Fairy tales and stories (Andersen, Tegner)/Thumbeline

by Hans Christian Andersen

For other English-language translations of this work, see Thumbelina.

THUMBELINE

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FLOWER SAT A TINY LITTLE GIRL.

THUMBELINE

THERE was once upon a time a woman who wanted so much to have a tiny child, but she did not know where she could get one, so she went to an old witch and said to her: "I would like so very much to have a little child! Will you tell me where I can get one?"

Oh, yes! that can easily be managed!" said the witch. "Here is a barleycorn, but it is not of the sort that grows in the farmers' fields or the fowls get to eat. Put that into a flower-pot, and then you will see something!"

"Thank you!" said the woman, and gave the witch sixpence. She then went home and planted the barleycorn, and immediately a large, beautiful flower grew up, which was quite like a tulip, but its petals were tightly closed, just as it it were still a bud.

"What a beautiful flower!" said the woman, and kissed its lovely red and yellow petals; but just as she kissed the flower, it gave a loud report and opened its petals. It was a real tulip,—one could see that,—but in the middle of the flower, on the green stamens, sat a tiny little girl, most delicate and beautiful to look at. She was scarcely half the size of one's thumb, and therefore she was called Thumbeline.

For a cradle she had a pretty, lacquered walnut shell, for mattresses blue violet leaves, and for a coverlet a rose leaf. There she slept at night, but in the daytime she played about on the table where the woman had put a plate with a wreath of flowers around it, their stalks reaching down into the water. On this a large tulip leaf was floating about, and on this Thumbeline sat and sailed from one side of the plate to the other. She used two white horse-hairs to row with. It was a pretty sight! She could also sing, and her song was so sweet and beautiful that nothing like it had ever been heard before.

One night as she lay in her pretty bed an ugly toad jumped in through the window, in which there was a broken pane. The toad, a very ugly, big, and wet creature, jumped down on the table where Thumbeline lay asleep under the red rose leaf.

"That would be a beautiful wife for my son!" said the toad, and so she took the walnut shell in which Thumbeline was sleeping, and jumped through the window down into the garden with her.

Through the garden ran a broad stream; near its banks the ground was marshy and muddy, and here the toad lived with her son. Ugh! How ugly and hideous he was, just like his mother! "Croak, croak!" was all he could say when he saw the lovely little girl in the walnut shell.

THE TOAD TOOK THE WALNUT SHELL IN WHICH THUMBELINE WAS SLEEPING.

"Don't talk so loud, or else she will wake up," said the old toad; "she might easily run away from us, for she is as light as swan's-down. We will put her in the stream on one of the large leaves of the water-lily. It will be like an island to her, for she is so small and light. She cannot run away from there while we are getting the best room ready under the marsh, where you two shall settle down and keep house."

Out in the stream there grew a great many water-lilies, with the large green leaves which appeared to be floating on the water. The leaf which was farthest out was also the largest of all, and to this the old toad swam out and put the walnut shell with Thumbeline on it.

The tiny little creature awoke quite early next morning, and when she saw where she was she began to cry most bitterly, for there was water on all sides of the great green leaf, so that she could not get ashore.

The old toad was sitting down in the mud decorating her room with rushes and the yellow brandy-bottle, for she wanted to make the place look pretty for her new daughter-in-law. She then swam out with her ugly son to the leaf where Thumbeline was standing; they had come to fetch her pretty bed, which was to he placed in the bridal chamber before she went there herself. The old toad courtesied deeply in the water before her and said: "Here is my son! He is going to be your husband, and you two will be very comfortable down there in the mud!"

OLD TOAD COURTESIED TO THUMBELINE AND SAID, "HERE IS MY SON!"

"Croak, croak!" was all that her son could say.

