Hans Christian Andersen's Fairy Tales: Twenty Tales Illustrated by Harry Clarke

by Andersen, Hans Christian

  “I shall wear my new clothes in the grand procession,” said the emperor. “I want all my people to see how splendidly I am dressed and what clever tailors I employ.”

  So the emperor mounted his horse and rode in splendour through the streets of the city while all the townspeople looked on and exclaimed, “What gorgeous new clothes! How well they fit the emperor! How perfectly they are cut!” Not one of them dared to admit that they saw nothing in case other people thought them stupid or unfit for their jobs.

  Then, all of a sudden, a little boy called out, “Look! The emperor’s got nothing on!”

  The crowd laughed, and the little boy’s father went very red.

  “He’s only a child,” he said. “Take no notice of him. Why, he hasn’t even started school yet.”

  But the little boy insisted, “The emperor’s got nothing on,” he said at the top of his voice. The crowd began to whisper among themselves.

  “What did he say?” asked those who hadn’t heard.

  “He said the emperor’s got nothing on,” the others replied.

  “Why, that’s just what I thought,” said some of the crowd.

  “The little boy’s right.”

  As word spread through the crowd people began laughing and calling out, “Look! The emperor’s in his birthday suit! He’s got nothing on at all!”

  When the emperor heard them he went very red. In his heart he knew they were right but he dared not show it.

  “I must go on pretending and carry on with the procession,” he thought. And his servants looked straight ahead and went on carrying the train that wasn’t there!

  THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER

  There were once twenty-five tin soldiers, all of whom were brothers because they had been made from the same tin spoon. Each soldier rested his musket on his shoulder and stared straight ahead. They wore the same red and blue uniform, and they all looked very smart. The first words they ever heard were “Tin soldiers!” and they were cried by a little boy as he took the lid off their box. He had been given the tin soldiers for his birthday. He clapped his hands with excitement and lined the soldiers up on the table. The soldiers were identical to each other, except for one; he was the last soldier to have been made and there had not been enough tin to finish him. All the other soldiers had two legs, but he only had one. Yet it is this soldier that became the most remarkable.

  On the table there were lots of other toys, but the most amazing of all was a castle made of cardboard. It had little windows looking into a great hall and in front of the castle were some trees and a round mirror that looked like a great lake. Wax swans swam on the lake, and their beautiful reflections could be seen swimming in the mirror glass. The castle was very pretty, but the prettiest part of all was a ballerina who stood at the castle door. She was made of paper and she wore a lace dress with a deep-blue ribbon over her shoulders. In the middle of the ribbon was a big tinsel rose. The ballerina had one leg lifted so high that the tin soldier could not see it, so he thought that she had one leg – just like him.

  “I wish I could marry her,” thought the soldier, “but she’s wealthy and lives in a grand castle. I only live in a box, and there are twenty-five of us in it. She couldn’t live with us, but I would like to get to know her better.”

  He lay down behind a match box on the table so that he could watch the ballerina, who could stand on one leg all day without losing her balance.

  That evening, the soldiers were put away in their box and everyone in the house went to bed. The rest of the toys started playing and the tin soldiers rattled against the lid of the box because they wanted to play too. The nutcracker did somersaults and there was so much noise that the canary woke up and started singing. The only two who were silent were the tin soldier and the ballerina. She stood very still on her dainty pointed toes and she looked so graceful that the tin soldier never turned his eyes away from her.

  The clock struck twelve and – bounce! The lid flew off the match box and out popped a goblin. It was a trick box like the kind used for playing practical jokes.

  “Tin soldier,” said the goblin, “don’t stare at things that are none of your business!”

  But the tin soldier pretended not to hear.

  “Just wait until tomorrow!” cried the goblin.

  In the morning, the children woke up and the tin soldier was put on the window sill. Maybe it was the goblin, or maybe it was just a draught, but suddenly the window flew open and the tin soldier fell out. It was a terrible fall. The tin soldier landed upside down with his helmet stuck between two paving stones.

  The little boy came to search for the tin soldier. He almost trod on him, but he did not even notice. The tin soldier could have shouted, “Here I am!” but he did not think it would be respectable while he was wearing his uniform.

  It began to rain and the drops fell heavier and heavier until a stream formed. When it had stopped raining, two little boys came along.

  “Look! A tin soldier! Let’s make a boat for him!” said one of the boys.

  The boys made a boat out of newspaper and put the tin soldier in it. He sailed down the gutter while the boys ran beside him clapping their hands. But the water was running very fast and the boat rocked from side to side so much that the tin soldier trembled. Yet he was a very brave soldier, so he kept his musket on his shoulder and carried on staring straight ahead.

  Suddenly, the boat sailed into a drain and everything went as dark as if the soldier were in his box.

  “Where am I?” he thought. “It’s the goblin’s fault! I wish the ballerina was here with me – it could be twice as dark and I wouldn’t be scared at all if she were by my side.”

  All of a sudden an enormous sewer rat appeared.

  “Where’s your passport?” snivelled the rat.

