Little Thumbelina
:
Hans Andersens Fairy Tales
THERE was once a woman who wished very much to have a little child. She
went to a fairy and said: "I should so very much like to have a little
child. Can you tell me where I can find one?"
"Oh, that can be easily managed," said the fairy. "Here is a barleycorn;
it is not exactly of the same sort as those which grow in the farmers'
fields, and which the chickens eat. Put it into a flowerpot and see what
wi
l happen."
"Thank you," said the woman; and she gave the fairy twelve shillings,
which was the price of the barleycorn. Then she went home and planted
it, and there grew up a large, handsome flower, somewhat like a tulip in
appearance, but with its leaves tightly closed, as if it were still a
bud.
"It is a beautiful flower," said the woman, and she kissed the red and
golden-colored petals; and as she did so the flower opened, and she
could see that it was a real tulip. But within the flower, upon the
green velvet stamens, sat a very delicate and graceful little maiden.
She was scarcely half as long as a thumb, and they gave her the name of
Little Thumb, or Thumbelina, because she was so small.
A walnut shell, elegantly polished, served her for a cradle; her bed was
formed of blue violet leaves, with a rose leaf for a counterpane. Here
she slept at night, but during the day she amused herself on a table,
where the peasant wife had placed a plate full of water.
Round this plate were wreaths of flowers with their stems in the water,
and upon it floated a large tulip leaf, which served the little one for
a boat. Here she sat and rowed herself from side to side, with two oars
made of white horsehair. It was a very pretty sight. Thumbelina could
also sing so softly and sweetly that nothing like her singing had ever
before been heard.
One night, while she lay in her pretty bed, a large, ugly, wet toad
crept through a broken pane of glass in the window and leaped right upon
the table where she lay sleeping under her rose-leaf quilt.
"What a pretty little wife this would make for my son," said the toad,
and she took up the walnut shell in which Thumbelina lay asleep, and
jumped through the window with it, into the garden.
In the swampy margin of a broad stream in the garden lived the toad with
her son. He was uglier even than his mother; and when he saw the pretty
little maiden in her elegant bed, he could only cry "Croak, croak,
croak."
"Don't speak so loud, or she will wake," said the toad, "and then she
might run away, for she is as light as swan's-down. We will place her on
one of the water-lily leaves out in the stream; it will be like an
island to her, she is so light and small, and then she cannot escape;
and while she is there we will make haste and prepare the stateroom
under the marsh, in which you are to live when you are married."
Far out in the stream grew a number of water lilies with broad green
leaves which seemed to float on the top of the water. The largest of
these leaves appeared farther off than the rest, and the old toad swam
out to it with the walnut shell, in which Thumbelina still lay asleep.
The tiny creature woke very early in the morning and began to cry
bitterly when she found where she was, for she could see nothing but
water on every side of the large green leaf, and no way of reaching the
land.
Meanwhile the old toad was very busy under the marsh, decking her room
with rushes and yellow wildflowers, to make it look pretty for her new
daughter-in-law. Then she swam out with her ugly son to the leaf on
which she had placed poor Thumbelina. She wanted to bring the pretty
bed, that she might put it in the bridal chamber to be ready for her.
The old toad bowed low to her in the water and said, "Here is my son; he
will be your husband, and you will live happily together in the marsh by
the stream."
"Croak, croak, croak," was all her son could say for himself. So the
toad took up the elegant little bed and swam away with it, leaving
Thumbelina all alone on the green leaf, where she sat and wept. She
could not bear to think of living with the old toad and having her ugly
son for a husband. The little fishes who swam about in the water beneath
had seen the toad and heard what she said, so now they lifted their
heads above the water to look at the little maiden.
As soon as they caught sight of her they saw she was very pretty, and it
vexed them to think that she must go and live with the ugly toads.
