Rough Ruddy. They lived in a snug cottage with their son Blackthorn and
their daughter Brownberry, and were thought great people, because they
kept the king’s sheep. Moreover, Fleecefold’s family were known to be
ancient; and Rough Ruddy boasted that she had the largest feet in all
the pastures. The shepherds held them in high respect, and it grew
still higher when the news spread that the king’s seventh son had been
sent to their cottage.
The king and queen had given him fourteen names, beginning with
Augustus--such being the fashion in the royal family; but the honest
country people could not remember so many, so they called him
Fairyfoot. At court it was not thought polite to speak of him at all.
They did not keep his birthday, and he was never sent for at Christmas,
because the queen and her ladies could not bear the sight. Once a year
the undermost scullion was sent to see how he did, with a bundle of his
next brother’s cast-off clothes; and, as the king grew old and cross,
it was said he had thoughts of disowning him.
So Fairyfoot grew in Fleecefold’s cottage. Perhaps the country air made
him fair and rosy--for all agreed that he would have been a handsome
boy but for his feet, with which nevertheless, he learned to walk, and
in time to run and to jump, thereby amazing everybody, for such doings
were not known among the children of Stumpinghame. The news of court,
however, travelled to the shepherds, and Fairyfoot was despised among
them. The old people thought him unlucky; the children refused to play
with him. Fleecefold was ashamed to have him in his cottage, but he
durst not disobey the king’s orders. Moreover, Blackthorn wore most of
the clothes brought by the scullion. At last, Rough Ruddy found out
that the sight of such horrid jumping would make her children vulgar;
and, as soon as he was old enough she sent Fairyfoot every day to watch
some sickly sheep that grazed on a wild, weedy pasture, near the forest.
Poor Fairyfoot was lying in the shadow of a mossy rock one warm
summer’s noon, with the sheep feeding round, when a robin, pursued by a
great hawk, flew into the old velvet cap which lay on the ground beside
him. Fairyfoot covered it up, and the hawk, frightened by his shout,
flew away.
“Now you may go, poor robin!” he said, opening the cap; but instead
of the bird, out sprang a little man dressed in russet-brown, and
looking as if he were a hundred years old. Fairyfoot could not speak
for astonishment, but the little man said:
“Thank you for your shelter, and be sure I will do as much for you.
Call on me if you are ever in trouble, my name is Robin Goodfellow;”
and darting off he was out of sight in an instant.
For days the boy wondered who that little man could be, but he told
nobody, for the little man’s feet were as small as his own, and it
was clear he would be no favorite in Stumpinghame. Fairyfoot kept
the story to himself, and at last midsummer came. That evening was a
feast among the shepherds. There were bonfires on the hills, and fun
in the villages. But Fairyfoot sat alone beside his sheepfold, for the
children of the village had refused to let him dance with them about
the bonfire, and he had never felt so lonely in all his life. But
remembering the little man, he plucked up spirit, and cried:
“Ho! Robin Goodfellow!”
“Here I am,” said a shrill voice at his elbow; and there stood the
little man himself.
“I am very lonely, and no one will play with me, because my feet are
not large enough,” said Fairyfoot.
“Come, then, and play with us,” said the little man. “We lead the
merriest lives in the world, and care for nobody’s feet; but there are
two things you must mind among us; first, do as you see the rest doing;
and, secondly, never speak of anything you may hear or see.”
“I will do that, and anything more you like,” said Fairyfoot; and the
little man, taking his hand, led him over the pasture into the forest,
and along a mossy path among old trees wreathed with ivy, till they
heard the sound of music, and came upon a meadow where the moon shone
as bright as day, and all the flowers of the year--snowdrops, violets,
primroses, and cowslips--bloomed together in the thick grass. There
was a crowd of little men and women, some clad in russet colour, but
far more in green, dancing round a little well as clear as crystal.
And under great rose-trees which grew here and there in the meadow,
companies were sitting round low tables covered with cups of milk and
dishes of honey. All the little people about the well cried:
“Welcome, welcome!” and everyone said: “Come and dance with me!” So
Fairyfoot was as happy as a prince, and drank milk and ate honey till
the moon was low in the sky, and then the little man took him by the
hand, and never stopped nor stayed till he was at his own bed of straw
in the cottage corner.
