The Complete Fairy Tales and Stories

by Hans Christian Andersen

  “No Amazon ever

  A stocking did knit.”

  And a verse from a sweet song that an old maid, who had taken care of him when he was small, had sung:

  “So many a rock and reef

  Has the sea so wild.

  So many tears and grief

  Await the innocent child.”

  He played a tune to which he had danced at his first ball: a minuet. The soft, sad melody brought tears to his eyes. He played a march, then a psalm, and again a gay little song. Bubble after bubble, just like the ones he had blown from the soapsuds when he was a little boy.

  His glance was turned toward the window. The clouds parted, and in the clear sky he saw the comet: its brilliant center and its long shining foggy tail. It was as if it were only yesterday he had seen it. It had not changed and yet a whole long life had passed. Then he had read the future in the bubbles, as now the past was mirrored in them. He stopped playing. His hands were resting on the keys. It sounded as if a string had broken in the piano.

  “Come out! Come and see the comet!” his neighbors called. “The sky is clear, come and see it!”

  The old schoolmaster did not answer; his soul had left and followed now its own course, through an even greater space than the other comet traveled.

  The comet was seen by the rich from their balconies, the poor from the streets, and by the lonely traveler wandering across the pathless heath. The schoolmaster’s soul was only seen by God and by those among the dead he had loved and longed for.

  142

  The Days of the Week

  The days of the week wanted to have some time off so they could hold a party. They were so busy the whole year round, and they were never free, all at the same time; but every fourth year is leap year, when an extra day is added to February, to keep accounts straight.

  On this day they would have their party, and since it was in February, when Mardi Gras is, they decided to have a masquerade. They were to dress themselves according to whim and taste. They would eat well, drink well, and in a spirit of comradeship give speeches in which they told each other the truth, both pleasant and unpleasant. The old Vikings used to throw at each other bones that they had gnawed on; the days of the week would throw jests and jokes in an innocent carnival mood.

  The twenty-ninth of February arrived and so did the days of the week.

  Sunday, who is chairman of the week, came dressed in a black suit with a silk cape. Pious human beings believed he was dressed for church, but the worldly ones knew that he was dressed as a domino and ready for a masquerade. The red carnation he wore in his buttonhole was the red lamp that sometimes is lit outside the theater and shouts: “Everything sold out. Have fun, have fun!”

  Monday was a young man, closely related to Sunday, and fond of diversions. He always left his work if there was a parade in the street. “I must hear the music of Offenbach,” he exclaimed. “It does not affect my brain or my heart, it goes directly into my legs and then I must dance. I had a little too much to drink last night, and my right eye is swollen from a fight, but after a night’s sleep I will be ready to work. Remember that I am young!”

  Tuesday is strong, the day of the bull, of work. “Yes, I am strong!” Tuesday agreed. “I am used to work. It is I who ties the wings of Mercury to the merchant’s boots. I look into the factories to make sure that the wheels are oiled and the machines are working. I watch the tailor at his table and the joiner at his lathe. I keep an eye on everyone, that is why I am dressed in a policeman’s uniform. You might call me Policeday.” That was meant as a joke, but then policemen are seldom very good at joking.

  “Here am I!” said Wednesday. “I am in the middle of the week, the Germans call me Herr Mittwoch. I am the salesman in the store, the flower standing in the middle of all the other honorable days. If we marched in a row, I would have three days in front and three behind me; the others would be my guard of honor. I am sure I am the most important day in the week.”

  Thursday came dressed as a coppersmith, with a kettle in one hand and a hammer in the other; they were the symbols of his nobility. “I am of the most noble descent,” he claimed, “from the heathen gods. In the northern countries I am named after the god Thor, and in the south after Jupiter. Both of them were masters of lightning and thunder, and I am their heir.” And then he hit the copper kettle with the hammer.

  Friday was a girl. She called herself Freya, or sometimes Venus, depending upon the country she was in. She was quiet and gentle, according to herself. But this particular day she was dressed in her best and looking very gay, for it is the day when women are free. They can even propose, if they want to, such is the tradition on that day, they don’t have to sit and wait for a suitor.

  Saturday was dressed as an old housekeeper; she had a broom in one hand and a bucket in the other. Her favorite dish was gruel. She didn’t demand that the others eat it, just that it be served for herself, and it was.

  All the days of the week sat down at the table. I have made a drawing of it. It could be used as an idea for a pantomime, and how amusing it will be depends upon how well you perform it. I have only written it as a February jest, for the only month that sometimes receives an extra day.

  143

  The Sunshine’s Story

  “Now I want to talk,” said the wind.

  “No, permit me,” interrupted the rain. “It must be my turn now, you have been standing whistling at the street corner long enough.”

  “That is the thanks one gets,” grumbled the wind, “for breaking all the umbrellas I could, and all for your sake. No wonder people don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

  “I will tell a story,” said the sunshine. “Be quiet, both of you.”