"No, it must never be!" So they gathered together in the water, round
the green stalk which held the leaf on which the little maiden stood,
and gnawed it away at the root with their teeth. Then the leaf floated
down the stream, carrying Thumbelina far away out of reach of land.
Thumbelina sailed past many towns, and the little birds in the bushes
saw her and sang, "What a lovely little creature." So the leaf swam away
with her farther and farther, till it brought her to other lands. A
graceful little white butterfly constantly fluttered round her and at
last alighted on the leaf. The little maiden pleased him, and she was
glad of it, for now the toad could not possibly reach her, and the
country through which she sailed was beautiful, and the sun shone upon
the water till it glittered like liquid gold. She took off her girdle
and tied one end of it round the butterfly, fastening the other end of
the ribbon to the leaf, which now glided on much faster than before,
taking Thumbelina with it as she stood.
Presently a large cockchafer flew by. The moment he caught sight of her
he seized her round her delicate waist with his claws and flew with her
into a tree. The green leaf floated away on the brook, and the butterfly
flew with it, for he was fastened to it and could not get away.
Oh, how frightened Thumbelina felt when the cockchafer flew with her to
the tree! But especially was she sorry for the beautiful white butterfly
which she had fastened to the leaf, for if he could not free himself he
would die of hunger. But the cockchafer did not trouble himself at all
about the matter. He seated himself by her side, on a large green leaf,
gave her some honey from the flowers to eat, and told her she was very
pretty, though not in the least like a cockchafer.
After a time all the cockchafers who lived in the tree came to pay
Thumbelina a visit. They stared at her, and then the young lady
cockchafers turned up their feelers and said, "She has only two legs!
how ugly that looks." "She has no feelers," said another. "Her waist is
quite slim. Pooh! she is like a human being."
"Oh, she is ugly," said all the lady cockchafers. The cockchafer who had
run away with her believed all the others when they said she was ugly.
He would have nothing more to say to her, and told her she might go
where she liked. Then he flew down with her from the tree and placed her
on a daisy, and she wept at the thought that she was so ugly that even
the cockchafers would have nothing to say to her. And all the while she
was really the loveliest creature that one could imagine, and as tender
and delicate as a beautiful rose leaf.
During the whole summer poor little Thumbelina lived quite alone in the
wide forest. She wove herself a bed with blades of grass and hung it up
under a broad leaf, to protect herself from the rain. She sucked the
honey from the flowers for food and drank the dew from their leaves
every morning.
So passed away the summer and the autumn, and then came the winter--the
long, cold winter. All the birds who had sung to her so sweetly had
flown away, and the trees and the flowers had withered. The large
shamrock under the shelter of which she had lived was now rolled
together and shriveled up; nothing remained but a yellow, withered
stalk. She felt dreadfully cold, for her clothes were torn, and she was
herself so frail and delicate that she was nearly frozen to death. It
began to snow, too; and the snowflakes, as they fell upon her, were like
a whole shovelful falling upon one of us, for we are tall, but she was
only an inch high. She wrapped herself in a dry leaf, but it cracked in
the middle and could not keep her warm, and she shivered with cold.
Near the wood in which she had been living was a large cornfield, but
the corn had been cut a long time; nothing remained but the bare, dry
stubble, standing up out of the frozen ground. It was to her like
struggling through a large wood.
Oh! how she shivered with the cold. She came at last to the door of a
field mouse, who had a little den under the corn stubble. There dwelt
the field mouse in warmth and comfort, with a whole roomful of corn, a
kitchen, and a beautiful dining room. Poor Thumbelina stood before the
door, just like a little beggar girl, and asked for a small piece of
barleycorn, for she had been without a morsel to eat for two days.
"You poor little creature," said the field mouse, for she was really a
good old mouse, "come into my warm room and dine with me."
She was pleased with Thumbelina, so she said, "You are quite welcome to
stay with me all the winter, if you like; but you must keep my rooms
clean and neat, and tell me stories, for I shall like to hear them very
much." And Thumbelina did all that the field mouse asked her, and found
herself very comfortable.