Next morning Fairyfoot was not tired for all his dancing. Nobody in the
cottage had missed him, and he went out with the sheep as usual; but
every night all that summer, when the shepherds were safe in bed, the
little man came and took him away to dance in the forest.
The wonder was that he was never tired nor sleepy, as people are apt
to be who dance all night; but before the summer was ended Fairyfoot
found out the reason. One night, when the moon was full, and the last
of the ripe corn rustling in the fields, Robin Goodfellow came for him
as usual, and away they went to the flowery green. The fun there was
high, but never in all his life did Fairyfoot find such hard work as to
keep pace with the company. Their feet seemed to move like lightning.
Fairyfoot did his best, for he never gave in easily; but at length, his
breath and strength being spent, the boy was glad to steal away and sit
down behind a mossy oak, where his eyes closed for very weariness. When
he awoke the dance was nearly over, but two little ladies clad in green
talked close behind him.
“What a beautiful boy!” said one of them. “He is worthy to be a king’s
son. Only see what handsome feet he has!”
“Yes,” said the other, with a laugh that sounded spiteful; “they are
just like the feet Princess Maybloom had before she washed them in the
Growing Well. Her father has sent far and wide throughout the whole
country searching for a doctor to make them small again, but nothing
in this world can do it except the water on the Fair Fountain. And only
the nightingales and I know where it is.”
“One would not care to let the like be known,” said the first little
lady. “But you will surely send word to the sweet princess--she was so
kind to our birds and butterflies, and danced so like one of ourselves!”
“Not I, indeed!” said the spiteful fairy. “Her old skinflint of a
father cut down the cedar which I loved best in the whole forest, and
made a chest of it to keep his money in; besides, I never liked the
princess--everybody praised her so. But come, we shall be too late for
the last dance.”
When they were gone, Fairyfoot could sleep no more with astonishment.
He did not wonder at the fairies admiring his feet, because their own
were much the same; but it amazed him that Princess Maybloom’s father
should be troubled at hers growing large. Moreover, he wished to see
that same princess and her country.
When Robin Goodfellow came to take him home as usual he durst not
let him know that he had overheard anything; but never was the boy so
unwilling to get up as on that morning, and all day he was so weary
that in the afternoon Fairyfoot fell asleep, with his head on a clump
of rushes. But it so happened that towards evening the old shepherd,
Fleecefold, thought he would see how things went on in the pastures.
The shepherd had a bad temper and a thick staff, and no sooner did he
catch sight of Fairyfoot sleeping, and his flock straying away, than he
shouted all the ill names he could remember, and woke up the boy who
jumped up and ran away. The shepherd ran after him as fast as his great
feet would allow. Fairyfoot, seeing no other shelter from Fleecefold’s
fury, fled into the forest, and never stopped nor stayed till he
reached the banks of a little stream.
Thinking it might lead him to the fairies’ dancing ground, he followed
that stream for many an hour, but it wound away into the heart of the
forest flowing through dells, falling over mossy rocks, and at last
leading Fairyfoot, when he was tired and the night had fallen, to
a grove of great rose-trees, with the moon shining on it as bright
as day, and thousands of nightingales singing in the branches. In
the midst of that grove was a clear spring, bordered with banks of
lilies, and Fairyfoot sat down by it to rest himself and listen. The
singing was so sweet he could have listened forever, but as he sat the
nightingales left off their songs, and began to talk together in the
silence of the night.
“What boy is that?” said one on a branch above him. “He cannot have
come from Stumpinghame with such small and handsome feet.”
“No, I’ll warrant you,” said another, “he has come from the west
country. How in the world did he find the way?”
“How simple you are!” said a third nightingale. “What had he to do but
follow the ground-ivy, which grows over height and hollow, bank and
bush, from the lowest gate of the king’s kitchen-garden to the root
of this rose-tree. He looks a wise boy, and I hope he will keep the
secret, or we shall have all the west country here, dabbling in our
fountain, and leaving us no rest to either talk or sing.”
