There was once a woman who had the greatest longing for a little tiny
child, but she had no idea where to get one; so she went to an old
witch and said to her, “I do so long to have a little child, will you
tell me where I can get one?”
“Oh, we shall be able to manage that,” said the witch. “Here is a
barley corn for you; it is not at all the same kind as that which grows
in the peasant’s field, or with which chickens are fed; plant it in a
flower-pot and you will see what will appear.”
“Thank you, oh, thank you!” said the woman, and she gave the witch
twelve pennies, then went home and planted the barley corn, and a
large, handsome flower sprang up at once; it looked exactly like a
tulip, but the petals were tightly shut up, just as if they were still
in bud. “That is a lovely flower,” said the woman, and she kissed the
pretty red and yellow petals; as she kissed it the flower burst open
with a loud snap. It was a real tulip, you could see that; but right
in the middle of the flower on the green stool sat a little tiny girl,
most lovely and delicate; she was not more than an inch in height, so
she was called Thumbeline.
Her cradle was a smartly varnished walnut shell, with the blue petals
of violets for a mattress and a rose-leaf to cover her; she slept in
it at night, but during the day she played about on the table where
the woman had placed a plate, surrounded by a wreath of flowers on the
outer edge with their stalks in water. A large tulip petal floated on
the water, and on this little Thumbeline sat and sailed about from one
side of the plate to the other; she had two white horse hairs for oars.
It was a pretty sight. She could sing, too, with such delicacy and
charm as was never heard before.
One night as she lay in her pretty bed, a great ugly toad hopped in at
the window, for there was a broken pane. Ugh! how hideous that great
wet toad was; it hopped right down on to the table where Thumbeline lay
fast asleep, under the red rose-leaf.
“Here is a lovely wife for my son,” said the toad, and then she took up
the walnut shell where Thumbeline slept and hopped away with it through
the window, down into the garden. A great broad stream ran through it,
but just at the edge it was swampy and muddy, and it was here that the
toad lived with her son. Ugh! how ugly and hideous he was too, exactly
like his mother. “Koax, koax, brekke-ke-kex,” that was all he had to
say when he saw the lovely little girl in the walnut shell.
“Do not talk so loud or you will wake her,” said the old toad; “she
might escape us yet, for she is as light as thistledown! We will put
her on one of the broad water-lily leaves out in the stream; it will
be just like an island to her, she is so small and light. She won’t
be able to run away from there while we get the state-room ready down
under the mud, which you are to inhabit.”
A great many water-lilies grew in the stream, their broad green leaves
looked as if they were floating on the surface of the water. The leaf
which was furthest from the shore was also the biggest, and to this one
the old toad swam out with the walnut shell in which little Thumbeline
lay.
The poor, tiny, little creature woke up quite early in the morning, and
when she saw where she was she began to cry most bitterly, for there
was water on every side of the big green leaf, and she could not reach
the land at any point.
[Illustration: The old toad made a deep curtsey in the water before her]
The old toad sat in the mud decking out her abode with grasses and the
buds of the yellow water-lilies, so as to have it very nice for the new
daughter-in-law, and then she swam out with her ugly son to the leaf
where Thumbeline stood; they wanted to fetch her pretty bed to place it
in the bridal chamber before they took her there. The old toad made a
deep curtsey in the water before her, and said, “Here is my son, who
is to be your husband, and you are to live together most comfortably
down in the mud.”
“Koax, koax, brekke-ke-kex,” that was all the son could say.
Then they took the pretty little bed and swam away with it, but
Thumbeline sat quite alone on the green leaf and cried because she
did not want to live with the ugly toad, or have her horrid son for a
husband. The little fish which swam about in the water had no doubt
seen the toad and heard what she said, so they stuck their heads up,
wishing, I suppose, to see the little girl. As soon as they saw her,
they were delighted with her, and were quite grieved to think that
she was to go down to live with the ugly toad. No, that should never
happen. They flocked together down in the water round about the green
stem which held the leaf she stood upon, and gnawed at it with their
teeth till it floated away down the stream carrying Thumbeline away
where the toad could not follow her.
