He stood there so nicely with his ladder and with a face as white and red as a girl, and that was actually a mistake because it could have been a little black. He stood quite close to the shepherdess. They had both been positioned where they were, and because of their positions they had gotten engaged. They were well suited for each other: they were young, they were of the same kind of porcelain, and they were both equally fragile.
Close by stood yet another figure who was three times as large. He was an old bobble-head Chinaman. He was also made of porcelain and said that he was the little shepherdess’ grandfather, but although he couldn’t prove it, he insisted that he had power over her, and therefore he had nodded his assent to GeneralBillyGoatlegs-OverandUnderWarSergeantCommander, when the general had proposed to the little shepherdess.
“There’s a husband for you!” said the old Chinaman. “A husband who I think is made of mahogany. He will make you Mrs. GeneralBillyGoatlegs-OverandUnderWarSergeantCommander. He has a whole cabinet full of silver, not to mention what he has hidden away.”
“I don’t want to go into that dark cabinet!” said the little shepherdess. “I’ve heard that he has eleven porcelain wives in there!”
“Then you can be the twelfth!” said the Chinaman. “Tonight, as soon as the old cabinet creaks, there’ll be a wedding, as sure as I’m a Chinaman.” And then he nodded off’ to sleep.
But the little shepherdess cried and looked at her dearest sweetheart, the porcelain chimney sweep.
“I believe I’ll ask you,” she said, “to go with me out into the wide world, for we can’t stay here.”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” said the little chimney sweep. “Let’s go right now. I am sure I can support you by my trade.”
“If only we were safely off the table,” she said. “I won’t be happy until we’re out in the wide world.”
And he consoled her and showed her where to place her little foot in the carved corners and the gilded foliage of the table leg. He used his ladder too, and they made it down to the floor. But when they looked over at the old cabinet, what a commotion they saw! All the carved stags stuck their heads further out, raised their antlers, and twisted their heads. GeneralBillyGoatlegs-OverandUnderWarSergeantCommander leaped into the air and shouted to the old Chinaman, “They’re running away! They’re running away!”
That scared them, and they jumped quickly up into the drawer of the window niche.
Three or four incomplete decks of cards were in there, as well as a little toy theater that was put together as well as possible. There was a play going on, and all the queens—diamonds, hearts, clubs, and spades—sat in the front row and fanned themselves with their tulips. Behind them stood all the jacks and used their heads both at the top and the bottom, the way cards do. The play was about two star crossed lovers, and the shepherdess cried about that, because it was like her own story.
“I can’t stand it!” she said, “I have to get out of this drawer!” But when they reached the floor and looked up at the table, they saw that the old Chinaman had woken up and was rocking his entire body back and forth because his body was one big clump, of course.
“Here comes the old Chinaman!” screamed the little shepherdess, and she fell right down on her porcelain knees; that’s how miserable she was.
“I’ve got an idea,” said the chimney sweep. “Let’s crawl into that big potpourri jar in the corner. We can lie there on the roses and lavender and throw salt in his eyes when he comes.”
“That won’t work,” she said. “Besides I know that the old Chinaman and the potpourri jar were engaged at one time, and there’s always a little goodwill left over when you’ve been in such a relationship. No, we have no choice but to go out into the wide world.”
“Do you really have the courage to go out into the wide world with me?” asked the chimney sweep. “Have you thought about how big it is, and that we can never come back here again?”
“Yes I have,” she said.
And the chimney sweep looked steadily at her, and then he said, “My way goes through the chimney. Do you really have the courage to crawl with me through the stove and through the flue and pipes? We’ll come into the chimney, and I know my way around there! We’ll climb so high that they won’t be able to reach us, and at the very top there’s a hole out to the wide world.”
And he led her over to the door of the wood-burning stove.
“It looks awfully dark in there,” she said, but she went with him, both through the flue and the pipes, where it was pitch black night.
“Now we’re in the chimney,” he said “And look! Look up there—the most beautiful star is shining!”
