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

by Andersen, Hans Christian

  “Good day, Emperor,” he said. “Have you got any jobs in the castle?”

  “Yes,” replied the emperor, “we need someone who can look after the pigs, because we have so many.”

  So the prince was appointed the palace’s swineherd. He was given a tiny room next to the pigsty and all day long he sat and worked while he watched the pigs. By the evening he had finished making a little pot, which was covered in tiny bells. When the pot was boiled the bells rang and played an old song:

  “ON THE GRAVE OF THE PRINCE’S FATHER THERE GREW A ROSE BUSH”

  “Oh, my darling Augustine,

  All is lost, all is lost.”

  Even better than that, when the prince dipped his finger in the smoke that came from the pot he could smell what everyone was cooking.

  One day, the princess was walking past with her maids. When she heard the song she stopped and looked very pleased. She could play “Oh, my darling Augustine” on the piano, although it was the only song she knew.

  “That’s the song I play!” she cried. “He must be a very well-educated swineherd! Maid, go and ask the price of that instrument.”

  So one of the maids went and asked the swineherd.

  “How much do you want for the pot?” asked the maid.

  “I want ten kisses from the princess,” replied the swineherd.

  “Heaven save us!” exclaimed the maid.

  “Maid, what did he say?” asked the princess.

  “I don’t want to repeat it,” replied the maid.

  “Well, whisper it in my ear.” So the lady whispered it to her. “How rude!” declared the princess, and she turned and walked away. But after a few steps she heard the bells again:

  “Oh, my darling Augustine,

  All is lost, all is lost.”

  “Ask him if he will take ten kisses from my maids,” cried the princess.

  “Ten kisses from the princess, or I will keep my pot,” replied the swineherd.

  “How annoying!” cried the princess. “Only if my maids will stand around me so that no one can see.”

  So the maids stood around the princess and spread out their dresses so that no one could see her. The princess kissed the swineherd ten times and he gave her the pot.

  The princess was overjoyed. All evening and all the next day the pot was kept boiling and the princess knew what every house in the town was cooking. The ladies of the court danced with joy and clapped their hands.

  “We know who has soup and pancakes for dinner, and who has a quick dinner of pork cutlets; how interesting!”

  “That is interesting!” agreed the head maid.

  The swineherd made something new every day. One day, he made a special rattle. When it was swung, it could play every song written since the beginning of time.

  “That’s wonderful!” cried the princess as she walked past one day. “That’s the best song I’ve ever heard. Go and ask the swineherd what the instrument does, but tell him I won’t give him any more kisses.”

  So the maid asked the swineherd.

  “He wants a hundred more kisses,” she told the princess when she returned.

  “He’s mad!” exclaimed the princess, and she walked away. But after a few steps she stopped. “I must encourage the arts,” she thought. “I am the emperor’s daughter, after all!”

  “Tell him I’ll give him ten kisses, like last time, and he can have the rest from my maids,” said the princess.

  “We don’t want to kiss the swineherd!” cried the maids.

  “Don’t be silly. If I can kiss him, you can. Don’t forget that I put a roof over your heads and pay you all well.”

  So the maids asked the swineherd again.

  “A hundred kisses from the princess,” he said, “or I’ll keep the rattle.”

  “Fine,” said the princess, “but only if my maids stand around me so that no one can see.” So the maids gathered round while she kissed the swineherd.

  “What is that crowd down by the pigsty?” asked the emperor as he looked out of the window. He stepped out onto his balcony, rubbed his eyes and put on his glasses. “What are the maids doing playing games when they should be watching the princess? I’ll have to go down and talk to them.”

  The emperor hurried down to the pigsty. When he got near he crept up close to the maids so they would not hear him coming. The maids were too busy counting the kisses to notice the emperor. The emperor stood on tiptoes.

  “What’s that?” he cried when he saw that the princess was kissing the swineherd. He hit them both on the head with his slipper as they were about to reach the sixty-eighth kiss.

  “Be gone!” he cried. He was very angry!