  And that was said in such a firm majestic tone that the wind dropped to the ground. The rain shook it, but the wind lay perfectly still even though the rain whispered in its ear, “Why should we stand for it? She is always interrupting, that Madame Sunshine. Let us not listen to her, it is not worth our while.”

  This is the story that the sunshine told:

  “A swan flew over the ocean. Its plumage shone like the purest gold. One of its feathers fell down on a great merchant ship that was sailing by, with its tall mast and its white sails unfurled. It landed in the curly hair of a young man who was in charge of the wares on board—‘supercargo’ the seamen called him. The feather from the bird of luck touched his forehead and became a pen. He soon was a wealthy merchant who could change gold into a shield of nobility,” said the sunshine. “I have reflected myself in that shield.

  “The swan flew over the green meadows, where a little boy, seven years old, was herding sheep. He lay down to rest in the shade of an old tree. The swan kissed one of the leaves of the tree, and that leaf fell down beside the sleeping boy. The one leaf became ten and then a book, in which the boy read and studied about the wonders of nature and our language, of the difference between faith and knowledge. At night he kept the book under his pillow, in order not to forget what he had read. That book led him to school, to the seat of learning. I have read his name among the great scholars,” said the sunshine.

  “The swan flew over the lonely forests—where the wild apple trees bend their branches toward the earth and the wood pigeon and the cuckoo live. There the bird rested on one of the deep lakes in which water lilies bloom.

  “A poor woman was out collecting wood for her stove. She carried a great bundle of branches on her back; in her arms she had her little child. She was on her way home when she saw the golden swan—the bird of fortune—fly up from its resting place among the reeds, and she heard the heavy wings’ beat. She saw something shiny. What was it? A golden egg! She picked it up and put it in her bodice. Was there something alive within it? She was not sure; maybe it was only her own heartbeat she felt.

  “When she arrived at her hovel she took out the egg. ‘Tick … tick …’ it said, as if it were a golden watch. But it was an egg with a living creature inside it. The egg brok
e and a little swan—a golden cygnet—stuck out its head. Its feathers shone like the purest gold, and around its neck it carried four rings. The woman had four children, four boys; eagerly she took the rings, for she understood that they were meant for her sons. The little golden bird spread its wings and flew away.

  “She kissed all the rings and ordered each of her sons to kiss his ring as she put it on his finger.… It is all true, and I know what became of them,” said the sunshine.

  “One of the boys ran to the clay pits and, taking the damp clay in his hand, he formed it into a statue of Jason with the golden fleece. Another ran to the meadows, where the flowers grew that had all the colors that Nature knows. He picked them and held them so tightly that he crushed them in his hands. Their juices wet the ring and sprayed in his eyes. A thousand pictures were in his mind and his hands. Years later they talked in the capital of this great painter.

  “The third boy stuck the ring into his mouth and from it came music: echoes from the heart’s sounding board that could fly like swans. Singing, they dipped into the deep lake that is the source of thought. He became a great master of music, and now every country claims him as her own.

  “The fourth and youngest was the scapegoat. He was the one who had been in the lonely forest with his mother when she found the golden egg. People sometimes ran after him shouting: ‘You have the pip, and ought to be treated with pepper and butter just as sick chickens are!’ And it wasn’t meant kindly; and pepper and butter he got. But from me,” the sunshine said, “he received sun kisses: ten for every one that I gave everyone else. He was a poet, and therefore he was both kissed and beaten. Still he possessed the ring of good fortune given him by the bird of luck, the golden swan. His thoughts flew like golden butterflies, and the butterfly is the symbol of immortality.”

  “That was a very long story,” said the wind.

  “And a boring one,” said the rain. Then he turned to the wind. “Blow on me, please; I feel faint.”

  And the wind began to blow but the sunshine kept on telling its story! “The golden swan flew over the great bay where the fishermen had cast their nets. The poorest of them was dreaming of marrying, and though he couldn’t afford it, he married. To him the swan brought a piece of amber, for amber attracts happiness to a house. Amber is the most beautiful incense; from it comes the smell of God’s great church: Nature. It brings contentment to the home and a whole life of sunshine.”

  “You must shut up!” said the wind. “Now you have talked a long time, and I have been bored every minute of it.”

  “Me too,” said the rain.

  What should the rest of us say: we who have listened to the stories?

  We say: “That was all.… The end.”

  144

  Great-Grandfather

  Great-grandfather was such a kind and intelligent old man, we all admired him. As far back as I could remember he had always been called Grandfather, but then my older brother Frederik had a son, and Grandfather was promoted to Great-grandfather. It was the highest position he would ever reach. He loved us all, but not the age we live in. “Old times were good times,” he would say. “Life was more leisurely and you knew what to expect. Now everything has to move so fast—at a gallop—and values have been turned upside down. The young act as if they were masters and even speak to the king as if they were his equal. Anyone can dip a rag in the gutter of the street and wring it over the head of a decent citizen.”

