Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen

by Hans Christian Andersen

  The emperor shuddered because he was afraid they were right, but he thought, “I have to finish the parade.” And the chamberlains walked on, carrying the train that wasn’t there.

  THUMBELINA

  ONCE UPON A TIME there was a woman who desperately wanted a little child, but she didn’t know where to get one. She went to an old witch and said to her, “I really want so badly to have a little child! Can you tell me where I can get one?”

  “Yes, I’m sure we can manage that!” the witch said. “Here’s a barley seed, but it’s not the kind that grows in a farmer’s field, or the kind that the chickens eat. Plant it in a flower pot, and you’ll really see something!”

  “Thanks so much!” the woman said and gave the witch twelve coins, went home, and planted the barley seed, and right away a beautiful big flower sprouted. It looked just like a tulip, but the petals were closed tightly together like a bud.

  “That’s a beautiful flower!” said the woman and kissed it on the pretty red and yellow petals, but just as she kissed it, the flower gave a huge bang and opened up. It was clear that it was a real tulip, but right in the middle of the flower, sitting on the green perch, was a tiny little girl, graceful and lovely. She was no bigger than your thumb, and so she was called Thumbelina.

  She had a splendid lacquered walnut shell for a cradle with a mattress of blue violet petals, and her blanket was a rose petal. She slept there at night, but during the day she played on the table where the woman had filled a saucer with water and put flowers all around the edge with their stems in the water. A large tulip petal floated on the water, and Thumbelina would sit on the petal and sail back and forth from one side of the saucer to the other. She had two white horse hairs for oars. It looked like fun. She could sing too, more beautifully than anyone had heard before.

  One night when she was lying in her pretty little bed, a nasty toad hopped in through the window, for one of the panes was broken. The toad was big, ugly, and wet, and it hopped right down on the table where Thumbelina was sleeping under the red rose petal.

  “That’ll be a lovely wife for my son,” said the toad, and then she grabbed the walnut shell where Thumbelina was sleeping and hopped away with her through the window and down into the garden.

  There was a big wide river there, but right by the bank it was muddy and boggy, and that is where the toad lived with her son. Ugh! He was ugly and nasty too and looked just like his mother. “Croak, croak, brekka krekka” was all he could say when he saw the lovely little girl in the walnut shell.

  “Don’t talk so loudly, or she’ll wake up,” said the old toad. “She could still run away from us because she’s as light as a feather. We’ll put her out on the river on one of the lily pads. It will be like an island for her since she’s so small, and she won’t be able to escape from there while we prepare the parlor down under the mud where you’ll live.”

  Many lily pads with wide green leaves were growing in the river. They looked like they were floating on top of the water, and the pad that was furthest out was also the biggest. The old toad swam out there and left the walnut shell with Thumbelina inside.

  The poor little thing woke up quite early in the morning, and when she saw where she was, she began crying bitterly. There was water on all sides of the big green leaf, and she could not get to land.

  The old toad was down in the mud decorating the parlor with rushes and yellow cowslips so it would be truly nice for her new daughter-in-law. Then she and her ugly son swam out to the lily pad where Thumbelina was standing because they wanted to get her pretty bed to set it up in the bridal chamber before the wedding. The old toad curtsied deeply in the water and said to her, “This is my son. He’s going to be your husband, and you’ll live so nicely together down in the mud!”

  “Croak, croak, brekka krekka” was all her son could say.

  Then they took the lovely little bed and swam away with it, but Thumbelina sat alone on the green lily pad and cried because she didn’t want to live with the nasty old toad, or have her ugly son for a husband. The little fish who were swimming in the water must have seen the toad and heard what she had said, and they wanted to see the little girl. They stuck their heads out of the water, and as soon as they saw her and saw how lovely she was, they thought it was terrible that she was going to be married to that nasty toad. No, that should never happen! They swarmed in the water around the green stalk that held the lily pad she was standing on and gnawed through the stalk with their teeth. Then the lily pad floated away down the river—away with Thumbelina, far away where the toad could not follow.