Fairyfoot listened in great astonishment, but when the talk ceased and
the songs began, he thought it might be as well for him to follow the
ground-ivy, and see the Princess Maybloom, not to speak of getting rid
of Rough Ruddy, the sickly sheep, and the crusty old shepherd. It was
a long journey; but he went on, eating wild berries by day, sleeping
in the hollows of old trees by night, and never losing sight of the
ground-ivy, which led him to a great city, and to a low old-fashioned
gate of the king’s kitchen-garden, which was thought too mean for the
scullions, and had not been opened for seven years.
He climbed over, and walked through the garden, till a white fawn came
frisking by, and he heard a soft voice saying sorrowfully:
“Come back, come back, my fawn! I cannot run and play with you now, my
feet have grown so heavy”; and, looking round, he saw the loveliest
young princess in the world, dressed in snow-white, and wearing a
wreath of roses on her golden hair; but walking slowly, as the great
people did in Stumpinghame, for her feet were as large as the best of
them.
After her came six young ladies, dressed in white and walking slowly,
for they could not go before the princess; but Fairyfoot was amazed to
see that their feet were as small as his own. At once he guessed that
this must be the Princess Maybloom, and made her a bow, saying:
“Royal princess, I have heard of your trouble because your feet have
grown large; in my country that’s all the fashion. For seven years past
I have been wondering to no purpose what would make mine grow. But
I know of a certain fountain that will make yours smaller and finer
than ever they were, if the king, your father, will give you leave to
come with me. You may be accompanied by two of your maids that are
the least given to talking, and the most prudent officer in all the
king’s household; for it would grievously offend the fairies and the
nightingales to make that fountain known.”
When the princess heard this, she danced for joy in spite of her
large feet, and she and her six maids brought Fairyfoot before the
king and queen, where they sat in their palace hall, with all the
courtiers paying their morning compliments. At first the king would
not believe that there could be any use in this offer, because so many
great physicians had failed to give any relief. The courtiers laughed
Fairyfoot to scorn, and he wished himself safe in the forest again; but
the queen said:
“I pray your majesty to notice what fine feet this boy has. There
may be some truth in his story. For the sake of our only daughter,
I will choose two maids who talk the least of all our train, and my
chamberlain, who is the most discreet officer in our household. Let
them go with the princess. Who knows but our sorrow may be lessened?”
After some persuasion the king consented, though all his councillors
advised the contrary. So the two silent maids, the discreet
chamberlain, and her fawn, which would not stay behind, were sent with
the princess Maybloom, and they all set out after dinner. Fairyfoot
had hard work guiding them along the track of the ground-ivy; but at
last they reached the grove of rose-trees and the spring bordered with
lilies.
The chamberlain washed--and though his hair had been grey and his face
wrinkled, the young courtiers envied his beauty for years after. The
maids washed--and from that day they were esteemed the fairest in all
the palace. Lastly, the princess washed also--it could make her no
fairer, but the moment her feet touched the water they grew less, and
when she had washed and dried them three times, they were as small and
finely shaped as Fairyfoot’s own. There was great joy among them, but
the boy said sorrowfully:
“Oh! if there had been a well in the world to make my feet large, my
father and mother would not have cast me off, nor sent me to live among
the shepherds.”
“Cheer up!” said the Princess Maybloom. “If you want large feet, there
is a well in this forest that will do it. Last summer-time I came with
my father and his foresters to see a great cedar cut down, of which
he meant to make a money chest. While they were busy with the cedar,
I saw a bramble branch covered with berries. Some were ripe and some
were green, but it was the longest bramble that ever grew. For the
sake of the berries, I went on and on to its root, which grew near a
muddy-looking well, with banks of dark green moss, in the deepest part
of the forest. The day was warm and dry, and my feet were sore with the
rough ground, so I took off my scarlet shoes, and washed my feet in the
well; but as I washed they grew larger every minute, and nothing could
ever make them less again. I have seen the bramble this day; it is not
far off, and as you have shown me the Fair Fountain, I will show you
the Growing Well.”
Up rose Fairyfoot and Princess Maybloom, and went together till
they found the bramble, and came to where its root grew, near the
muddy-looking well, with banks of dark moss in the deepest dell of the
forest. Fairyfoot sat down to wash, but at that minute he heard a sound
of music, and knew it was the fairies going to their dancing ground.