Thumbeline sailed past place after place, and the little birds in the
bushes saw her and sang, “What a lovely little maid.” The leaf with
her on it floated further and further away and in this manner reached
foreign lands.
A pretty little white butterfly fluttered round and round her for some
time and at last settled on the leaf, for it had taken quite a fancy to
Thumbeline; she was so happy now, because the toad could not reach her
and she was sailing through such lovely scenes; the sun shone on the
water and it looked like liquid gold. Then she took her sash and tied
one end round the butterfly, and the other she made fast to the leaf
which went gliding on quicker and quicker, and she with it for she was
standing on the leaf.
At this moment a big cockchafer came flying along, he caught sight of
her and in an instant he fixed his claw round her slender waist and
flew off with her, up into a tree, but the green leaf floated down the
stream and the butterfly with it, for he was tied to it and could not
get loose.
Heavens! how frightened poor little Thumbeline was when the cockchafer
carried her up into the tree, but she was most of all grieved about the
pretty white butterfly which she had fastened to the leaf; if he could
not succeed in getting loose he would be starved to death.
But the cockchafer cared nothing for that. He settled with her on the
largest leaf on the tree, and fed her with honey from the flowers, and
he said that she was lovely although she was not a bit like a chafer.
Presently all the other chafers which lived in the tree came to visit
them; they looked at Thumbeline and the young lady chafers twitched
their feelers and said, “She has only got two legs, what a poor effect
it has.” “She has no feelers,” said another. “She is so slender in the
waist, fie, she looks like a human being.” “How ugly she is,” said
all the mother chafers, and yet little Thumbeline was so pretty. That
was certainly also the opinion of the cockchafer who had captured
her, but when all the others said she was ugly, he at last began to
believe it too, and would not have anything more to do with her, she
might go wherever she liked! They flew down from the tree with her and
placed her on a daisy, where she cried because she was so ugly that the
chafers would have nothing to do with her; and after all, she was more
beautiful than anything you could imagine, as delicate and transparent
as the finest rose-leaf.
Poor little Thumbeline lived all the summer quite alone in the wood.
She plaited a bed of grass for herself and hung it up under a big
dock-leaf which sheltered her from the rain; she sucked the honey from
the flowers for her food, and her drink was the dew which lay on the
leaves in the morning. In this way the summer and autumn passed, but
then came the winter. All the birds which used to sing so sweetly to
her flew away, the great dock-leaf under which she had lived shrivelled
up leaving nothing but a dead yellow stalk, and she shivered with the
cold, for her clothes were worn out; she was such a tiny creature, poor
little Thumbeline, she certainly must be frozen to death. It began to
snow and every snowflake which fell upon her was like a whole shovelful
upon her, for she was so very, very small. Then she wrapped herself up
in a withered leaf, but that did not warm her much, she trembled with
the cold.
[Illustration: Every snowflake which fell upon her was like a shovelful
on one of us]
Close to the wood in which she had been living lay a large cornfield,
but the corn had long ago been carried away and nothing remained but
the bare, dry, stubble which stood up out of the frozen ground. The
stubble was quite a forest for her to walk about in; oh, how she shook
with the cold. Then she came to the door of a field-mouse’s home. It
was a little hole down under the stubble. The field-mouse lived so
cosily and warm there, her whole room was full of corn, and she had a
beautiful kitchen and larder besides. Poor Thumbeline stood just inside
the door like any other poor beggar child and begged for a little piece
of barley corn, for she had had nothing to eat for two whole days.
“You poor little thing,” said the field-mouse, for she was at bottom a
good old field-mouse. “Come into my warm room and dine with me.” Then,
as she took a fancy to Thumbeline, she said, “You may with pleasure
stay with me for the winter, but you must keep my room clean and tidy
and tell me stories, for I am very fond of them,” and Thumbeline
did what the good old field-mouse desired and was on the whole very
comfortable.
“Now we shall soon have a visitor,” said the field-mouse; “my neighbour
generally comes to see me every week-day. He is even better housed than
I am; his rooms are very large and he wears a most beautiful black
velvet coat; if only you could get him for a husband you would indeed
be well settled, but he can’t see. You must tell him all the most
beautiful stories you know.”