  Thumbelina sailed past many places, and the little birds sitting in the bushes saw her and sang, “What a lovely little girl!” Thumbelina on her leaf floated further and further away, and that is how she traveled out of the country.

  A beautiful little white butterfly flew around and around Thumbelina and finally sat down on the lily pad because it liked her. Thumbelina was so happy because the toad could not get her, and because they were sailing through such lovely country. The sun shone on the water like the finest gold. Then she took a sash she had around her waist and tied one end around the butterfly, and the other she connected to the lily pad. It started floating more quickly and Thumbelina too, of course, since she was on the leaf.

  Just then a big June bug came flying by. It saw her and immediately grabbed her around her slim waist and flew up in a tree with her. But the green lily pad floated away down the river and the butterfly too, since it was tied to the leaf and couldn’t get loose.

  Oh, dear God, how frightened poor Thumbelina was when the June bug flew up in the tree with her! But most of all she was sad about the beautiful white butterfly that she had tied to the lily pad. Since it couldn’t get loose, it would starve to death. But the June bug didn’t care about that. He sat with her on the largest, greenest leaf in the tree and gave her the sweetest flowers to eat and said that she was so beautiful, even though she didn’t look like a June bug in the least. Later all the June bugs who lived in the tree came to visit. They looked at Thumbelina, and the lady June bugs pulled on their antennas and said, “She doesn’t have more than two legs—that looks pitiful.” “She has no antennas!” said another. “She is so slim-waisted, yuck! She looks like a human. How ugly she is!” said all the female June bugs, yet Thumbelina really was so lovely. The June bug who had taken her thought she was, but when all the others said she was ugly, he finally thought so too and didn’t want her any longer. She could go where she pleased, and they flew down from the tree with her and set her on a daisy. She sat there crying because she was so ugly that the June bugs didn’t want her, even though she really was the loveliest thing you could imagine—so fine and clear as the most beautiful rose petal.

  Then she took a sash she had around her waist and tied one end around the butterfly.

  All through the summer poor Thumbelina lived alone in the forest. She braided herself a bed from blades of grass and hung the bed under a big dock leaf so that the rain wouldn’t fall on her. She plucked the nectar out of flowers to eat and drank the dew that gathered on the leaves each night. In this way the summer and autumn passed, but then winter came—the long, cold winter, and all the birds that had sung so nicely for her flew away. The trees and flowers withered, and the big dock leaf she had lived under rolled up and became a yellow, dried-up stalk. She froze terribly because her clothes were torn, and she herself was so little and thin. Poor Thumbelina! She would freeze to death. It started to snow, and every snowflake that fell on her would have felt like a whole shovelful on us since we are big and she was only an inch tall. She wrapped herself in a withered leaf, but that didn’t help, and she shook with the cold.

  Right outside the forest was a big corn field, but the corn was long since gone. Only a little dry stubble stood there on the frozen ground, but for her it was like walking through a whole forest. And oh, how she shivered! Then she came to the door of the field mouse—it was a little hole under the stubble of corn. The fi
eld mouse lived there warm and cozy. She had the whole living room full of corn and a nice kitchen and pantry. Poor Thumbelina stood right inside the door like any other poor beggar and asked for a little grain of barley because she hadn’t had anything to eat for two days.

  “You poor little thing!” said the field mouse, because she was actually a kind old mouse. “Come into my warm house and eat with me!”

  Because she liked Thumbelina the field mouse said, “you can stay here with me for the winter, but you’ll have to keep the room spick and span and tell me stories because I just love hearing stories.” Thumbelina did what the kind old field mouse asked, and she had it very nice there.

  “We’ll have company pretty soon now!” said the field mouse. “My neighbor visits me once a week. He’s better off than I am. He has big rooms in his house and wears a splendid black velvet coat! If you could get him for a husband, you’d be well taken care of, but he can’t see. You’ll have to tell him the very best stories you know!”