“If my feet grow large,” said the boy to himself, “how shall I dance
with them?” So, rising quickly, he took the Princess Maybloom by the
hand. The fawn followed them; the maids and the chamberlain followed
it, and all followed the music through the forest. At last they came
to the flowery green. Robin Goodfellow welcomed the company for
Fairyfoot’s sake, and they danced from sunset till the grey morning,
and nobody was tired; but before the lark sang, Robin Goodfellow took
them all safe home, as he used to take Fairyfoot.
There was great joy that day in the palace because Princess Maybloom’s
feet were made small again. The king gave Fairyfoot all manner of fine
clothes and rich jewels; and when they heard his wonderful story,
he and the queen asked him to live with them and be their son. In
process of time Fairyfoot and Princess Maybloom were married, and
still live happily. When they go to visit at Stumpinghame, they always
wash their feet in the Growing Well, lest the royal family might think
them a disgrace, but when they come back, they make haste to the Fair
Fountain; and the fairies and the nightingales are great friends to
them, as well as the maids and the chamberlain, because they have told
nobody about it, and there is peace and quiet yet in the grove of
rose-trees. (Adapted.)
THE SNOW-QUEEN
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
FIRST STORY
_Which Treats of a Mirror and of the Splinters_
Now, then, let us begin. When we are at the end of the story, we shall
know more than we know now; but to begin:
Once upon a time there was a wicked Sprite, indeed, he was the most
mischievous of all sprites. One day he was in a very good humour,
for he had made a mirror with the power of causing all that was
good and beautiful, when it was reflected therein, to look poor and
mean; but that which was good for nothing and looked ugly, was shown
magnified and increased in ugliness. In this mirror the most beautiful
landscapes looked like boiled spinach, and the best persons were turned
into frights, or appeared to stand on their heads; their faces were
so distorted that they were not to be recognized; and if anyone had a
mole, you might be sure that it would be magnified and spread over both
nose and mouth.
“That’s glorious fun!” said the Sprite.
If a good thought passed through a man’s mind, then a grin was seen in
the mirror, and the Sprite laughed heartily at his clever discovery.
All the little sprites who went to his school--for he kept a
sprite-school--told one another that a miracle had happened; and that
now only, as they thought, it would be possible to see how the world
really looked. They ran about with the mirror; and at last there
was not a land or a person who was not represented distorted in the
mirror. So then they thought they would fly up to the sky, and have a
joke there. The higher they flew with the mirror, the more terribly
it grinned; they could hardly hold it fast. Higher and higher still
they flew, nearer and nearer to the stars, when suddenly, the mirror
shook so terribly with grinning that it flew out of their hands and
fell to the earth, where it was dashed in a hundred million and more
pieces. And now it worked much more evil than before; for some of these
pieces were hardly so large as a grain of sand, and they flew about in
a wide world, and when they got into people’s eyes, there they stayed;
and then people saw everything perverted, or only had an eye for that
which was evil. This happened because the very smallest bit had the
same power which the whole mirror had possessed. Some persons even got
a splinter in their hearts, and then it made one shudder, for their
hearts became like lumps of ice. Some of the broken pieces were so
large that they were used for window-panes, through which one could not
see one’s friends. Other pieces were put in spectacles; and that was a
sad affair when people put on their glasses to see well and rightly.
Then the wicked Sprite laughed till he almost choked, for all this
tickled his fancy. The fine splinters still flew about in the air: and
now we shall hear what happened next.
SECOND STORY
_A Little Boy and a Little Girl_
In a large town, where there are so many houses, and so many people,
that there is no room left for everybody to have a little garden, and
where, on this account, most persons are obliged to content themselves
with flowers in pots, there lived two little children, who had a garden
somewhat larger than a flower-pot. They were not brother and sister;
but they cared for each other as much as if they were. Their parents
lived exactly opposite. They inhabited two garrets; and where the roof
of the one house joined that of the other, and the gutter ran along the
extreme end of it, there was to each house a small window: one needed
only to step over the gutter to get from one window to the other.