But Thumbeline did not like this, and she would have nothing to say to
the neighbour for he was a mole. He came and paid a visit in his black
velvet coat. He was very rich and wise, said the field-mouse, and his
home was twenty times as large as hers; and he had much learning but
he did not like the sun or the beautiful flowers, in fact he spoke
slightingly of them for he had never seen them. Thumbeline had to sing
to him and she sang both “Fly away cockchafer” and “A monk, he wandered
through the meadow,” then the mole fell in love with her because of her
sweet voice, but he did not say anything for he was of a discreet turn
of mind.
He had just made a long tunnel through the ground from his house to
theirs, and he gave the field-mouse and Thumbeline leave to walk in it
whenever they liked. He told them not to be afraid of the dead bird
which was lying in the passage. It was a whole bird with feathers and
beak which had probably died quite recently at the beginning of the
winter and was now entombed just where he had made his tunnel.
The mole took a piece of tinder-wood in his mouth, for that shines like
fire in the dark, and walked in front of them to light them in the long
dark passage; when they came to the place where the dead bird lay, the
mole thrust his broad nose up to the roof and pushed the earth up so as
to make a big hole through which the daylight shone. In the middle of
the floor lay a dead swallow, with its pretty wings closely pressed to
its sides, and the legs and head drawn in under the feathers; no doubt
the poor bird had died of cold. Thumbeline was so sorry for it; she
loved all the little birds, for they had twittered and sung so sweetly
to her during the whole summer; but the mole kicked it with his short
legs and said, “Now it will pipe no more! It must be a miserable fate
to be born a little bird! Thank heaven! no child of mine can be a bird;
a bird like that has nothing but its twitter and dies of hunger in the
winter.”
“Yes, as a sensible man, you may well say that,” said the field-mouse.
“What _has_ a bird for all its twittering when the cold weather comes?
It has to hunger and freeze, but then it must cut a dash.”
Thumbeline did not say anything, but when the others turned their backs
to the bird, she stooped down and stroked aside the feathers which lay
over its head, and kissed its closed eyes. “Perhaps it was this very
bird which sang so sweetly to me in the summer,” she thought; “what
pleasure it gave me, the dear pretty bird.”
The mole now closed up the hole which let in the daylight and conducted
the ladies to their home. Thumbeline could not sleep at all in the
night, so she got up out of her bed and plaited a large handsome mat of
hay and then she carried it down and spread it all over the dead bird,
and laid some soft cotton wool which she had found in the field-mouse’s
room close round its sides, so that it might have a warm bed on the
cold ground.
“Good-bye, you sweet little bird,” said she, “good-bye, and thank you
for your sweet song through the summer when all the trees were green
and the sun shone warmly upon us.” Then she laid her head close up to
the bird’s breast, but was quite startled at a sound, as if something
was thumping inside it. It was the bird’s heart. It was not dead but
lay in a swoon, and now that it had been warmed it began to revive.
In the autumn all the swallows fly away to warm countries, but if one
happens to be belated, it feels the cold so much that it falls down
like a dead thing, and remains lying where it falls till the snow
covers it up. Thumbeline quite shook with fright for the bird was very,
very big beside her, but she gathered up her courage, packed the
wool closer round the poor bird, and fetched a leaf of mint which she
had herself for a coverlet and laid it over the bird’s head. The next
night she stole down again to it and found it alive but so feeble that
it could only just open its eyes for a moment to look at Thumbeline
who stood with a bit of tinder-wood in her hand, for she had no other
lantern.
[Illustration: It was not dead but lay in a swoon]
“Many, many thanks, you sweet child,” said the sick swallow to her;
“you have warmed me beautifully. I shall soon have strength to fly out
into the warm sun again.”
“Oh!” said she, “it is so cold outside, it snows and freezes, stay in
your warm bed, I will tend you.” Then she brought water to the swallow
in a leaf, and when it had drunk some, it told her how it had torn its
wing on a blackthorn bush, and therefore could not fly as fast as
the other swallows which were taking flight then for the distant warm
lands. At last it fell down on the ground, but after that it remembered
nothing and did not in the least know how it had got into the tunnel.