  The princess and the swineherd were banished from the castle. The princess stood and cried, and then it started to rain.

  “Oh, poor me!” cried the princess. “If only I had married the handsome prince this would never have happened! I’m so miserable!”

  The swineherd hid behind a tree and took off his disguise. Then he stepped out dressed in his princely robes. He looked so handsome that the princess bowed before him.

  “You are a foolish girl,” he said. “You wouldn’t marry me, even though I am an honest prince. You didn’t value the beautiful rose or the splendid nightingale, but for a silly toy you kissed the swineherd. You have got what you deserve.”

  Then the prince returned to his kingdom and shut his castle door, and the princess was left standing alone outside singing:

  “Oh, my darling Augustine,

  All is lost, all is lost.”

  THE SNOW QUEEN

  There was once a magic mirror made by an evil goblin that made everything you saw in it look the other way round. If it was a good thing you saw, it seemed bad and ugly; but if it was nasty it looked good and cheerful. Everyone who visited the school he kept declared that a wonderful thing had been made. One day it shattered into millions of tiny pieces that flew into the air and were scattered hither and thither. If one of the slivers blew into someone’s eye it stuck there, making everything look horrid. Worse still, if it got into the heart it made everything cold and unpleasant.

  A little girl called Gerda and a little boy called Kay lived next door to each other. They were inseparable friends and played together every day. In summer they played in the garden under the roses that hung down from the window boxes. In winter, they played indoors, listening to the stories Kay’s grandmother told, or peering through the frosty windows and watching the snowflakes swirling around.

  “The snowflakes are like white bees,” said grandmother. “The queen bee flies in the middle of the swarm, and at night she peeps in at the windows and covers them with frozen flowers.”

  At bedtime that evening, Kay was peering through the window to watch the snow when one big flake landed on the edge of a flower box. It seemed to grow bigger and bigger, slowly changing into a beautiful, ice-white woman. She wore robes that seemed to be made of millions of icy stars and her eyes glittered. She smiled and waved at Kay. Behind her flew big white birds, but he was frightened and drew the curtains.

  By the time summer returned, Kay had forgotten about the strange ice-woman. He and Gerda once more spent the long, warm days playing together under the roses. One day Gerda made up a little song and sang it to Kay:

  “The roses bloom for just one hour, then die;

  but go on living evermore, on high!”

  The two children were humming the song together and looking up at the bright sky when suddenly Kay cried out, “Ow! Something has flown into my eye! Something is stinging my heart!” How could he know that these were tiny slivers of glass from the shattered magic mirror that had stuck in his eye and in his heart? Gerda tried to help but he shouted at her, “You look ugly!” and kicked the flowers saying, “Look at the wormhole in that rose, and at that twisted one! What nasty flowers!”

  Then he pulled off two rose-heads and ran away. He couldn’t help himself. It was the glass in his eye and his heart that made him behave like thi
s. Winter returned, and one day he and Gerda found a magnifying-glass and looked at snowflakes through it. Kay was entranced by their perfect shapes and thought they were prettier than any flower. He took his sledge and went out to play with the boys in the town square. They were tying their sledges to passing carts to be pulled along, so when Kay saw a big white sleigh passing slowly he tied his sledge behind it. Soon he was having great fun sliding along the snowy streets. But the big white sleigh went faster and faster and didn’t stop. On and on it drove, out through the town gate and into the countryside. The sleigh-driver turned and looked at him and the cold look made Kay sit still.

  “THOSE WHO VISITED THE GOBLIN SCHOOL DECLARED EVERYWHERE THAT A WONDER HAD BEEN WROUGHT”

  It began to snow harder and harder, yet still the sleigh sped onwards. The snowflakes grew so large they looked like the big white birds Kay had seen that night through his window. He screamed at the top of his voice and tried to untie his sledge, but nobody heard him. He was so frightened that he tried to say his prayers but all he could remember were his multiplication tables from school.

  Suddenly the great white sleigh stopped and the driver stepped down. Kay recognised the dazzling whiteness of the tall and slender lady he had seen through his window. It was the Snow Queen.