They then took the pretty little bed and swam away with it; but Thumbeline sat quite alone on the green leaf and cried, for she did not want to live with the ugly old toad or have her hideous son for a husband. The small fishes which were swimming about in the water must have seen the toad and heard what she said, and so they put their heads above the water, just to have a look at the little girl. As soon as they saw how beautiful she was, they felt sorry that she should have to go down to the ugly toad. No, that should never happen. They assembled round the green stalk which supported the leaf on which she stood, and gnawed it through with their teeth, so that the leaf drifted down the stream, carrying Thumbeline along with it, far away where the toad could not reach her.

Thumbeline sailed past many places, and the little birds who sat on the bushes and saw her sang, "What a lovely little maiden!" The leaf carried her farther and farther away, and thus Thumbeline came to foreign lands.

A beautiful little white butterfly kept fluttering round about her, and at last he settled down on the leaf, because he had taken such a fancy to Thumbeline, who was also much pleased, for now the toad could not reach her, and everything around her where she sailed was so beautiful; the sun was shining on the water, which glittered like the brightest gold. She then took her girdle and tied one end to the butterfly and the other she fastened to the leaf, which then glided onward much faster with Thumbeline standing on it.

HE FLEW UP WITH HER INTO A TREE.

Just then a big cockchafer came flying past and saw her; the next moment he had caught hold of her round her slender waist with his claws and flew up with her into a tree, while the green leaf floated down the stream and the butterfly flew with it, for he was fastened to the leaf and could not get away.

Oh, how frightened poor Thumbeline was when the cockchafer flew up into the tree with her! But she was greatly distressed about the beautiful white butterfly, whom she had tied fast to the leaf. If he could not get away from it, he must starve to death. But the cockchafer did not trouble himself about that. He sat down with her on the largest green leaf on the tree, gave her the sweet part of a flower to eat, and told her she was very beautiful, although she was not at all like a cockchafer. Later on the other cockchafers who lived in the tree came to pay a visit and to have a look at Thumbeline. The young lady cockchafers turned up their feelers and said, "She has got only two legs. What a miserable thing!" "She has no feelers," some said. "How thin her waist is! Fie! she looks like a human being. How ugly she is!" said all the lady cockchafers. And yet Thumbeline was very beautiful. That is what the cockchafer who had caught her thought, but as all others said that she was ugly, he at last also believed it, and would have nothing more to do with her. She might go where she liked. They flew down with her from the tree and put her on a daisy, where she began to cry, because she was so ugly that the cockchafers would not have her, and yet she was the most beautiful being one could imagine, as delicate and tender as the loveliest rose leaf.

Poor Thumbeline lived quite alone in the great forest all through the summer. She plaited a bed with blades of grass for herself, and hung it under a large burdock leaf to protect herself from the rain. She sucked the honey from the flowers and drank the dew which she found on the leaves every morning, and in this way the summer and the autumn passed; but now came the winter — the cold, long winter. All the birds who had sung so beautifully to her Hew away, and the trees and the flowers began to wither. The large burdock leaf under which she had lived shriveled up and there was only a yellow, withered stalk left. She felt the cold terribly, for her clothes were in tatters, and she herself was so tender and small — poor Thumbeline! — that she might easily freeze to death. It began to snow, and every flake that fell on her was to her the same as a whole shovelful would be when thrown over us, for we are great, big people, and she was only an inch in height. She then wrapped herself in a dry leaf, but it did not keep her warm, and she shivered with cold.

Just outside the forest she came to a large corn-held, but the corn had been harvested long ago; only the bare, dry stubble was left on the frozen ground. It looked to her like a big forest which she had to struggle through. Oh, how she trembled with cold! Then she came to the door of a field-mouse's house. It was a little hole under the stubble, where the field-mouse lived in comfort and ease. She had the whole parlor full of corn, and had, besides, a nice kitchen and larder. Poor Thumbeline stood at the door like any poor beggar-girl and asked for a small piece of barleycorn, for she had not had any food for two days.

"Poor little creature!" said the field-mouse, who was really a kind old creature, "come inside my warm room and have some food with me." As she took a liking to Thumbeline, she said, "You may stop with me this winter, but you must keep my room neat and clean, and tell me stories, for I am very fond of them;" and Thumbeline did what the kind old field-mouse asked her, and had a very pleasant time of it.