  The tin soldier stayed silent and held his musket tighter than ever. The boat sailed on, but the rat chased after it. He gnashed his teeth and ordered all the debris in the drain to block the boat’s path.

  “Stop him! Stop him! He hasn’t paid the toll – he hasn’t shown his passport!” cried the rat.

  The water flowed faster and faster and at last the tin soldier could see daylight, but then he heard a roaring noise that would frighten even the bravest soldier. Where the tunnel ended, the water flowed into a great canal. Going into that would be just as dangerous as being carried over a huge waterfall.

  The boat was so near to the canal that there was no way the soldier could stop it in time. He stood as straight as he could. He didn’t bat an eyelid as the boat whirled round and round three or four times until it was full of water and had begun to sink. The tin soldier was up to his neck in water. The boat sank deeper and deeper until the water was over his head. He thought of the pretty ballerina and he realised that he would never see her again. In his mind he heard the words, “Farewell, farewell, you brave warrior, for today you must die!”

  Then the boat broke in two and the tin soldier fell out. At that moment, he was swallowed by a giant fish.

  It was even darker in the fish’s body than it was in the drain tunnel, and it was also very narrow. Yet the brave tin soldier kept hold of his musket and did not move a muscle.

  The fish swam and swam, making the most wonderful movements, until all at once it was still. Suddenly, a flash of light like lightning shot through it and the tin soldier was in brilliant daylight.

  “The tin soldier!” cried a little boy.

  The fish had been caught, carried to market and taken home to be cooked, where it had been cut open. The boy grabbed the tin soldier and carried him into a room where everyone was anxious to see this brave and remarkable soldier that had travelled around inside a fish. The tin soldier was placed on a table and by a wonderful stroke of luck he saw that it was the same room he had been in before, with the same children and the same toys. And there, stood at the castle door was his beloved ballerina, still balancing so gracefully on one leg. “She is more remarkable than I could ever be!” he thought. The tin
soldier was almost weeping, but he held back his tears because he wanted the ballerina to see that he was brave. He looked at the ballerina and she looked at him, but they said nothing.

  Suddenly, one of the boys grabbed the tin soldier and threw him into the fire. He had no reason for doing it; perhaps it was the goblin’s work.

  The tin soldier stood in the flames, burning like a brilliant light. The heat was terrible, but he could not tell whether it came from the flame of the fire or the flame in his heart. The colours of his smart uniform dripped from him as the flames licked up. He looked at the ballerina and she looked at him. He could feel himself melting, but he stood tall and kept his musket on his shoulder. Then, a sudden gust of wind caught the ballerina in its grip. She flew up into the air like a feather and landed on the fire next to the tin soldier. She flashed up in a white flame and was gone, and then the tin soldier melted down into a lump of molten tin. But the next day, when the boy’s mother was clearing out the hearth, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. Next to it was the only thing left of the ballerina; a burned tinsel rose, which was as black as coal.

  WHAT THE OLD MAN DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT

  I will tell you a story which was told to me when I was a little boy. Every time I thought of the story, it seemed to get better; for this is how it goes with stories the older you become.

  Imagine a house in the country, with a thatched roof, a stork’s nest on the roof, low walls, a little pond with ducks and a guard dog who barks at all newcomers. There was an old man and his wife who lived in this house, with a horse that he used to go to town. His neighbours often borrowed the horse and gave some service in return. As he became older, the neighbours suggested that he sell the horse for something that might be useful to them. But what?

  “You’ll know that best, old man,” said the wife. “It’s nice weather today, so ride into town and get as much as you can for the horse, or exchange him for something else.”

  And so she fastened his scarf, brushed his hat with her hand and sent him off with a kiss and a wave. The old man rode off to sell the horse or to barter it for something else. He knew what to do.

  It was a hot day without a cloud in the sky. The road was very dusty, what with all the people heading for the market. There was no shelter anywhere from the hot sunbeams.

  Amongst the crowd, a man was trudging along, driving a cow to market. The cow was as beautiful a cow as the old man had ever seen, who thought to himself, “She gives good milk, I’m sure. That would be a good exchange – the horse for the cow.”

  “Hello there, you with the cow!” he said. “I tell you what – I reckon a horse costs more than a cow, but I’m not worried about that; a cow would be more useful to me. If you like, we’ll swap?”

  “To be sure, I will!” said the man, and they exchanged there and then.

  That could have been the end of it and the old man could have returned home, but he decided to press on to the market. As he led his new cow along, he overtook a man with a sheep. It was a good fat sheep, with a fine fleece on its back.

  “I think I’d like that sheep,” said the old man to himself. “He would find plenty of grass by the cottage and in the winter we could keep him in the room with us. He would be more practical than a cow.”

  “Hey, you with the sheep,” he said; “would you like to swap for my fine cow?”

  “That would be fine,” said the other man, so they exchanged there and then.

  Soon, the old man was on his way again, when he overtook another man, who had a great goose under his arm. He called to him, “That’s a heavy thing you have there. It has lots of feathers and plenty of fat and would look well tied to a string and paddling in the little pond at our place. My wife has so often said, ‘if only we had a goose!’ Perhaps you would like to exchange for this fine sheep?”