  “If you don’t wish to freeze, dear Kay, come under my bearskin,” she said. She wrapped the skin round him and it was like sinking into a snow-drift. When she kissed his forehead it seemed like a dagger in his half-frozen heart, but he was no longer cold. She kissed him again and all memory of Gerda and his grandmother vanished.

  “No more kisses,” said the Snow Queen, “or I shall kiss you to death.”

  They flew high above the black storm clouds, over forests and lakes, across the sea and foreign lands. Below them the cold wind blew, wolves howled, and black, cawing crows hovered. Above them shone the bright, clear moon.

  When Kay didn’t return, Gerda cried bitterly. People thought he had fallen through the ice on the river and drowned. One spring morning Gerda put on her new red shoes and set off to find him.

  “Give Kay back and you can have my new red shoes,” she said to the river. She threw them into the water, but they floated back to the bank. Gerda climbed into a little boat and threw them further, and the boat began to float away. The sparrows followed, singing, “Here we are!” and the red shoes bobbed along behind. “Perhaps the river will carry me to Kay,” thought Gerda.

  A very old woman came and said, “How did you manage to come on the great rolling river?” As she helped Gerda out of the boat she said, “Tell me who you are and how you got here?”

  Gerda told her story and asked if the old woman had seen Kay, but she shook her head. Inside, the coloured windows made a strange rainbow of light in the room. The old woman gave Gerda a bowl of delicious ripe cherries to eat and combed her hair with a golden comb, which made her forget all about Kay.

  “I have always longed for a little girl to come and live with me,” said the old woman.

  The old woman was a witch, but a kind one, and let Gerda play in her pretty garden. That night, Gerda slept on soft, silk pillows stuffed with violets, which gave her wonderful dreams. The old woman had used her magic to remove all the roses from her garden in case they reminded Gerda of Kay, but she forgot to take a rose from her hat. Gerda noticed it.

  “Why are there no roses in the garden?” she said, and began to cry. Her tears fell on a buried rose-tree that sprang to life and brought memories of Kay flooding back.

  “Is Kay dead?” Gerda asked the rose-tree.

  “No, I haven’t seen him underground,” it replied.

  Gerda went to the other flowers and asked them, “Do you know where Kay is?” But instead of answering, each flower told a different story. At last, Gerda was tired of listening to them and ran to the big, wooden gate. She ran barefoot into the wide world.

  “HOW DO YOU MANAGE TO COME ON THE GREAT ROLLING RIVER?”

  “I’ve stayed too long!” she said, looking around her. “It is autumn now. I must hurry.”

  It began to snow and Gerda’s feet were cold and sore from walking. She sat down to rest when, all of a sudden, a large crow hopped up.

  “Caw! Caw!” he said. “Where are you going to all alone?” Gerda told him her story and asked if he’d seen Kay.

  “I expect he is with the princess. He has probably forgotten you by now,” said the crow, flapping his wings and hopping from foot to foot.

  “What do you mean?” asked Gerda. “What princess?”

  “In the kingdom where we are now lives a very clever princess,” began the crow. “One day, she decided to find a handsome and intelligent husband. A proclamation was sent out, inviting every good-looking young man to come for an interview. Straight away, crowds of young men rushed to the palace but none were chosen on the first day, or the second. The trouble was, when they saw the beauty of the princess they became tongue-tied. All they did was repeat what she had just said!”

  “But when did Kay come?” asked Gerda.

  “On the third day,” replied the crow, “a boy came marching up to the palace. He had no horse or coach but carried a bag on his back.”

  “That must have been Kay!” cried Gerda. “But it was his sledge, not a bag.”

  “I heard the story from my sweetheart, who lives in the palace,” said the crow. “The boy walked past the bodyguard, through the gold and silver rooms and straight up to the throne. His boots were new and squeaky, but he didn’t mind. He marched straight up to the princess, who was sitting on a huge pearl.”

  “Kay had new boots!” said Gerda, “and is afraid of no one!”