It stayed there all the winter, and Thumbeline was good to it and grew
very fond of it. She did not tell either the mole or the field-mouse
anything about it, for they did not like the poor unfortunate swallow.
As soon as the spring came and the warmth of the sun penetrated the
ground, the swallow said good-bye to Thumbeline, who opened the hole
which the mole had made above. The sun streamed in deliciously upon
them, and the swallow asked if she would not go with him, she could
sit upon his back and they would fly far away into the green wood. But
Thumbeline knew that it would grieve the old field-mouse if she left
her like that.
“No, I can’t,” said Thumbeline.
“Good-bye, good-bye, then, you kind pretty girl,” said the swallow, and
flew out into the sunshine. Thumbeline looked after him and her eyes
filled with tears, for she was very fond of the poor swallow.
“Tweet, tweet,” sang the bird, and flew into the green wood.
Thumbeline was very sad. She was not allowed to go out into the
warm sunshine at all; the corn which was sown in the field near the
field-mouse’s house grew quite long, it was a thick forest for the poor
little girl who was so very, very small.
“You must work at your trousseau this summer,” said the mouse to her,
for their neighbour the tiresome mole in his black velvet coat had
asked her to marry him. “You shall have both woollen and linen, you
shall have wherewith to clothe and cover yourself when you become the
mole’s wife.” Thumbeline had to turn the distaff and the field-mouse
hired four spiders to spin and weave day and night. The mole paid a
visit every evening and he was always saying that when the summer came
to an end, the sun would not shine nearly so warmly; now it burnt the
ground as hard as a stone. Yes, when the summer was over he would
celebrate his marriage; but Thumbeline was not at all pleased, for she
did not care a bit for the tiresome mole. Every morning at sunrise and
every evening at sunset she used to steal out to the door, and when
the wind blew aside the tops of the cornstalks so that she could see
the blue sky, she thought how bright and lovely it was out there, and
wished so much to see the dear swallow again; but it never came back;
no doubt it was a long way off, flying about in the beautiful green
woods.
[Illustration: Fiddle-de-dee said the field mouse]
When the autumn came all Thumbeline’s outfit was ready.
“In four weeks you must be married,” said the field-mouse to her. But
Thumbeline cried and said that she would not have the tiresome mole for
a husband.
“Fiddle-dee-dee,” said the field-mouse; “don’t be obstinate or I shall
bite you with my white tooth. You are going to have a splendid husband;
the queen herself hasn’t the equal of his black velvet coat; both his
kitchen and his cellar are full. You should thank heaven for such a
husband!”
So they were to be married; the mole had come to fetch Thumbeline; she
was to live deep down under the ground with him, and never to go out
into the warm sunshine, for he could not bear it. The poor child was
very sad at the thought of bidding good-bye to the beautiful sun; while
she had been with the field-mouse she had at least been allowed to look
at it from the door.
“Good-bye, you bright sun,” she said as she stretched out her arms
towards it and went a little way outside the field-mouse’s house, for
now the harvest was over and only the stubble remained. “Good-bye,
good-bye!” she said, and threw her tiny arms round a little red flower
growing there. “Give my love to the dear swallow if you happen to see
him.”
“Tweet, tweet,” she heard at this moment above her head. She looked up;
it was the swallow just passing. As soon as it saw Thumbeline it was
delighted; she told it how unwilling she was to have the ugly mole for
a husband, and that she was to live deep down underground where the sun
never shone. She could not help crying about it.
“The cold winter is coming,” said the swallow, “and I am going to fly
away to warm countries. Will you go with me? You can sit upon my back!
Tie yourself on with your sash, then we will fly away from the ugly
mole and his dark cavern, far away over the mountains to those warm
countries where the sun shines with greater splendour than here, where
it is always summer and there are heaps of flowers. Do fly with me, you
sweet little Thumbeline, who saved my life when I lay frozen in the
dark earthy passage.”
