The Complete Fairy Tales, Page 2

  Andersen adopted the most ancient literary forms—the fairy tale and the folk tale—and changed them into something that was his own. He was not a collector of folklore, a reteller of what had already been told, as were the brothers Grimm, whom he admired very much.

  What often happens to great authors happened to Andersen as well. The enormous success of some of his fairy tales cast a shadow on the rest of his stories and they have been overlooked. How many people have ever heard of THE SHADOW, a brilliant Kafkaesque tale, or ANNE LISBETH, an unsentimental naturalistic story about a girl who abandons her illegitimate child? Andersen felt that each of his works should dictate its own style; and he was constantly experimenting. His very last story, AUNTIE TOOTHACHE, is strangely modern, a psychological fantasy, so different from the literature of the age to which he belonged. The hope that some of Andersen’s lesser known stories might now receive the attention they deserve was one of the greatest inducements for starting out on this huge task, and it was an encouragement throughout the work.

  A translator is a servant of what he is translating; it is, after all, reduced to sentences and even single words, whose double he has to find. He must try not only to translate the sense but the spirit as well. This is his art, this is what he should and will be judged by. He must be faithful to the original and yet produce a fluent, readable version in another language. But these demands of fluency and readability must not be excuses for changing the author’s literary style. Andersen’s prose in Danish is not smooth, it is choppy and abrupt; and that is part of his charm. I hope that I have “translated” this as well.

  The translator must not let his own personal opinions, or those of his times, influence him. Unfortunately, many of the early translators of Hans Christian Andersen were Victorians, and they had a tendency to make a kiss on the mouth, in translation, land on the cheek. Passion had to be ethereal rather than sensual; and it was so easy and desirable, considering the audience of the time, to change sentiment into sentimentality. I shall not judge these early translators too harshly; for I, too, have been tempted to cut a little here and there to please my audience.

  As far as I have been able, I have been faithful to the original text, even when I knew that certain ideas might offend people of my own times, or might—which is far worse—appear ridiculous in their eyes. I have tried to be loyal to only one person, Hans Christian Andersen; and I hope most fervently that I have succeeded.

  E.C.H.

  My gift to the world

  —Hans Christian Andersen

  1

  The Tinderbox

  A soldier came marching down the road: Left … right! Left … right! He had a pack on his back and a sword at his side. He had been in the war and he was on his way home. Along the road he met a witch. She was a disgusting sight, with a lower lip that hung all the way down to her chest.

  “Good evening, young soldier,” she said. “What a handsome sword you have and what a big knapsack. I can see that you are a real soldier! I shall give you all the money that you want.”

  “Thank you, old witch,” he said.

  “Do you see that big tree?” asked the witch, and pointed to the one they were standing next to. “The trunk is hollow. You climb up to the top of the tree, crawl into the hole, and slide deep down inside it. I’ll tie a rope around your waist, so I can pull you up again when you call me.”

  “What am I supposed to do down in the tree?” asked the soldier.

  “Get money!” answered the witch and laughed. “Now listen to me. When you get down to the very bottom, you’ll be in a great passageway where you’ll be able to see because there are over a hundred lamps burning. You’ll find three doors; and you can open them all because the keys are in the locks. Go into the first one; and there on a chest, in the middle of the room, you’ll see a dog with eyes as big as teacups. Don’t let that worry you. You will have my blue checkered apron; just spread it out on the floor, put the dog down on top of it, and it won’t do you any harm. Open the chest and take as many coins as you wish, they are all copper. If it’s silver you’re after, then go into the next room. There you’ll find a dog with eyes as big as millstones; but don’t let that worry you, put him on the apron and take the money. If you’d rather have gold, you can have that too; it’s in the third room. Wait till you see that dog, he’s got eyes as big as the Round Tower in Copenhagen; but don’t let that worry you. Put him down on my apron and he won’t hurt you; then you can take as much gold as you wish.”