"We shall soon have visitors," said the field-mouse; "my neighbor generally visits me once a week. He is even better off than I; he has large rooms and goes about in such a beautiful black, velvety fur coat. If only you could get him for a husband, you would be well provided for. But he cannot see you. You will have to tell him all the prettiest stories you know."

But Thumbeline did not care for all this. She would not have the neighbor, for he was a mole. He came on a visit in his black, velvety fur coat. "He is very rich and very learned," said the field-mouse; "his house is twenty times bigger than mine, and he possesses a great deal of knowledge, but he does not like the sun and beautiful flowers. He speaks contemptuously of them, for he has never seen them." Thumbeline had to sing, and she sang both "Cockchafer, fly, fly away" and "The monk goes in the meadows," so that the mole fell in love with her all on account of her beautiful voice, but he did not say anything, he was such a prudent person.

He had just dug a long passage through the ground from his house to theirs, and the field-mouse and Thumbeline had permission to take their walks there whenever they liked. But he asked them not to be afraid of the dead bird which lay in the passage. It must have died quite lately, when the winter began, and had been buried just where the mole had dug his passage.

THE MOLE HAD DUG A PASSAGE FROM HIS HOUSE TO THEIRS, AND THE FIELD-MOUSE AND THUMBELINE HAD PERMISSION TO TAKE THEIR WALKS THERE.

The mole took a piece of decayed wood in his mouth, for this shines like fire in the dark, and went before them, lighting them on their way through the long, dark passage. When they came to where the dead bird lay, the mole put his broad nose up against the roof and pushed the soil up, so that he made a great hole, through which the daylight could fall. In the middle of the floor lay a dead swallow, with his beautiful wings firmly pressed to his sides, while his legs and the head were drawn up under his feathers. The poor bird must have died of cold. Thumbeline was very sorry for this, for she loved little birds so much; they had sung and twittered for her so beautifully all the summer. But the mole pushed him aside with his short legs and said: "He won't sing any more now. It must be a hard fate to be born a little bird. Heaven be praised that none of my children have become that! Such a bird has nothing but his 'Tweet, tweet!' and must starve to death in the winter."

"Yes, you, who are a sensible person, may well say that," said the field-mouse. "What does a bird get in return for all his ' Tweet, tweet' when the winter comes? He has to starve and freeze, but perhaps that is considered grand, too!"

Thumbeline did not say anything, but when the other two turned away from the bird, she bent down, pushed aside the feathers which covered his head, and kissed his closed eyes. "Perhaps he is the bird who sang so prettily to me during the summer," she thought. "How much pleasure he gave me, the dear, pretty bird!"

The mole now stopped up the hole through which the sun shone, and accompanied the ladies home. But Thumbeline could not sleep that night, so she got up from her bed and plaited a large beautiful coverlet of hay, which she carried down into the passage and wrapped round the dead bird, and put some cotton-wool, which she had found in the field-mouse's room, on each side of the bird, so that it might keep him warm as he lay on the cold ground.

"Good-by, you pretty little bird!" she said; "good-by, and thanks for your beautiful song last summer, when all the trees were green and the sun shone so warmly upon us." She then put her head close to the bird's breast, but the next moment she was startled at hearing something beating inside the bird. It was his heart. The bird was not dead; he lay in a torpor, and now that he began to feel warm he soon revived. The swallows always fly away to the hot countries in the autumn, but if any of them are prevented from following the others, they will feel the cold so much that they fall to the ground as if they were dead, and the cold snow covers them up where they fall.

Thumbeline was so frightened that she trembled all over, for the bird was, of course, much bigger than she, who was only an inch long; but she took courage, put the cotton-wool still closer round the poor swallow, and brought a mint leaf that she had used as coverlet, and put it over the bird's head.