"We shall have a visitor soon," said the field mouse one day; "my
neighbor pays me a visit once a week. He is better off than I am; he has
large rooms, and wears a beautiful black velvet coat. If you could only
have him for a husband, you would be well provided for indeed. But he
is blind, so you must tell him some of your prettiest stories."
Thumbelina did not feel at all interested about this neighbor, for he
was a mole. However, he came and paid his visit, dressed in his black
velvet coat.
"He is very rich and learned, and his house is twenty times larger than
mine," said the field mouse.
He was rich and learned, no doubt, but he always spoke slightingly of
the sun and the pretty flowers, because he had never seen them.
Thumbelina was obliged to sing to him, "Ladybird, ladybird, fly away
home," and many other pretty songs. And the mole fell in love with her
because she had so sweet a voice; but he said nothing yet, for he was
very prudent and cautious. A short time before, the mole had dug a long
passage under the earth, which led from the dwelling of the field mouse
to his own, and here she had permission to walk with Thumbelina whenever
she liked. But he warned them not to be alarmed at the sight of a dead
bird which lay in the passage. It was a perfect bird, with a beak and
feathers, and could not have been dead long. It was lying just where the
mole had made his passage. The mole took in his mouth a piece of
phosphorescent wood, which glittered like fire in the dark. Then he went
before them to light them through the long, dark passage. When they came
to the spot where the dead bird lay, the mole pushed his broad nose
through the ceiling, so that the earth gave way and the daylight shone
into the passage.
In the middle of the floor lay a swallow, his beautiful wings pulled
close to his sides, his feet and head drawn up under his feathers--the
poor bird had evidently died of the cold. It made little Thumbelina very
sad to see it, she did so love the little birds; all the summer they had
sung and twittered for her so beautifully. But the mole pushed it aside
with his crooked legs and said: "He will sing no more now. How miserable
it must be to be born a little bird! I am thankful that none of my
children will ever be birds, for they can do nothing but cry 'Tweet,
tweet,' and must always die of hunger in the winter."
"Yes, you may well say that, as a clever man!" exclaimed the field
mouse. "What is the use of his twittering if, when winter comes, he must
either starve or be frozen to death? Still, birds are very high bred."
Thumbelina said nothing, but when the two others had turned their backs
upon the bird, she stooped down and stroked aside the soft feathers
which covered his head, and kissed the closed eyelids. "Perhaps this was
the one who sang to me so sweetly in the summer," she said; "and how
much pleasure it gave me, you dear, pretty bird."
The mole now stopped up the hole through which the daylight shone, and
then accompanied the ladies home. But during the night Thumbelina could
not sleep; so she got out of bed and wove a large, beautiful carpet of
hay. She carried it to the dead bird and spread it over him, with some
down from the flowers which she had found in the field mouse's room. It
was as soft as wool, and she spread some of it on each side of the bird,
so that he might lie warmly in the cold earth.
"Farewell, pretty little bird," said she, "farewell. Thank you for your
delightful singing during the summer, when all the trees were green and
the warm sun shone upon us." Then she laid her head on the bird's
breast, but she was alarmed, for it seemed as if something inside the
bird went "thump, thump." It was the bird's heart; he was not really
dead, only benumbed with the cold, and the warmth had restored him to
life. In autumn all the swallows fly away into warm countries; but if
one happens to linger, the cold seizes it, and it becomes chilled and
falls down as if dead. It remains where it fell, and the cold snow
covers it.
Thumbelina trembled very much; she was quite frightened, for the bird
was large, a great deal larger than herself (she was only an inch high).
But she took courage, laid the wool more thickly over the poor swallow,
and then took a leaf which she had used for her own counterpane and laid
it over his head.