“Do you really have the courage to go out into the wide world with me?” asked the chimney sweep.
And it was a real star in the sky that shone right down to them, as if it wanted to show them the way. And they crawled and they crept—such a dreadful distance. Up, high up. But he hoisted and helped her and made it easier. He held her and showed her the best places to set her little porcelain feet, and they reached the top of the chimney and sat down on the edge because they were very tired and no wonder.
The sky with all its stars was above them and all the town roofs below. They looked all around, way out into the world. The poor shepherdess had not thought it would be like this. She put her little head on her chimney sweep’s shoulder and cried and cried until the gold washed off her belt.
“It’s just too much!” she said. “I can’t stand it! The world is much too big! I wish I were back on the little table under the mirror. I’ll never be happy until I’m back there again. Now I’ve followed you out into the wide world—you can certainly follow me home again, if you care about me at all!”
And the chimney sweep spoke reasonably to her, talked about old Chinamen and about the GeneralBillyGoatlegs-OverandUnderWarSergeantCommander, but she sobbed so terribly and kissed her little chimney sweep so he couldn’t do other than yield to her, even though he thought it was a mistake.
So then they crawled with great difficulty back down the chimney, and they crept through the damper and the pipe. It wasn’t at all pleasant. And then they were standing in the dark stove. They stood listening behind the door to hear what was happening in the living room. It was completely quiet. They peeked out—Oh! There in the middle of the floor lay the old Chinaman. He had fallen off the table when he had tried to chase them. He was broken into three pieces. His whole back had fallen off in one clump, while his head had rolled into a comer. GeneralBillyGoatlegs-OverandUnderWarSergeantCommander was standing where he always did, thinking things over.
“This is terrible!” said the little shepherdess. “Old grandfather is broken to pieces, and it’s our fault! I’ll never survive this!” and she wrung her tiny little hands.
“He can be mended,” said the chimney sweep. “He can certainly be mended. Don’t get so excited! After they glue his back and give him a good rivet in his neck, he’ll be as good as new and as unpleasant to us as ever.”
“Do you think so?” she said, and then they crept up on the table again where they had stood before.
“So that’s as far as we got,” said the chimney sweep. “We could have saved ourselves all that trouble!”
“If only old grandfather were mended!” said the shepherdess. “Will it be very expensive?”
And he was mended. The family had his back glued, and he got a good rivet in his neck. He was as good as new, but he couldn’t nod any longer.
“You have gotten stuck-up since you were smashed,” said GeneralBillyGoatlegs-OverandUnderWarSergeantCommander. “But I don’t think that is anything to be so proud of. Shall I have her or not?”
And the chimney sweep and the little shepherdess looked so pleadingly at the old Chinaman. They were so afraid he was going to nod, but he couldn’t, and it was unpleasant for him to tell a stranger that he always had a rivet in his neck. So the porcelain couple remained together. They blessed grandfather’s rivet and loved eac
h other until they broke apart.
THE DARNING NEEDLE
ONCE UPON A TIME there was a darning needle that was so refined and stuck-up that she was under the illusion that she was a sewing needle.
“Just tend to what you are doing,” said the darning needle to the fingers who picked it up. “Don’t drop me! If I fall on the floor, I won’t be found again because I’m so fine.”
“Only moderately so,” said the fingers and squeezed her around the waist.
“Do you see that I’m coming with my retinue?” said the darning needle, and she pulled a long thread behind her, but there wasn’t a knot in it.
The fingers pointed the needle straight towards the cook’s slipper, where the leather upper had split and was now going to be sewed together again.
“This is lowly work!” said the darning needle. “I’ll never make it through. I’ll break! I’ll break!” And then she broke. “I told you so!” said the darning needle. “I’m too fine.”
Now she’s not good for anything, the fingers thought, but they held on to her, and the cook dripped sealing wax on her and stuck her in the front of her scarf.