  “My sweetheart, the palace crow, says the boy was polite and pleasant to the princess and so very clever! She soon realised that he had not come to impress her, but to see how much he liked her. They fell in love instantly and were married the next day.”

  “Oh, it must be Kay!” said Gerda. “Please take me to the palace!” she begged.

  “I can take you there, but it will be difficult to smuggle you inside. Let me first speak to my sweetheart. Wait here and I will return as soon as I can,” said the crow.

  Gerda waited all day until the crow returned.

  “Caw! Caw!” he said. “My sweetheart sends you her love, and asked me to bring you a present,” and he dropped a bread roll into her lap.

  It was dark when they got to the palace. Gerda’s heart was beating fast with excitement as the crow led her in through a back door. His sweetheart was waiting for them on a dark staircase lit by a small lamp.

  “Take the lamp, Miss,” said the palace crow, “I will go in front. No one will see us if we go this way.” And off they set down a dark corridor.

  “Somebody is behind us!” murmured Gerda, as whispering shadows of horses with flying manes danced on the walls.

  “They are only dreams,” said the crow, “carrying the prince and princess off to sleep.”

  At last they came into a magnificent bed-chamber. The walls were hung with rose-coloured satin and the ceiling was a canopy of crystal palm leaves. In the middle of the chamber, in two beds shaped like water lilies, lay the sleeping prince and princess. Gerda crept to the prince’s bed and softly called Kay’s name. The dreams went rushing from the chamber and the prince awoke – but Gerda could see that he was not Kay. She began to cry and wakened the princess, who asked what the matter was. Gerda told her story. When she finished, the prince and princess promised to help her and to reward the kind crows.

  “THE BOY WAS POLITE AND PLEASANT TO THE PRINCESS AND SO VERY CLEVER!”

  The prince climbed out of bed and insisted that Gerda spend the rest of the night there. As she drifted into sleep, the dreams came rustling and hissing back into the room. Gerda imagined she saw angels pulling a little sledge with Kay sitting on it. Next day, she was dressed in silk and velvet, a little fur muff and a pair of boots, and a golden coach took her on her journey.

  There were sweet cakes, fruit and gingerbr
ead-nuts for Gerda to eat as she travelled. The kind crows flew alongside her for the first few miles and then perched on a tree by the road, flapping their wings until the coach was out of sight. Soon the golden coach entered a dark forest. A band of robbers watched it and as it passed their hiding place they rushed out and seized the horses. They dragged Gerda out of the coach. “She looks as plump and juicy as a little lamb,” said an old robber woman clutching a glittering knife.

  “You mustn’t kill her,” said a robber-girl. “She must give me her muff and her pretty dress. Then she can play with me and sleep in my bed.” The little robber-girl turned to Gerda. “They won’t kill you unless I say so,” she said. “Are you a princess?” Gerda told her the story of her search for Kay and the robber-girl listened silently.

  At the robbers’ castle, Gerda was led into a big smoky hall with a fire burning on the stone floor. A large cauldron of soup was boiling over it, and rabbits were being roasted on spits. After they had eaten, the robber-girl took Gerda to a corner covered with straw and carpets.

  “Those are my wild doves,” she said, pointing to a cage. “They’d fly away if they weren’t locked up. And here is my dear old reindeer!” And she grabbed the poor reindeer by his antlers and dragged him towards Gerda.

  “I keep him tied up so that he can’t escape, and tickle his neck each night with my sharp knife, just to remind him that he is mine.”

  Gerda and the robber-girl lay down to sleep.

  “You must tell me your story again!” the robber-girl ordered, clutching her knife in one hand. But once she was asleep and snoring loudly, the wild doves cooed to Gerda, “We have seen Kay. He was in the Snow Queen’s sleigh when it flew over the forest. They were going to Lapland.”

  “Lapland is my home,” said the reindeer. “The Snow Queen flies there each summer.”

  Next morning Gerda told the robber-girl what the doves and the reindeer had said. The robber-girl thought for a moment. “Wait until noon when all the men have gone out hunting and my mother takes a nap. Then I will help you,” she said.