is hidden below them! I stick fast here: here I sit. Look! there goes
a shaving: it thinks of nothing in the world but of itself--but of a
shaving! There drifts a straw; and how it tacks about, how it turns
round! Think of something else besides yourself, or else perhaps
you'll run against a stone! There swims a bit of a newspaper. What's
written there is long ago forgotten, and yet out it spreads itself, as
if it were mighty important! I sit here patient and still: I know who
I am, and that I shall remain after all!"
One day there lay something close beside the needle. It glittered so
splendidly, that the needle thought it must be a diamond: but it was
only a bit of a broken bottle, and because it glittered the
darning-needle addressed it, and introduced itself to the other as a
breast-pin.
"You are, no doubt, a diamond?"
"Yes, something of that sort." And so each thought the other something
very precious, and they talked together of the world, and of how
haughty it is.
"I was with a certain miss, in a little box," said the darning-needle,
"and this miss was cook; and on each hand she had five fingers. In my
whole life I have never seen anything so conceited as these fingers!
And yet they were only there to take me out of the box and to put me
back into it again!"
"Were they, then, of noble birth?" asked the broken bottle.
"Noble!" said the darning-needle; "no, but high-minded! There were
five brothers, all descendants of the 'Finger' family. They always
kept together, although they were of different lengths. The outermost
one, little Thumb, was short and stout; he went at the side, a little
in front of the ranks: he had, too, but one joint in his back, so that
he could only make one bow; but he said, if a man were to cut him off,
such a one were no longer fit for military service. Sweet-tooth, the
second finger, pryed into what was sweet, as well as into what was
sour, pointed to the sun and moon, and he it was that gave stress when
they wrote. Longman, the third brother, looked at the others
contemptuously over his shoulder. Goldrim, the fourth, wore a golden
girdle round his body! and the little Peter Playallday did nothing at
all, of which he was very proud. 'Twas boasting, and boasting, and
nothing but boasting, and so away I went."
"And now we sit here and glitter," said the broken glass bottle.
At the same moment more water came along the gutter; it streamed over
the sides and carried the bit of bottle away with it.
"Well, that's an advancement," said the darning-needle. "I remain
where I am: I am too fine; but that is just my pride, and as such is
to be respected." And there it sat so proudly, and had many grand
thoughts.
"I should almost think that I was born of a sunbeam, so fine am I! It
seems to me, too, as if the sunbeams were always seeking me beneath
the surface of the water. Ah! I am so fine, that my mother is unable
to find me! Had I my old eye that broke, I verily think I could weep;
but I would not--weep! no, it's not genteel to weep!"
One day two boys came rummaging about in the sink, where they found
old nails, farthings, and such sort of things. It was dirty work;
however, they took pleasure in it.
"Oh!" cried one who had pricked himself with the needle, "there's a
fellow for you."
"I am no fellow, I am a lady!" said the darning-needle; but no one
heard it. The sealing-wax had worn off, and it had become quite black;
but black makes one look more slender, and the needle fancied it
looked more delicate than ever.
"Here comes an egg-shell sailing along!" said the boys; and then they
stuck the needle upright in the egg-shell.
"The walls white and myself black," said the needle. "That is
becoming! People can see me now! If only I do not get seasick, for
then I shall snap."
But it was not sea-sick, and did not snap.
"It is good for sea-sickness to have a stomach of steel, and not to
forget that one is something more than a human being! Now my
sea-sickness is over. The finer one is, the more one can endure!"
"Crack!" said the egg-shell: a wheel went over it.
"Good heavens! how heavy that presses!" said the needle. "Now I shall
be sea-sick! I snap!" But it did not snap, although a wheel went over
it. It lay there at full length, and there it may lie still.
------------
THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL.
Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and
evening--the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there
went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked
feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was
the good of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had
hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little thing lost them
as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that
rolled by dreadfully fast. One slipper was nowhere to be found; the
other had been laid hold of by an urchin, and off he ran with it; he
thought it would do capitally for a cradle when he some day or other
should have children himself. So the little maiden walked on with her
tiny naked feet, that were quite red and blue from cold. She carried a
quantity of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in
her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong day; no
one had given her a single farthing.
She crept along trembling with cold and hunger--a very picture of
sorrow, the poor little thing!
The flakes of snow covered her long fair hair, which fell in beautiful
curls around her neck; but of that, of course, she never once now
thought. From all the windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt
so deliciously of roast goose, for you know it was new year's eve;
yes, of that she thought.
In a corner formed by two houses, of which one advanced more than the
other, she seated herself down and cowered together. Her little feet
she had drawn close up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and to
go home she did not venture, for she had not sold any matches and
could not bring a farthing of money: from her father she would
certainly get blows, and at home it was cold too, for above her she
had only the roof, through which the wind whistled, even though the
largest cracks were stopped up with straw and rags.
Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. Oh! a match might
afford her a world of comfort, if she only dared take a single one out
of the bundle, draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it.
She drew one out. "Rischt!" how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a
warm, bright flame, like a candle, as she held her hands over it: it
was a wonderful light. It seemed really to the little maiden as though
she were sitting before a large iron stove, with burnished brass feet
and a brass ornament at top. The fire burned with such blessed
influence; it warmed so delightfully. The little girl had already
stretched out her feet to warm them too; but--the small flame went
out, the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burnt out
match in her hand.
She rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly, and where the
light fell on the wall, there the wall became transparent like a veil,
so that she could see into the room. On the table was spread a
snow-white tablecloth; upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and
the roast goose was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and
dried plums. And what was still more capital to behold was, the goose
hopped down from the dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and
fork in its breast, till it came up to the poor little girl; when--the
match went out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was left
behind. She lighted another match. Now there she was sitting under the
most magnificent Christmas trees: it was still larger, and more
decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in
the rich merchant's house.
[Illustration: THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL.]
Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and
gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows
looked down upon her. The little maiden stretched out her hands
towards them when--the match went out. The lights of the Christmas
tree rose higher and higher, she saw them now as stars in heaven; one
fell down and formed a long trail of fire.
"Some one is just dead!" said the little girl; for her old
grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now no
more, had told her, that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God.
She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in
the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so
mild, and with such an expression of love.
"Grandmother!" cried the little one; "oh, take me with you! You go
away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like
the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!"
And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall,
for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her.
And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than
at noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and
so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in
brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was
neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with God.
But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with
rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall--frozen
to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the
child there with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. "She
wanted to warm herself," people said: no one had the slightest
suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed
of the splendor in which, with her grandmother she had entered on the
joys of a new year.
------------
THE RED SHOES.
There was once a little girl who was very pretty and delicate, but in
summer she was forced to run about with bare feet, she was so poor,
and in winter wear very large wooden shoes, which made her little
insteps quite red, and that looked so dangerous!
In the middle of the village lived old Dame Shoemaker; she sate and
sewed together, as well as she could, a little pair of shoes out of
old red strips of cloth; they were very clumsy, but it was a kind
thought. They were meant for the little girl. The little girl was
called Karen.
On the very day her mother was buried, Karen received the red shoes,
and wore them for the first time. They were certainly not intended for
mourning, but she had no others, and with stockingless feet she
followed the poor straw coffin in them.
Suddenly a large old carriage drove up and a large old lady sate in
it: she looked at the little girl, felt compassion for her, and then
said to the clergyman:
"Here, give me the little girl, I will adopt her!"
And Karen believed all this happened on account of the red shoes, but
the old lady thought they were horrible, and they were burnt. But
Karen herself was cleanly and nicely dressed; she must learn to read
and sew; and people said she was a nice little thing, but the
looking-glass said: "Thou art more than nice, thou art beautiful!"
Now the queen once traveled through the land, and she had her little
daughter with her. And this little daughter was a princess, and people
streamed to the castle, and Karen was there also, and the little
princess stood in her fine white dress, in a window, and let herself
be stared at; she had neither a train nor a golden crown, but splendid
red morocco shoes. They were certainly far handsomer than those Dame
Shoemaker had made for little Karen. Nothing in the world can be
compared with red shoes.
Now Karen was old enough to be confirmed; she had new clothes and was
to have new shoes also. The rich shoemaker in the city took the
measure of her little foot. This took place at his house, in his room;
where stood large glass-cases, filled with elegant shoes and brilliant
boots. All this looked charming, but the old lady could not see well,
and so had no pleasure in them. In the midst of the shoes stood a pair
of red ones, just like those the princess had worn. How beautiful they
were! The shoemaker said also they had been made for the child of a
count, but had not fitted.
"That must be patent leather!" said the old lady, "they shine so!'"
"Yes, they shine!" said Karen, and they fitted, and were bought, but
the old lady knew nothing about their being red, else she would never
have allowed Karen to have gone in red shoes to be confirmed. Yet such
was the case.
Everybody looked at her feet; and when she stepped through the chancel
door on the church pavement, it seemed to her as if the old figures on
the tombs, those portraits of old preachers and preachers' wives, with
stiff ruffs, and long black dresses, fixed their eyes on her red
shoes. And she thought only of them as the clergyman laid his hand
upon her head, and spoke of the holy baptism, of the covenant with
God, and how she should be now a matured Christian; and the organ
pealed so solemnly; the sweet children's voices sang, and the old
music-directors sang, but Karen only thought of her red shoes.