The next night she again stole down to the bird, and he was then alive, but so weak that he could open his eyes only a moment, when he saw Thumbeline, who stood there with a piece of decayed wood in her hand, for she had no other light.

"Many thanks, you pretty little child!" said the sick swallow; "I feel so beautifully warm. I shall soon get back my strength and be able to fly again out into the warm sunshine."

"Oh," she said, " it is so cold outside ! It is snowing and freezing. Stay in your warm bed and I will nurse you."

She then brought the swallow some water in the petal of a flower. and he drank it and told her how he had torn one of his wings in a bramble-bush, and therefore could not fly as fast as the other swallows, who were soon far on their way to the hot countries. He had at last fallen to the ground, but he could not remember anything more, and did not know in the least how he had got there.

The swallow remained down there the whole winter, and Thumbeline was kind to him and came to love him very much. Neither the mole nor the field-mouse knew anything about it, for they did not care in the least for the poor swallow.

THE FIELD-MOUSE HIRED FOUR SPIDERS TO SPIN AND WEAVE, AND THE MOLE CAME EVERY EVENING ON A VISIT.

As soon as the spring came and the sun began to warm the ground, the swallow said good-by to Thumbeline, who opened the hole which the mole had made in the ground above the passage. The sun shone in upon them so brightly, and the swallow asked Thumbeline if she would not go away with them. She could sit on his back, and they would fly away far into the green forest. But Thumbeline knew the old field-mouse would be much grieved if she left her in this way.

"No, I cannot," said Thumbeline.

"Farewell, farewell, you kind and pretty girl!" said the swallow, and flew out into the sunshine. Thumbeline stood looking after him, and the tears came into her eyes, for she was very fond of the poor swallow.

"Tweet, tweet!" sang the bird as he flew away into the green forest.

Thumbeline was very sad at heart. She was not allowed to go out into the warm sunshine. Besides, the corn that had been sown in the field over the field-mouse's house had grown to a great height. It seemed quite a thick forest to the poor little girl, who was only an inch high.

"You must begin and get your outfit ready this summer," said the field-mouse to her; for their neighbor, the tiresome mole in the black, velvety fur coat had now asked for Thumbeline's hand. "You must have both woolen and linen clothes. You must have things to wear and things to lie upon when you are the mole's wife."

Thumbeline had to spin on the distaff, and the field-mouse hired four spiders to spin and weave day and night. Every evening the mole came on a visit, and he was always saying that when the summer came to an end the sun would not shine nearly so hot, while now it was baking the earth almost to a hard stone. Yes, when the summer was over, then he and Thumbeline should get married. But she was not at all contented, for she did not care in the least for the tiresome mole. Every morning when the sun rose, and every evening when it set, she stole out to the door, and when the wind blew the corn aside, so that she could see the bright sky above, she thought how light and beautiful it would be out there, and wished so much that she could see her dear swallow again. But he never came back — he must have flown far away into the beautiful green forest.

When the autumn came Thumbeline had the whole of her outfit ready.

"In four weeks the wedding will take place," said the field-mouse. But Thumbeline cried, and said she would not have the tiresome old mole.

"What nonsense!" said the field-mouse; "don't be obstinate, or I shall bite you with my white tooth. Why, you will have a fine fellow for a husband! Even the queen has not a black, velvety fur coat like his! His kitchen and his cellar are well stored. You ought to be thankful to get him!"

And so the wedding was to take place. The mole had already arrived to fetch Thumbeline. She was to live with him far under the ground, and would never be allowed to go out into the warm sunshine, for he did not like it. The poor child was so distressed at the thought of having to say farewell to the beautiful sun, which she, at any rate, had been allowed to look at from the door-steps while she was with the field-mouse.

"Good-by, you bright sun!" she said, and stretched her arms toward it as she went a few steps away from the field-mouse's house, for the corn had now been reaped and only the dry stubble was left. "Good-by, good-by!" she said, and threw her little arms around a small red flower close by her. "Give my love to the dear swallow, if you should see him."