The next night she again stole out to see him. He was alive, but very
weak; he could only open his eyes for a moment to look at Thumbelina,
who stood by, holding a piece of decayed wood in her hand, for she had
no other lantern. "Thank you, pretty little maiden," said the sick
swallow; "I have been so nicely warmed that I shall soon regain my
strength and be able to fly about again in the warm sunshine."
"Oh," said she, "it is cold out of doors now; it snows and freezes. Stay
in your warm bed; I will take care of you."
She brought the swallow some water in a flower leaf, and after he had
drunk, he told her that he had wounded one of his wings in a thornbush
and could not fly as fast as the others, who were soon far away on their
journey to warm countries. At last he had fallen to the earth, and could
remember nothing more, nor how he came to be where she had found him.
All winter the swallow remained underground, and Thumbelina nursed him
with care and love. She did not tell either the mole or the field mouse
anything about it, for they did not like swallows. Very soon the
springtime came, and the sun warmed the earth. Then the swallow bade
farewell to Thumbelina, and she opened the hole in the ceiling which
the mole had made. The sun shone in upon them so beautifully that the
swallow asked her if she would go with him. She could sit on his back,
he said, and he would fly away with her into the green woods. But she
knew it would grieve the field mouse if she left her in that manner, so
she said, "No, I cannot."
"Farewell, then, farewell, you good, pretty little maiden," said the
swallow, and he flew out into the sunshine.
* * * * *
Thumbelina looked after him, and the tears rose in her eyes. She was
very fond of the poor swallow.
"Tweet, tweet," sang the bird, as he flew out into the green woods, and
Thumbelina felt very sad. She was not allowed to go out into the warm
sunshine. The corn which had been sowed in the field over the house of
the field mouse had grown up high into the air and formed a thick wood
to Thumbelina, who was only an inch in height.
...]
"You are going to be married, little one," said the field mouse. "My
neighbor has asked for you. What good fortune for a poor child like
you! Now we will prepare your wedding clothes. They must be woolen and
linen. Nothing must be wanting when you are the wife of the mole."
Thumbelina had to turn the spindle, and the field mouse hired four
spiders, who were to weave day and night. Every evening the mole visited
her and was continually speaking of the time when the summer would be
over. Then he would keep his wedding day with Thumbelina; but now the
heat of the sun was so great that it burned the earth and made it hard,
like stone. As soon as the summer was over the wedding should take
place. But Thumbelina was not at all pleased, for she did not like the
tiresome mole.
Every morning when the sun rose and every evening when it went down she
would creep out at the door, and as the wind blew aside the ears of corn
so that she could see the blue sky, she thought how beautiful and bright
it seemed out there and wished so much to see her dear friend, the
swallow, again. But he never returned, for by this time he had flown far
away into the lovely green forest.
When autumn arrived Thumbelina had her outfit quite ready, and the field
mouse said to her, "In four weeks the wedding must take place."
Then she wept and said she would not marry the disagreeable mole.
"Nonsense," replied the field mouse. "Now don't be obstinate, or I shall
bite you with my white teeth. He is a very handsome mole; the queen
herself does not wear more beautiful velvets and furs. His kitchens and
cellars are quite full. You ought to be very thankful for such good
fortune."
So the wedding day was fixed, on which the mole was to take her away to
live with him, deep under the earth, and never again to see the warm
sun, because he did not like it. The poor child was very unhappy at
the thought of saying farewell to the beautiful sun, and as the field
mouse had given her permission to stand at the door, she went to look at
it once more.
"Farewell, bright sun," she cried, stretching out her arm towards it;
and then she walked a short distance from the house, for the corn had
been cut, and only the dry stubble remained in the fields. "Farewell,
farewell," she repeated, twining her arm around a little red flower that
grew just by her side. "Greet the little swallow from me, if you should
see him again."
"Tweet, tweet," sounded over her head suddenly. She looked up, and there
was the swallow himself flying close by. As soon as he spied Thumbelina
he was delighted. She told him how unwilling she was to marry the ugly
mole, and to live always beneath the earth, nevermore to see the bright
sun. And as she told him, she wept.