In the afternoon, the old lady heard from every one that the shoes had
been red, and she said that it was very wrong of Karen, that it was
not at all becoming, and that in future Karen should only go in black
shoes to church, even when she should be older.
The next Sunday there was the sacrament, and Karen looked at the black
shoes, looked at the red ones--looked at them again, and put on the
red shoes.
The sun shone gloriously; Karen and the old lady walked along the path
through the corn; it was rather dusty there.
At the church door stood an old soldier with a crutch, and with a
wonderfully long beard, which was more red than white, and he bowed to
the ground, and asked the old lady whether he might dust her shoes.
And Karen stretched out her little foot.
"See! what beautiful dancing-shoes!" said the soldier, "sit firm when
you dance;" and he put his hand out towards the soles.
And the old lady gave the old soldier an alms, and went into the
church with Karen.
And all the people in the church looked at Karen's red shoes, and all
the pictures, and as Karen knelt before the altar, and raised the cup
to her lips, she only thought of the red shoes, and they seemed to
swim in it; and she forgot to sing her psalm, and she forgot to pray,
"Our father in Heaven!"
Now all the people went out of church, and the old lady got into her
carriage. Karen raised her foot to get in after her, when the old
soldier said,
"Look, what beautiful dancing shoes!"
And Karen could not help dancing a step or two, and when she began her
feet continued to dance; it was just as though the shoes had power
over them. She danced round the church corner, she could not leave
off; the coachman was obliged to run after and catch hold of her, and
he lifted her in the carriage, but her feet continued to dance so that
she trod on the old lady dreadfully. At length she took the shoes off,
and then her legs had peace.
The shoes were placed in a closet at home, but Karen could not avoid
looking at them.
Now the old lady was sick, and it was said she could not recover. She
must be nursed and waited upon, and there was no one whose duty it was
so much as Karen's. But there was a great ball in the city, to which
Karen was invited. She looked at the old lady, who could not recover,
she looked at the red shoes, and she thought there could be no sin in
it;--she put on the red shoes, she might do that also, she thought.
But then she went to the ball and began to dance.
When she wanted to dance to the right, the shoes would dance to the
left, and when she wanted to dance up the room, the shoes danced back
again, down the steps, into the street, and out of the city gate. She
danced, and was forced to dance straight out into the gloomy wood.
Then it was suddenly light up among the trees, and she fancied it must
be the moon, for there was a face; but it was the old soldier with the
red beard; he sate there, nodded his head, and said, "Look, what
beautiful dancing shoes!"
Then she was terrified, and wanted to fling off the red shoes, but
they clung fast; and she pulled down her stockings, but the shoes
seemed to have grown to her feet. And she danced, and must dance, over
fields and meadows, in rain and sunshine, by night and day; but at
night it was the most fearful.
She danced over the churchyard, but the dead did not dance,--they had
something better to do than to dance. She wished to seat herself on a
poor man's grave, where the bitter tansy grew; but for her there was
neither peace nor rest; and when she danced towards the open church
door, she saw an angel standing there. He wore long, white garments;
he had wings which reached from his shoulders to the earth; his
countenance was severe and grave; and in his hand he held a sword,
broad and glittering.
"Dance shalt thou!" said he,--"dance in thy red shoes till thou art
pale and cold! Till thy skin shrivels up and thou art a skeleton!
Dance shalt thou from door to door, and where proud, vain children
dwell, thou shalt knock, that they may hear thee and tremble! Dance
shalt thou------!"
"Mercy!" cried Karen. But she did not hear the angel's reply, for the
shoes carried her through the gate into the fields, across roads and
bridges, and she must keep ever dancing.
One morning she danced past a door which she well knew. Within sounded
a psalm; a coffin, decked with flowers, was borne forth. Then she knew
that the old lady was dead, and felt that she was abandoned by all,
and condemned by the angel of God.
She danced, and she was forced to dance through the gloomy night. The
shoes carried her over stack and stone; she was torn till she bled;
she danced over the heath till she came to a little house. Here, she
knew, dwelt the executioner; and she tapped with her fingers at the
window, and said, "Come out! come out! I cannot come in, for I am
forced to dance!"
And the executioner said, "Thou dost not know who I am, I fancy? I
strike bad people's heads off; and I hear that my axe rings!"
"Don't strike my head off!" said Karen, "then I can't repent of my
sins! But strike off my feet in the red shoes!"
And then she confessed her entire sin, and the executioner struck off
her feet with the red shoes, but the shoes danced away with the little
feet across the field into the deep wood.
And he carved out little wooden feet for her, and crutches, taught her
the psalm criminals always sing; and she kissed the hand which had
wielded the axe, and went over the heath.