  When Great-grandfather spoke like that, his face would grow red with anger, but a moment later he would smile again and say kindly, “Maybe I am mistaken. I stand in an earlier age and cannot get a foothold in the new. May God lead and direct it.”

  When Great-grandfather told about olden times, I felt as if I were almost there. In my imagination I drove in a golden carriage with footmen. I saw the guilds’ parades with banners and music, when the guild signs were moved to a new hall; and I attended the pre-Christmas celebrations, and played forfeits and acted in pantomimes. In those times also many terrible things took place. Not only could a man have his head cut off but that head was put on a stake for all to see. Yet the horror of a bygone age has an attraction, and it did inspire some people to do beautiful deeds. Great-grandfather told me how the noblemen gave the peasants their freedom and a Danish crown prince put a stop to the slave trade.

  It was wonderful to hear Great-grandfather tell about all this and about his youth, but the age just before he was born had been even better. Then there had been men of character and strength.

  “It was a brutal age. Thank God that it is past,” said my brother Frederik to Great-grandfather. It wasn’t nice to say that right to Great-grandfather’s face, yet I had a great deal of respect for Frederik. He was the oldest of my brothers and old enough to be my father, as he always remarked himself. He had graduated from high school with the highest grades in his class and was already so respected by my father that he talked about taking him into the business. No one was closer to Great-grandfather than Frederik was, even though the two of them always argued. They will never understand each other, the rest of the family said; but I knew—although I was still a child—that they could hardly get along without each other.

  Great-grandfather loved to listen to Frederik when he told about the latest scientific advancement; those discoveries of the secrets of nature, which are the strange and wonderful part of our times.

  “Human beings are getting cleverer, but not better,” Great-grandfather said. “They are using their knowledge to invent the most horrible ways of destroying one another.”

  “Then the wars are over all the more quickly,” Frederik retorted, and shrugged his shoulders. “One does not have to wait seven years for peace. The world is overpopulated, a little bloodletting is good for it.”

  One day Frederik told him about something that had really taken place in one small town. The great clock in the tower of the town hall had kept time for the whole town. That the clock didn’t keep perfect time mattered little as long as everyone agreed that it did. But along came the railroad, and that passed through other towns and connected this particular town with the great countries of Europe. Now one had to know the exact time, for the train had to be on schedule, so the railroad station got its own clock, which kept accurate time. Soon all the citizens set their watches according to the railroad clock and not the one in the tower of the town hall.

  I laughed and thought it a good story, but Great-grandfather did not laugh, he looked very serious.

  “There is a moral in what you have told and I have not grown so old that I do not understand it,” he said. “And I know why you told it to me. But your little story has made me remember the old grandfather clock that stood in my parents’ home when I was a child. With its simple lead weights, it was the measurer of our time. It was not very exact, but it worked. We looked at the hands and accepted their message as true; the machinery inside we did not give much thought to. So it was with the great clock of state: with confidence we looked at its hands and believed they told the true time. Now the machinery of the state has become a clock made of glass. We can look into it and see whether the many little wheels are turning, and we begin to fear that this wheel or that one may suddenly stop and then how shall we know the time? We have lost the faith we had in our childhood; that is the weakness of the new age!”

  As Great-grandfather talked, he grew angrier. He and Frederik would never agree, and yet they couldn’t be separated, just as the past and the present cannot be. This they realized—as did the rest of the family—when Frederik had to travel. He was going far away: to America. It was a business trip that he had to make. It was a sad parting for Great-grandfather; America is on the other side of the world.

  “You shall have a letter from me every fortnight,” Frederik said to console the old man. “And even quicker than that you can hear from me over the wires of the telegraph, for that changes days to hours and hours to minutes.”

  And from Frederik a telegram came, a greet
ing before he went on board the ship in England. It came faster than a letter would have even if the drifting clouds had been the mailman. When he arrived in America, we at home knew about it only hours later.

  “That was a divine thought that God granted us,” Great-grandfather said. “That is a real blessing for humanity.”

  “It was here in Denmark that a man first recognized nature’s power and told the world about it. Frederik told me so himself.”

  Great-grandfather laughed and kissed me. “Yes, that was true,” he said. “I have met the man who first saw and understood magnetism and electricity. He had the kindest expression in his eyes. They were the eyes of a child, like yours. I shook hands with him.” And then Great-grandfather gave me another kiss.

  Several months went by, and then Frederik wrote that he had become engaged to a young girl of whom he was sure the whole family would approve. Her photograph was in the letter. It was studied by all of us, both with the naked eye and with a magnifying glass. And that is the most marvelous thing about a photograph: it can bear being looked at closely. Yes, you might even say that likeness is more striking then, and that is more than can be said for a painting, even by the greatest artist.

  “If one only had had that invention in the old times, then we could meet face to face all the great and good men who lived before us,” said Great-grandfather. “What a sweet face the girl has. I shall recognize her as soon as she steps into the room.”