Just then she heard the twittering of a bird over her head, and she looked up; it was the swallow, who happened to be flying past. He was so pleased at seeing Thumbeline, who now told him how unwilling she was to marry the ugly old mole, and that she would have to live far under the ground, where the sun never shone. She could not help crying at the thought of it.

"The cold winter is now approaching," said the swallow; "I am going to fly away to the hot countries. Will you come with me? You can sit on my back. You need only tie yourself fast with your girdle, and then we will fly away from the ugly old mole and his dark room, far away over the mountains to warmer climes, where the sun shines more brightly than here, where there is always summer and beautiful flowers. Only fly with me, sweet little Thumbeline,—you who saved my life when I lay frozen in the dark cellar under the ground."

THUMBELINE SEATED HERSELF ON THE SWALLOW'S BACK, AND THEN THE BIRD FLEW HIGH UP IN THE AIR WITH HER.

"Yes, I will go with you," said Thumbeline, and seated herself on the bird's back with her feet on his outstretched wing, and tied her girdle fast to one of his strongest feathers, and then the swallow flew high up in the air over forests and lakes, high over the big mountains, which are always covered with snow. And Thumbeline then began to suffer from the cold, but she crept in under the bird's warm feathers and only put out her little head to look at all the splendor below her.

And so they came to the hot countries. There the sun shone much brighter than here, the sky was twice as lofty, and in the ditches and the hedges grew the most lovely green and purple grapes. In the woods hung lemons and oranges, and the air was fragrant with myrtle and mint, and on the roads pretty children ran about, playing with big, gay butterflies. But the swallow flew on still farther, and everything became more and more beautiful. Under the magnificent green trees by the blue sea stood a dazzling white marble palace of the olden times; the vines clustered round its high pillars and on the top were a number of swallows' nests, and in one of these lived the swallow who had carried Thumbeline.

"This is my home," said the swallow; "but if you vvill choose one of the prettiest flowers which grow down there I will put you on it, and you shall be as happy as you wish."

"How splendid!" she said, and clapped her little hands.

Down in the garden lay a great white marble pillar which had fallen to the ground and was broken in two places; but between the pieces grew the most lovely white flowers. The swallow flew down with Thumbeline and put her on one of the large petals of one of the flowers; but what a surprise awaited her ! She saw a little man sitting in the middle of the flower, so white and transparent, as if he had been made of glass, with the most lovely golden crown on his head, and the most beautiful, clear wings on his shoulders, while he himself was no bigger than Thumbeline. He was the angel of the flower. In every flower there lived such a little man or woman, but this one was the king of them all.

"Oh! How beautiful he is!" whispered Thumbeline to the swallow. The little prince became greatly frightened at the swallow, for he was, of course, quite a gigantic creature compared to him, who was so small and tender; but when he saw Thumbeline he became so pleased, for she was the most beautiful girl he ever had seen. He therefore took off his golden crown and placed it on her head, and asked her what her name was, and if she would become his wife, and she should be queen over all the flowers- He was indeed a husband for her, quite different to the son of the toad and to the mole with the black, velvety fur coat. She therefore said "Yes" to the lovely prince, and out of every flower came a lady and a cavalier so beautiful that it was a pleasure to look at them. All of them brought Thumbeline a present, but the best of them all was a pair of lovely wings of a large white fly. These were fastened to Thumbeline's back, and then she was able to fly from flower to flower. There was much rejoicing, and the swallow sat up in his nest and sang to them as well as he could, although at heart he was very sorry, for he was very fond of Thumbeline and would have liked never to part from her.

"You must not be called Thumbeline," said the angel of the flower to her; "it is an ugly name, and you are beautiful. We will call you Maja."

"Good-by, good-by!" said the swallow, and he flew away from the hot countries back to Denmark, where he had a little nest over the window in the house where the man lives who can write fairy tales. To him he sang, "Tweet, tweet!" and from him we have the whole story.