"Now I have suffered enough for the red shoes!" said she; "now I will
go into the church that people may see me!" And she hastened towards
the church door: but when she was near it, the red shoes danced before
her, and she was terrified, and turned round. The whole week she was
unhappy, and wept many bitter tears; but when Sunday returned, she
said, "Well, now I have suffered and struggled enough! I really
believe I am as good as many a one who sits in the church, and holds
her head so high!"
And away she went boldly; but she had not got farther than the
churchyard gate before she saw the red shoes dancing before her; and
she was frightened, and turned back, and repented of her sin from her
heart.
And she went to the parsonage, and begged that they would take her
into service; she would be very industrious, she said, and would do
everything she could; she did not care about the wages, only she
wished to have a home, and be with good people. And the clergyman's
wife was sorry for her and took her into service; and she was
industrious and thoughtful. She sate still and listened when the
clergyman read the Bible in the evenings. All the children thought a
deal of her; but when they spoke of dress, and grandeur, and beauty,
she shook her head.
The following Sunday, when the family was going to church, they asked
her whether she would not go with them; but she glanced sorrowfully,
with tears in her eyes, at her crutches. The family went to hear the
word of God; but she went alone into her little chamber; there was
only room for a bed and chair to stand in it; and here she sate down
with her prayer-book; and whilst she read with a pious mind, the wind
bore the strains of the organ towards her, and she raised her tearful
countenance, and said, "O God, help me!"
And the sun shone so clearly! and straight before her stood the angel
of God in white garments, the same she had seen that night at the
church door; but he no longer carried the sharp sword, but in its
stead a splendid green spray, full of roses. And he touched the
ceiling with the spray, and the ceiling rose so high, and where he had
touched it there gleamed a golden star. And he touched the walls, and
they widened out, and she saw the organ which was playing; she saw the
old pictures of the preachers and the preachers' wives. The
congregation sat in cushioned seats, and sang out of their
prayer-books. For the church itself had come to the poor girl in her
narrow chamber, or else she had come into the church. She sate in the
pew with the clergyman's family, and when they had ended the psalm and
looked up, they nodded and said, "It is right that thou art come!"
"It was through mercy!" she said.
And the organ pealed, and the children's voices in the choir sounded
so sweet and soft! The clear sunshine streamed so warmly through the
window into the pew where Karen sate! Her heart was so full of
sunshine, peace, and joy, that it broke. Her soul flew on the sunshine
to God, and there no one asked after the Red Shoes.
------------
TO THE YOUNG READERS
Here is another volume of Andersen's charming stories for you; and I
am sure you will be glad to get it. For my part, I am always delighted
to find one that I do not happen to have yet seen; and as I know the
others pleased you--for I have heard so, both directly and indirectly,
from a great many people, there can be no doubt that you all will be
overjoyed to have a few more of these stories told you.
And there is no one who participates in this delight more than--whom
do you think? Why, than Andersen himself! He is so happy that his
Tales have been thus joyfully received, and that they have found their
way to the hearts and sympathies of you all. He speaks of it with
evident pleasure; and it is not vanity, but his kind affectionate
nature, which inclines him to mention such little occurrences as prove
how firm a hold his writings have taken on the minds of the young and
gentle-natured. "So much praise might," he says, "spoil a man, and
make him vain. Yet no, it does not spoil him: on the contrary, it
makes him better; it purifies his thoughts, and this must give one the
impulse and the will to deserve it all." He was so pleased to hear,
and I, you may be sure, was equally pleased to tell him, what had been
written to me by a friend a short time before--that several little
boys and girls, Miss Edgeworth's nephews and nieces were so delighted
with the "**Tales From Denmark**," that they not only read and re-read
them continually, but used _to act the stories_ together in their
play-hours!
And a certain little dark-eyed thing of my acquaintance, "little
Nelly," or "the little gipsey," as I sometimes call her, knows the
whole story of "Ellie and the Pretty Swallow," by heart; and another
"wee thing," that cannot yet read, but is always wanting to have
stories told her, knows all about Kay and Gerda, and the
flower-garden, and how Gerda went to look for her brother, inquiring
of every body she met, and how at last the good sister found him.
In Copenhegan, as Andersen himself told me, all the children know him.
"And," he said, with such a countenance that showed such homage was
dearer to him than the more splendid honors paid as tributes to his
genius, "as I walk along the street, the little darlings nod and kiss
their hands to me; and they say to one another, 'There's Andersen!'
and then some more run and wave their hands. Oh yes, they all know me.
But sometimes, if there be one who does not, then, perhaps, his mamma
will say, 'Look, that is he who wrote the story you read the other
day, and that you liked so much;' and so we soon get acquainted." And
_this_ popularity delights him more than anything; and you surely
cannot call it vanity.