  The other man was delighted to swap and so the old man continued on his way with the goose under his arm.

  By this time, he was close to town. The crowd on the road had become bigger and bigger and there was a crush of men and cattle. There were so many people that they strayed into the garden of the man who kept the toll gate. In his garden was a chicken, tied up so that it wouldn’t run off into the crowd.

  The old man looked at the hen and decided that it was the finest he had ever seen. He thought to himself, “Why, that fowl is finer than the parson’s brood hen. Upon my word, I’d like to have that chicken and I think it would be a good exchange for my goose.”

  He caught the eye of the toll house keeper and asked, “Shall we exchange, my good man?”

  “That would be no bad thing!” replied the man.

  And so they exchanged and the old man decided to stop for a drink, as he was tired after all the walking. He was about to step into the inn, when the innkeeper came out with a sack.

  “What have you in your sack?” asked the old man.

  “Rotten apples,” replied the innkeeper. “Enough to feed the pigs for a while.”

  “Why, that’s a terrible waste,” said the old man. “Only last year, my wife was upset that our tree bore but a single apple. I should like to take your sackful of apples to show her.”

  “ ‘I LIKE THAT!’ EXCLAIMED BOTH THE ENGLISHMEN TOGETHER”

  “What will you give me for them?” asked the innkeeper.

  “I’ll give you this fine fowl in exchange,” said the old man.

  And so he handed over the chicken and took the sack of rotten apples.

  He walked into the inn and rested the sack beside the stove and went and found a table. But he had not realised that the stove was hot. There were many guests in the inn, including two Englishmen who were so rich that their pockets bulged with gold coins.

  After a while, there came a hissing sound from the stove. The apples were beginning to roast!

  “What’s that noise?” demanded one of the Englishmen.

  “Why, don’t you know...?” said the old man. And he began to tell the whole tale of how he had swapped his horse for a cow, and all the rest of it, right down to the rotten apples.

  After listening to his story, one of the Englishmen said, “Old man, your wife is going to give you a hard time when you get home! She will be furious with you!”

  “Oh no, how wrong you are!” replied the old man. “She will kiss me and say, ‘What the old man does is always right.’ ”

  “Shall we bet on it, old man?” said the Englishman. “We’ll wager a barrel of gold that she gives you a hard time!”

  “Done!” said the old man.

  With that, they took the innkeeper’s carriage back to the old man’s cottage.

  “Good evening, dear wife,” said the old man.

  “Good evening, old man,” she greeted him in return.

  “I’ve made the exchange,” he said.

  “Well you know what you’re doing,” said his wife.

  She took no notice of the strangers and neither did she notice the sack of rotten apples.

  “I got a cow in exchange for the horse,” explained the old man.

  “Heaven be thanked!” she replied. “What glorious milk we shall now have, and butter and cheese on the table. That was a good exchange.”

  “Yes, but I swapped the cow for a sheep, then the sheep for a goose. And after that I exchanged the goose for a fowl.”

  “My, you’re a clever man!” she said “That was a good exchange, for the chicken will lay eggs and soon we’ll have a yard-full!”

  “Yes, but then I swapped the hen for a sackful of shrivelled apples,” he explained.

  “What! I must kiss you for that,” exclaimed his wife. “My dear husband, I asked to borrow some herbs from our neighbour this evening. She’s a mean woman and said that nothing grows in her garden, not even a shrivelled apple. But now I could give her a sackful!” And with that she gave him a big hug and a huge kiss!

  The two Englishmen laughed to see such joy, “I like that!” they exclaimed together. “Always going downhill and always so merry! Th
at’s got to be worth the money!”

  So they paid a barrel of gold to the old peasant, who was never scolded but always kissed.

  And now you see, that is my story. I heard it when I was a child and now you have heard it too!

  THE STORKS

  On the roof of a house, in a little village, there was a stork’s nest. The mother stork sat in the nest with her four young storks, which stretched out their pointy black beaks. Nearby, the father stork stood very still and upright. He was all alone on the ridge of the roof, keeping guard over the nest. He looked very grand standing there on one leg, and he was so still that he could have been a wooden statue. “I have to look very posh so that people will think my wife is important enough to have her own security guard,” he thought.

  In the street below, a group of children were playing. When they saw the stork’s nest one of the loudest boys started to sing an old song. The others joined in, but they could not remember all of it:

  “Stork, Stork, flay away;

  Don’t stand on one leg today.

  Your wife is in the nest,

  Where she rocks your children to rest.

  The first will be hanged,

  The second will be hit,

  The third will be shot,

  And the fourth roasted on the spit.”

  “Listen to what they’re singing!” said the young storks.

  “They’re saying we’ll be hanged and killed!”

  “Don’t listen to them!” said the mother stork. “Don’t listen and then you won’t worry.”

  But the boys carried on singing and mocking the storks. All except a boy called Peter, who said that it was cruel to mock animals and refused to join in.

  The mother stork comforted her young. “Don’t let it worry you,” she said. “See how brave and still your father is standing – and he’s only standing on one leg.”