“See, now I’m a brooch!” said the darning needle. “I guess I knew that I would come into my own. When you are something, you always become something.” And she laughed inwardly, because you can never tell from the outside that a darning needle is laughing. There she sat so proudly now as if she were riding in a coach and looking about in all directions.
“May I take the liberty of asking if you are made of gold?” she asked the pin who was stuck nearby. “You have a lovely appearance and your own head, even if it’s a pinhead. You must try to grow it out a bit, since not everyone can be waxed on the end.” And then the darning needle rose up so proudly in the air that she fell out of the scarf and into the wash, just as the cook was rinsing it out.
“Now we’re traveling!” said the darning needle. “Just so I don’t get lost,” but that’s what she did.
“I’m too fine for this world,” she said as she sat in the gutter. “But I’m still good and sharp, and I can take pleasure in that.” And the darning needle stayed straight as a pin and didn’t lose her good humor.
All kind of things went sailing over her: sticks, straw, and pieces of newspaper. “Look how they’re sailing!” said the darning needle. “They don’t know what’s stuck down here under them! I am sticking and I stick! See, there goes a twig. It doesn’t think about anything in the world except ‘twig’ and that’s what it is. There goes a straw floating by. Look how it’s swaying and promenading. Don’t think so much about yourself—you could bruise yourself on the cobblestones! There goes a newspaper! Everything written in it is forgotten and yet it spreads itself literally. I sit patiently and quietly. I know what I am and will continue to be.”
One day something shone so beautifully close by the darning needle, and she thought it was a diamond. Actually it was a glass shard from a broken bottle, and when the darning needle saw it shining she spoke to it and introduced herself as a brooch. “I presume you are a diamond?” “Well yes, I am something of the sort.” And they both believed that the other was very precious, and so they talked about how stuck up the world was.
“Well, I used to live in a box belonging to a young lady,” said the darning needle, “and that young lady was a cook. She had five fingers on each hand, but anything more conceited than those fingers I have never known in my life. And yet they only existed to hold me, take me out of the box, and put me back again!”
“Was there any brilliance to them?” asked the bottle shard.
“Brilliance!” said the darning needle, “Oh no, they were so stuck-up! They were five brothers, all five of the “Finger” family. They all stuck proudly together, although they were of different sizes. At the end of the row was Tom Thumb. He was short and fat, and walked outside the ranks and only had one joint in his back. He could only bow once, but he said that if he was cut out of the ranks then the whole person would be spoiled for military service. Next to him was Slick-pot. He gets into everything, both sweet and sour, and points at the sun and the moon. It was he who squeezed whenever they wrote something. Then there was Middleman, who looked over the heads of the others. Ring Finger had a golden ring around his tummy, and the little guy on the end didn’t do anything and was proud of it. Nothing but boasting and bragging all day long, so I went down the drain—washed up.”
“And now we’re sitting here sparkling,” said the bottle shard. Just then more water flushed through the gutter. It ran over the edges and took the bottle shard along.
“Well, he has advanced!” said the darning needle, “I remain here. I am too fine, but that is my pride and worthy of respect,” and she sat stiffly and continued thinking.
“I could almost believe that I’m born of a sunbeam, as fine as I am. It seems to me too that the sun is always searching me out under the water. Oh, I’m so fine that my own mother can’t find me! If I had my old eye, the one that broke, I think I would cry! But I wouldn’t do it anyway. Fine ladies don’t cry!”
One day some street urchins were digging around in the gutters, where they found old nails, coins, and things like that. It was messy, but they enjoyed it.
“Ouch,” said one. He had been pricked by the darning needle. “What kind of a fellow is this?”
“I’m not a fellow; I’m a young lady,” said the darning needle, but no one heard her. The sealing wax had worn off, and she had turned black. But since black makes you look thinner, she thought she was even finer than before.
“There comes an egg shell floating,” said the boys, and they stuck the darning needle into the shell.