"Cold winter is coming," said the swallow, "and I am going to fly away
into warmer countries. Will you go with me? You can sit on my back and
fasten yourself on with your sash. Then we can fly away from the ugly
mole and his gloomy rooms--far away, over the mountains, into warmer
countries, where the sun shines more brightly than here; where it is
always summer, and the flowers bloom in greater beauty. Fly now with me,
dear little one; you saved my life when I lay frozen in that dark,
dreary passage."
"Yes, I will go with you," said Thumbelina; and she seated herself on
the bird's back, with her feet on his outstretched wings, and tied her
girdle to one of his strongest feathers.
The swallow rose in the air and flew over forest and over sea--high
above the highest mountains, covered with eternal snow. Thumbelina would
have been frozen in the cold air, but she crept under the bird's warm
feathers, keeping her little head uncovered, so that she might admire
the beautiful lands over which they passed. At length they reached the
warm countries, where the sun shines brightly and the sky seems so much
higher above the earth. Here on the hedges and by the wayside grew
purple, green, and white grapes, lemons and oranges hung from trees in
the fields, and the air was fragrant with myrtles and orange blossoms.
Beautiful children ran along the country lanes, playing with large gay
butterflies; and as the swallow flew farther and farther, every place
appeared still more lovely.
At last they came to a blue lake, and by the side of it, shaded by trees
of the deepest green, stood a palace of dazzling white marble, built in
the olden times. Vines clustered round its lofty pillars, and at the
top were many swallows' nests, and one of these was the home of the
swallow who carried Thumbelina.
"This is my house," said the swallow; "but it would not do for you to
live there--you would not be comfortable. You must choose for yourself
one of those lovely flowers, and I will put you down upon it, and then
you shall have everything that you can wish to make you happy."
"That will be delightful," she said, and clapped her little hands for
joy.
A large marble pillar lay on the ground, which, in falling, had been
broken into three pieces. Between these pieces grew the most beautiful
large white flowers, so the swallow flew down with Thumbelina and placed
her on one of the broad leaves. But how surprised she was to see in the
middle of the flower a tiny little man, as white and transparent as if
he had been made of crystal! He had a gold crown on his head, and
delicate wings at his shoulders, and was not much larger than was she
herself. He was the angel of the flower, for a tiny man and a tiny woman
dwell in every flower, and this was the king of them all.
"Oh, how beautiful he is!" whispered Thumbelina to the swallow.
The little prince was at first quite frightened at the bird, who was
like a giant compared to such a delicate little creature as himself; but
when he saw Thumbelina he was delighted and thought her the prettiest
little maiden he had ever seen. He took the gold crown from his head and
placed it on hers, and asked her name and if she would be his wife and
queen over all the flowers.
This certainly was a very different sort of husband from the son of the
toad, or the mole with his black velvet and fur, so she said Yes to the
handsome prince. Then all the flowers opened, and out of each came a
little lady or a tiny lord, all so pretty it was quite a pleasure to
look at them. Each of them brought Thumbelina a present; but the best
gift was a pair of beautiful wings, which had belonged to a large white
fly, and they fastened them to Thumbelina's shoulders, so that she might
fly from flower to flower.
Then there was much rejoicing, and the little swallow, who sat above
them in his nest, was asked to sing a wedding song, which he did as
well as he could; but in his heart he felt sad, for he was very fond of
Thumbelina and would have liked never to part from her again.
"You must not be called Thumbelina any more," said the spirit of the
flowers to her. "It is an ugly name, and you are so very lovely. We will
call you Maia."
"Farewell, farewell," said the swallow, with a heavy heart, as he left
the warm countries, to fly back into Denmark. There he had a nest over
the window of a house in which dwelt the writer of fairy tales. The
swallow sang "Tweet, tweet," and from his song came the whole story.