The children’s parents had large wooden boxes there, in which
vegetables for the kitchen were planted, and little rose-trees,
besides; there was a rose in each box, and they grew splendidly. They
now thought of placing the boxes across the gutter, so that they nearly
reached from one window to the other, and looked just like two walls
of flowers. The tendrils of the peas hung down over the boxes, and the
rose-trees shot up long branches, twined around the windows, and then
bent toward each other: it was almost like a triumphal arch of foliage
and flowers. The boxes were very high, and the children knew that they
must not creep over them; so they often obtained permission to get out
of the windows to each other, and to sit on their little stools among
the roses, where they could play delightfully. In winter there was an
end of this pleasure. The windows were often frozen over; but then they
heated copper farthings on the stove, and laid the hot farthings on
the window-pane, and then they had a capital peep-hole, quite nicely
rounded; and out of each peeped a gentle, friendly eye--it was the
little boy and the little girl who were looking out. His name was Kay,
hers was Gerda. In summer, with one jump, they could get to each other;
but in winter they were obliged first to go down the long stairs, and
then up the long stairs again: and out-of-doors there was quite a
snow-storm.
“It is the white bees that are swarming,” said Kay’s old grandmother.
“Do the white bees choose a queen?” asked the little boy; for he knew
that the honey-bees always have one.
“Yes,” said the grandmother, “she flies where the swarm hangs in the
thickest clusters. She is the largest of all; and she can never remain
quietly on the earth, but goes up again into the black clouds. Many a
winter’s night she flies through the streets of the town, and peeps in
at the windows; and they then freeze in so wondrous a manner that they
look like flowers.”
“Yes, I have seen it,” said both the children; and so they knew that it
was true.
“Can the Snow-Queen come in?” said the little girl.
“Only let her come in!” said the little boy; “then I’d put her on the
stove, and she’d melt.”
And then his grandmother patted his head, and told him other stories.
In the evening, when little Kay was at home, and half undressed, he
climbed upon the chair by the window, and peeped out of the little
hole. A few snowflakes were falling, and one, the largest of all,
remained lying on the edge of a flower-pot. The flake of snow grew
larger and larger; and, at last, it was like a young lady, dressed in
the finest white gauze, made of a million little flakes, like stars.
She was so beautiful and delicate, but she was of ice, of dazzling,
sparkling ice; yet she lived; her eyes gazed fixedly, like two stars;
but there was neither quiet nor repose in them. She nodded toward the
window, and beckoned with her hand. The little boy was frightened, and
jumped down from the chair; it seemed to him as if, at the same moment,
a large bird flew past the window.
The next day it was a sharp frost; and then the spring came; the sun
shone, the green leaves appeared, the swallows built their nests, the
windows were opened, and the little children again sat in their pretty
garden, high up on the leads at the top of the house.
That summer the roses flowered in wondrous beauty. The little girl had
learned a hymn, in which there was something about roses; and then she
thought of her own flowers; and she sang the verse to the little boy,
who then sang it with her:
“The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet,
The Christ-child is there the children to greet.”
And the children held each other by the hand, kissed the roses, and
looked up at the clear sunshine. What lovely summer days those were!
How delightful to be out in the air, near the fresh rosebushes, that
seemed as if they would never finish blossoming!
Kay and Gerda looked at the picture-book full of beasts and of birds;
and it was then--the clock in the church-tower was just striking
five--that Kay said, “Oh, I feel such a sharp pain in my heart; and now
something has flown into my eye!”
The little girl put her arms round his neck. He winked his eyes: now
there was nothing to be seen.
“I think it is out now,” said he; but it was not. It was just one of
those pieces of glass from the magic mirror that had flown into his
eye. Another piece had pierced his heart, where it soon became like
ice. It did not hurt any longer, but there it was.
“What are you crying for?” asked he. “You look so ugly! There’s nothing
the matter with me. Ah!” said he at once, “that rose is cankered! and,
look, this one is quite crooked! after all, these roses are very ugly!
they are just like the box they are planted in!” And then he gave the
box a good kick with his foot, and pulled both the roses up.
“What are you doing?” cried the little girl; and as he perceived her
fright, he pulled up another rose, got in at the window, and hastened
away from dear little Gerda.