“White walls and black myself,” said the darning needle. “That’s very becoming, and at least now I can be seen!—just so I don’t get seasick because then I would throw up or get the bends and break. But she didn’t get seasick, and she didn’t get the bends and break.
“A good defense against seasickness is having an iron stomach, like me, and also always remembering that you are a little bit more than human! I’m feeling better. The finer you are, the more you can stand.”
“Crunch!” said the eggshell. A wagon wheel rolled over it. “Oh, what pressure!” said the darning needle, “Now I’ll get seasick after all! I’ve got the bends! I’ve got the bends and I’m breaking!” But she didn’t break, even though a wagon wheel went over her. She was lying lengthwise—and there she can stay.
THE OLD HOUSE
UP THE STREET THERE was an old, old house. It was almost three hundred years old. You could read the year on the beam where it was carved, along with tulips and hop vines. There were whole verses spelled like in the old days, and over every window a grimacing face was carved in the beam. The upper story hung far out over the other one, and right under the roof was a lead gutter with a gargoyle on the end. Rain water was supposed to run out of its mouth, but it ran out of its stomach because there was a hole in the gutter.
All the other houses in the street were so new and neat looking, with wide windows and smooth walls. You could see that they didn’t want to have anything to do with the old house. They were probably thinking: “How long is that old eyesore going to stand here as an object of ridicule? The bay window sticks out so far that nobody can see from our windows what is going on in that direction. The stairs are as wide as for a castle, and as high as a church steeple. Why the iron railings look like the door to an old burial vault, and there are brass knobs! It’s totally tasteless!”
There were neat new houses right across the street too, and they thought the same as the others, but at one window sat a little boy with fresh, rosy cheeks and clear bright eyes. He certainly liked the old house best, both in sunshine and in moonlight. And when he looked over at the wall, where the plaster had come off, he could make out all kinds of odd pictures of how the street had looked before, with stairs, bay windows, and sharp gables. He could see soldiers with halberds and roof gutters that ran about as dragons and serpents.
It was really a house to look at!
An old man lived there. He wore plush trousers, a coat with big brass buttons, and a wig that you could see was a real wig. Every morning an old fellow came by, and he cleaned up and ran errands. Otherwise, the old man in the plush trousers was all alone in the old house. Now and then he came to the window and looked out, and the little boy nodded to him, and the old man nodded back. In that way they became acquaintances and then friends, even though they had never talked to each other, but that didn’t matter.
The little boy heard his parents say, “That old man over there is well-off, but he is so awfully alone.”
The following Sunday the little boy wrapped something into a piece of paper, went down to the gate, and when the man who did errands came, the boy said to him, “Listen! Will you take this to the old man over there for me? I have two tin soldiers. This is one of them. He’s to have it because I know he’s so awfully alone.”
The old fellow looked pretty pleased, nodded, and took the tin soldier to the old house. Later a message came asking if the little boy would like to come over himself for a visit. He was allowed to do so by his parents, and so he went over to the old house.
The brass knobs on the iron railing were shining more brightly than usual. You would think that they had been polished in honor of the visit, and it seemed as if the carved trumpeters—because there were trumpeters among the tulips on the door—were blowing with all their might. Their cheeks looked fuller than usual. They were playing “Tra-ter-ah-tra! The little boy is coming, tra-ter-ah-tra!” and then the door opened. The hallway was full of portraits, knights in armor and women in silk gowns, and the armor rattled and the silk gowns rustled. There was a stairway that went up a long way and then down a little way again—and then you were on a balcony. It was admittedly very rickety, with big holes and long cracks, but grass and leaves grew up from all of them. The whole balcony out there and the walls were so overgrown with green that it looked like a garden even though it was only a balcony. There were old herb pots standing there, with faces and donkey ears on them. The flowers grew wherever they wanted. One pot was over-flowing on all sides with carnations, that is to say, with the green shoots, and seemed quite clearly to say, “The air has caressed me, and the sun has kissed me and promised me a little flower on Sunday—a little flower on Sunday.”
Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen Page 60