  But Thumbelina didn’t care for that. She didn’t want the neighbor for a husband because he was a mole, who came visiting in his big velvet coat. He was very rich and very well educated, the field mouse told her. His home was twenty times larger than the field mouse’s house, and he certainly knew a lot, but he couldn’t stand the sun or flowers. He spoke ill of them because he’d never seen them. Thumbelina had to sing for him, and she sang both “Three Blind Mice” and “The Farmer in the Dell,” and the mole fell in love with her because of her beautiful voice, but he didn’t say anything because he was such a slow and steady man.

  He had recently dug a long hallway through the ground between his house and theirs. Thumbelina and the field mouse were allowed to walk there whenever they wanted to, but he told them not to be afraid of the dead bird that lay in the hallway. It was a whole bird with feathers and a beak that had evidently died quite recently, just at the beginning of winter, and was buried exactly where the mole had dug his hallway.

  The mole took a piece of dry rotted wood in his mouth since it shines like fire in the dark and walked ahead of them lighting the long dark corridor. When they came to the place where the dead bird was lying, the mole pushed his broad nose up to the roof and shoved up the earth so a big hole appeared, and light could enter. A dead swallow lay in the middle of the floor with its lovely wings pulled tightly to its body, and the legs and head drawn in under the feathers. The poor bird had clearly frozen to death, and Thumbelina felt so sorry for it because she was very fond of all the small birds that had chirped and sung for her the whole summer. But the mole pushed at it with his small feet and said, “now it’s not chirping anymore! It must be miserable to be born as a little bird! Thank God that none of my children will be birds, for a bird has nothing but its twitter and starves to death in the winter.”

  “You’re a sensible man to say that,” said the field mouse. “What do the birds gain for their songs when winter comes? They starve and freeze as if there’s any value in that.”

  Thumbelina didn’t say anything, but when the other two turned their backs, she knelt down, brushed aside the feathers that covered its head, and kissed the closed eyes. “Maybe it was this one who sang so beautifully for me this summer,” she thought. “How much joy it gave me—the dear lovely bird!”

  The mole filled in the hole that allowed the light to shine through and escorted the ladies home, but that night Thumbelina couldn’t sleep. She got up from her bed, braided a little blanket from the hay, and carried it down to cover the dead bird. She put some soft cotton she had found in the field mouse’s living room around the bird so that it could be warm in the cold ground.

  “Good bye, lovely little bird,” she said. “Good bye and thank you for your beautiful song this summer when all the trees were green, and the sun shone so warmly on us.” Then she lay her head on the bird’s breast, but was immediately alarmed because there seemed to be something beating in there—it was the bird’s heart. The swallow was not dead, but had been out-cold, and now the heat had warmed it up and brought it back to life.

  In the fall all the swallows fly away to warmer countries, but if there’s one who is delayed, it freezes and falls as if dead and remains lying where it falls, covered by the cold snow.

  Thumbelina trembled. She was very frightened because the bird was big, so much bigger than she, who was only an inch tall. But she summoned her courage, pushed the cotton closer around the poor swallow, fetched a curled mint leaf that she had used as a comforter, and laid it over the bird’s head.

  The next night she sneaked down there again and saw that it was clearly alive, but still very weak. It only had the strength to open its eyes for a moment and look at Thumbelina, who held a piece of dried, rotted wood in her hand because she didn’t have any other light.

  “Thank you so much, you lovely little child,” the sick swallow said to her. “I’ve warmed up very nicely. Soon I’ll regain my strength and be able to fly again—out into the warm sunshine.”

  “Oh,” she said, “it’s so cold out. It’s snowing and freezing. Stay in your warm bed, and I’ll take care of you.”

  Then she brought the swallow water in a flower petal, and it drank and told her how it had torn its wing on a wild rose bush and couldn’t fly as well as the other swallows. They flew away, far away to warmer countries while it finally fell to the ground. It couldn’t remember anything else, or how it had gotten there.

