“My dear,” said the field-mouse one day after the mole had paid her a
visit, “the mole has asked me to give you to him for his wife. You are
very fortunate, a poor child like you. You must be ready to marry him as
soon as possible. Set to work at once on your wedding-dress.”
So Thumbelina had to turn the spindle to make herself not only a
wedding-dress but plenty of wool and linen, for the field-mouse said
she would not have her go to the mole empty-handed, as if she were a
beggar-girl. And the mole himself hired four spiders to weave her a
beautiful cobweb veil. And every evening he paid her a visit, and said
they must be married as soon as the summer was over.
Poor Thumbelina did not know what to do. She did not wish to marry the
mole, and live under the ground, where the sun never shone. The first
thing every morning and the last every evening, she crept outdoors, and
when the wind blew the corn leaves apart, she looked up at the sky and
wished the swallow would come to her. But he did not.
When autumn came, Thumbelina had everything ready.
“Only four weeks more for the wedding,” cried the mole.
But when he had gone home Thumbelina wept and said she could not marry
the ugly mole, who talked about nothing but himself.
“Nonsense!” said the field-mouse, “don’t be obstinate, or I’ll bite you
with my sharp teeth. The Queen herself has not such black velvet fur. And
his kitchen and cellar are full. Be thankful for your good fortune.”
Well, the wedding day arrived. The mole, dressed in his best black
velvet, came to fetch Thumbelina to his house.
“Farewell, thou bright sun!” she cried, running out of the house a little
way. “Farewell,” she cried, twining her arms around a little red flower
still blooming there; “say farewell to the little swallow for me, if you
see him again.”
“Tweet-tweet! tweet-tweet!” suddenly sounded over her head. She looked
up; it was the little swallow, just flying by. He stopped when he saw
Thumbelina, he was so glad. And Thumbelina told him how she was to marry
the mole, and live deep under the earth, where the sun never shone. She
could not help weeping as she told of it.
“Come with me,” said the swallow, “I am on my way far off to the warm
countries. Sit on my back, and we will fly from the ugly mole and his
dark room. Only fly with me, you dear little Thumbelina, who were so good
to me when I lay frozen in the dark passage.”
“Yes,” cried Thumbelina, “I will go with you.” And she seated herself on
the bird’s back, and bound her girdle to one of his strongest feathers.
Then the swallow flew up into the air and away over forest and sea and
great high mountains, where the snow always lies, and on, on, on to the
beautiful warm countries.