flowers.

'You poor little girl!' said the old woman.

And then she stepped into the water, brought the boat in close
with her crutch, and lifted little Gerda out.

'And now come and tell me who you are, and how you came here,'
she said.

Then Gerda told her everything, and asked her if she had seen
Kay. But she said he had not passed that way yet, but he would
soon come.

She told Gerda not to be sad, and that she should stay with her
and take of the cherry trees and flowers, which were better than
any picture-bok, as they could each tell a story.

She then took Gerda's hand and led her into the little house and
shut the door.

The windows were very high, and the panes were red, blue, and
yellow, so that the light came through in curious colours. On
the table were the most delicious cherries, and the old woman let
Gerda eat as many as she liked, while she combed her hair with a
gold comb as she ate.

The beautiful sunny hair rippled and shone round the dear little
face, which was so soft and sweet. 'I have always longed to have
a dear little girl just like you, and you shall see how happy we
will be together.'

And as she combed Gerda's hair, Gerda thought less and less about
Kay, for the old woman was a witch, but not a wicked witch, for
she only enchanted now and then to amuse herself, and she did
want to keep little Gerda very much.

So she went into the garden and waved her stick over all the rose
bushes and blossoms and all; they sank down into the black earth,
and no one could see where they had been.

The old woman was afraid that if Gerda saw the roses she would
begin to think about her own, and then would remember Kay and run
away.

Then she led Gerda out into the garden. How glorious it was, and
what lovely scents filled the air! All the flowers you can think
of blossomed there all the year round.

Gerda jumped for joy and played there till the sun set behind the
tall cherry trees, and then she slept in a beautiful bed with red
silk pillows filled with violets, and she slept soundly and
dreamed as a queen does on her wedding day.

The next day she played again with the flowers in the warm
sunshine, and so many days passed by. Gerda knew every flower,
but although there were so many, it seemed to her as if one were
not there, though she could not remember which.

She was looking one day at the old woman's sun-hat which had hte
painted flowers on it, and there she saw a rose.

The witch had forgotten to make that vanish when she had made the
other roses disappear under the earth. it was so difficult to
think of everything.

'Why, there are no roses here!' cried Gerda,, and she hunted
amongst all the flowers, but not one was to be found. Then she
sat down and cried, but her tears fell just on the spot where a
rose bush had sunk, and when her warm tears watered the earth,
the bush came up in full bloom just as it had been before. Gerda
kissed the roses and thought of the lovely roses at home, and
with them came the thought of little Kay.

'Oh, what have I been doing!' said the little girl. 'I wanted to
look for Kay.'

She ran to the end of the garden. The gate was shut, but she
pushed against the rusty lock so that it came open.

She ran out with her little bare feet. No one came after her.
At last she could not run any longer, and she sat down on a large
stone. When she looked round she saw that the summer was over;
it was late autumn. It had not changed in the beautiful garden,
where were sunshine and flowers all the year round.

'Oh, dear, how late I have made myself!' said Gerda. 'It's
autumn already! I cannot rest!' And she sprang up to run on.

Oh, how tired and sore her little feet grew, and it became colder
and colder.

She had to rest again, and there on the snow in front of her was
a large crow.

It had been looking at her for some time, and it nodded its head
and said, 'Caw! caw! good day.' Then it asked the little girl
why she was alone in the world. She told the crow her story, and
asked if he had seen Kay.

The crow nodded very thoughtfully and said, 'It might be! It
might be!'

'What! Do you think you have?' cried the little girl, and she
almost squeezed the crow to death as she kissed him.

'Gently, gently!' said the crow. 'I think--I know I think--it
might be little Kay, but now he has forgotten you for the
princess!'

'Does he live with a princess?' asked Gerda.

'Yes, listen,' said the crow.

Then he told her all he knew.

'In the kingdom in which we are now sitting lives a princess who
is dreadfully clever. She has read all the newspapers in the
world and has forgotten them again. She is as clever as that.
The other day she came to the throne, and that is not so pleasant
as people think. Then she began to say, "Why should I not
marry?" But she wanted a husband who could answer when he was
spoken to, not one who would stand up stiffly and look
respectable--that would be too dull.

'When she told all the Court ladies, they were delighted. You
can believe every word I say,' said the crow, 'I have a tame
sweetheart in the palace, and she tells me everything.'

Of course his sweetheart was a crow.

'The newspapers came out next morning with a border of hearts
round it, and the princess's monogram on it, and inside you could
read that every good-looking young man might come into the palace
and speak to the princess, and whoever should speak loud enough
to be heard would be well fed and looked after, and the one who
spoke best should become the princess's husband. Indeed,' said
the crow, 'you can quite believe me. It is as true as that I am
sitting here.

'Young men came in streams, and there was such a crowding and a
mixing together! But nothing came of it on the first nor on the
second day. They could all speak quite well when they were in
the street, but as soon as they came inside the palace door, and
saw the guards in silver, and upstairs the footmen in gold, and
the great hall