“Yes, I will go with you,” said Thumbeline, seating herself on the
bird’s back with her feet on its outspread wings. She tied her band
tightly to one of the strongest feathers, and then the swallow flew
away, high up in the air above forests and lakes, high up above the
biggest mountains where the snow never melts; and Thumbeline shivered
in the cold air, but then she crept under the bird’s warm feathers, and
only stuck out her little head to look at the beautiful sights beneath
her.
Then at last they reached the warm countries. The sun shone with
a warmer glow than here; the sky was twice as high, and the most
beautiful green and blue grapes grew in clusters on the banks and
hedgerows. Oranges and lemons hung in the woods which were fragrant
with myrtles and sweet herbs, and beautiful children ran about the
roads playing with the large, gorgeously-coloured butterflies. But the
swallow flew on and on, and the country grew more and more beautiful.
Under magnificent green trees on the shores of the blue sea stood a
dazzling white marble palace of ancient date; vines wreathed themselves
round the stately pillars. At the head of these there were countless
nests, and the swallow who carried Thumbeline lived in one of them.
“Here is my house,” said the swallow; “but if you will choose one of
the gorgeous flowers growing down there I will place you in it, and you
will live as happily as you can wish.”
“That would be delightful,” she said, and clapped her little hands.
A great white marble column had fallen to the ground and lay there
broken in three pieces, but between these the most lovely white flowers
grew. The swallow flew down with Thumbeline and put her upon one of
the broad leaves; what was her astonishment to find a little man in
the middle of the flower, as bright and transparent as if he had been
made of glass. He had a lovely golden crown upon his head and the
most beautiful bright wings upon his shoulders; he was no bigger than
Thumbeline. He was the fairy of the flowers. There was a similar little
man or woman in every flower, but he was the king of them all.
“How very beautiful he is,” whispered Thumbeline to the swallow. The
little prince was quite frightened by the swallow, for it was a perfect
giant of a bird to him, he who was so small and delicate, but when he
saw Thumbeline he was delighted; she was the very prettiest girl he
had ever seen. He therefore took the golden crown off his own head and
placed it on hers, and asked her name, and if she would be his wife,
and then she would be queen of the flowers! Yes, he was certainly a
very different kind of husband from the toad’s son, or the mole with
his black velvet coat. So she accepted the beautiful prince, and out
of every flower stepped a little lady or a gentleman so lovely that it
was a pleasure to look at them. Each one brought a gift to Thumbeline,
but the best of all was a pair of pretty wings from a large white
butterfly; they were fastened on to her back, and then she too could
fly from flower to flower. All was then delight and happiness, but the
swallow sat alone in his nest and sang to them as well as he could, for
his heart was heavy, he was so fond of Thumbeline himself and would
have wished never to part from her.
[Illustration: What was her astonishment to find a little man in the
middle of the flower]
“You shall not be called Thumbeline,” said the flower-fairy to her;
“that is such an ugly name, and you are so pretty. We will call you
Maia.”
* * * * *
Of course the Fairy Prince’s story was quite true, and as proof of it
there was Thumbeline, or Maia, as she was sometimes called, sitting
not very far away in the very front circle of fairies, and having
made his bow to the king and queen, the little prince stepped proudly
back to his seat by her side, and all the fairies loudly cheered the
pretty couple. When the cheering had stopped it was seen that there
were several of the company trying to get on the tale-tellers’ stool
at once, all anxious to win such cheering. King Oberon’s trumpeter,
standing on the steps of the throne, blew loudly and the squabble
stopped at once, each of the competitors turning round and expecting to
be told that he was the favoured one, but Oberon was too wise for that
and bade them all go back to their places and not to come forward again
until called upon to do so, and he then turned to Titania and said:
“Our queen shall select the next tale-teller. Who, my Titania, shall it
be?”
And the queen pointed out a little fairy dressed all in green with a
tiny golden harp in her hand and with a wreath of shamrock round her
head, saying:
“Let an Irish fairy tell us something of the doings in her green land.”
The little one in green at once came forward and said that the
story she had to tell would not be a pretty one such as that about
Thumbeline, but it would be about one of those mischievous changelings
who got the fairies such a bad name among some people, and her story
would be called
[Illustration: The Irish fairy]
[Illustration: A big laughing potato in their hands]