Pink Fairy Book

by Andrew Lang

  ‘ 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 8

  ‘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 set 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 to-morrow 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 9

  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.