  So it stayed there the whole winter, and Thumbelina treated it with affection and kindness, but neither the mole nor the field mouse knew anything about it because they didn’t like the poor little swallow.

  As soon as spring came, and the sun warmed the ground, the swallow said good bye to Thumbelina, who opened the hole that the mole had made. The sun shone in on them so delightfully, and the swallow asked if she would like to come along with him. She could sit on his back, and they would fly far, far away into the green forest. But Thumbelina knew that the old field mouse would be saddened if she were to leave her.

  “No! I can’t!” said Thumbelina.

  “Good bye, good bye! You lovely, good girl,” said the swallow and flew out into the sunshine. Thumbelina looked after it, and tears came to her eyes because she was so fond of the poor swallow.

  “Tweet, tweet” sang the bird and flew into the green forest.

  Thumbelina was very sad. She wasn’t allowed to go out into the warm sunshine. The corn sown in the field over the field mouse’s house grew so high up in the air that it was like a huge forest for the poor little girl, who was only an inch tall, of course.

  “This summer you will sew your trousseau,” the field mouse told her because the neighbor, the boring mole in the black velvet coat, had proposed. “You’re going to have all the comforts—both wool and linen to sit and lie upon—when you become the mole’s wife.”

  Thumbelina had to spin on the spindle, and the field mouse hired four spiders to spin and weave day and night. The mole visited every evening and always talked about the end of summer when the sun would not shine so warmly—it was actually burning the ground hard as a rock. When summer was over, the wedding with Thumbelina would take place, but she was not looking forward to that because she didn’t like the boring mole. Every morning when the sun came up and every evening when it set, she slipped out the door, and when the wind separated the tops of the corn tassels so that she could see the blue sky, she thought about how light and beautiful it was outside, and she wished so very much that she could see the dear swallow again, but it never came back. It must have been flying far away in the beautiful green forest.

  When fall came, Thumbelina had her trousseau ready.

  “The wedding will take place in four weeks,” the field mouse told her, but Thumbelina cried and said that she didn’t want the dull old mole.

  “Nonsense!” the field mouse said. “Don’t be obstinate, or I’ll bite you with my white tooth! After all, this is a fine husband you’re getting! Even the queen doesn’t have a velvet coat li
ke his. He’s well off and has both kitchen and cellar, and you can thank God that you’re getting him!”

  The wedding day came, and the mole had already come to get Thumbelina. She was to live with him, deep down under the ground, never to come out into the warm sunshine because he couldn’t tolerate that. The poor child was very sad because she had to say good bye to the lovely sun, which she had at least been able to see in the field mouse’s doorway.

  “Good bye, bright sun!” she said and raised her arms high up in the air. She also took a few steps out of the field mouse’s house because the corn had been harvested, and only the dry stubble remained. “Farewell, farewell,” she said and threw her thin arms around a little red flower standing there. “Greet the little swallow from me if you see it.”

  “Tweet, tweet,” she heard right above her head. She looked up, and there was the little swallow just flying by, and as soon as it saw Thumbelina, it was very happy. She told the swallow that she didn’t want to marry the ugly mole, and that she would have to live deep under the ground where the sun didn’t shine. She couldn’t help but cry at the thought.

  “Now the cold winter’s coming,” the swallow said. “I’m going to fly away to the warm countries. Would you like to come with me? You can sit on my back. Tie yourself on with your belt, and we’ll fly away from the ugly mole and his dark home. We’ll fly far away over the mountains to the warm countries, where the sun shines brighter than here, and where there’s always summer and lovely flowers. Just come with me, sweet little Thumbelina, who saved my life when I was lying frozen in the dark earth.”

  “Yes, I’ll come with you,” Thumbelina said and climbed up on the bird’s back with her feet on its outspread wings. She tied her belt to one of the strongest feathers, and then the swallow flew high up in the air over the forest and over the water and high up over the big mountains where there’s always snow. Thumbelina was shivering from the cold air, but then she crept in under the bird’s warm feathers, and only stuck her little head out so she could see all the delights below.