  “That doesn’t sound bad!” said the soldier. “But what am I to do for you, old witch? I can’t help thinking that you must want something too.”

  “No,” replied the witch. “I don’t want one single coin. Just bring me the old tinderbox that my grandmother forgot the last time she was down there.”

  “I’m ready, tie the rope around my waist!” ordered the soldier.

  “There you are, and here is my blue checkered apron,” said the witch.

  The soldier climbed the tree, let himself fall into the hole, and found that he was in the passageway, where more than a hundred lights burned.

  He opened the first door. Oh! There sat the dog with eyes as big as teacups glaring at him.

  “You are a handsome fellow!” he exclaimed as he put the dog down on the witch’s apron. He filled his pockets with copper coins, closed the chest, and put the dog back on top of it.

  He went into the second room. Aha! There sat the dog with eyes as big as millstones. “Don’t keep looking at me like that,” said the soldier good-naturedly. “It isn’t polite and you’ll spoil your eyes.” He put the dog down on the witch’s apron and opened the chest. When he saw all the silver coins, he emptied the copper out of his pockets and filled both them and his knapsack with silver.

  Now he entered the third room. That dog was big enough to frighten anyone, even a soldier. His eyes were as large as the Round Tower in Copenhagen and they turned around like wheels.

  “Good evening,” said the soldier politely, taking off his cap, for such a dog he had never seen before. For a while he just stood looking at it; but finally he said to himself, “Enough of this!” Then he put the dog down on the witch’s apron and opened up the chest.

  “God preserve me!” he cried. There was so much gold that there was enough to buy the whole city of Copenhagen; and all the gingerbread men, rocking horses, riding whips, and tin soldiers in the whole world.

  Quickly the soldier threw away all the silver coins that he had in his pockets and knapsack and put gold in them instead; he even filled his boots and his cap with money. He put the dog back on the chest, closed the door behind him, and called up through the hollow tree.

  “Pull me up, you old witch!”

  “Have you got the tinderbox?” she called back.

  “Right you are, I have forgotten it,” he replied honestly, and went back to get it. The witch hoisted him up and again he stood on the road; but now his pockets, knapsack, cap, and boots were filled with gold and he felt quite differently.

  “Why do you want the tinderbox?” he asked.

  “Mind your own business,” answered the witch crossly. “You have got your money, just give me the tinderbox.”

  “Blah! Blah!” said the soldier. “Tell me what you are going to use it for, right now; or I’ll draw my sword and cut off your head.”

  “No!” replied the witch firmly; but that was a mistake, for the soldier chopped her head off. She lay there dead. The soldier put all his gold in her apron, tied it up into a bundle, and threw it over his shoulder. The tinderbox he dropped into his pocket; and off to town he went.

  The town was nice, and the soldier went to the nicest inn, where he asked to be put up in the finest room and ordered all the things he liked to eat best for his supper, because now he had so much money that he was rich.

  The servant who polished his boots thought it was very odd that a man so wealthy should have such worn-out boots. But the soldier hadn’t had time to buy anything yet; the next d
ay he bought boots and clothes that fitted his purse. And the soldier became a refined gentleman. People were eager to tell him all about their town and their king, and what a lovely princess his daughter was.

  “I would like to see her,” said the soldier.

  “But no one sees her,” explained the townfolk. “She lives in a copper castle, surrounded by walls, and towers, and a moat. The king doesn’t dare allow anyone to visit her because it has been foretold that she will marry a simple soldier, and the king doesn’t want that to happen.”

  “If only I could see her,” thought the soldier, though it was unthinkable.

  The soldier lived merrily, went to the theater, kept a carriage so he could drive in the king’s park, and gave lots of money to the poor. He remembered well what it felt like not to have a penny in his purse.

  He was rich and well dressed. He had many friends; and they all said that he was kind and a real cavalier; and such things he liked to hear. But since he used money every day and never received any, he soon had only two copper coins left.

  He had to move out of the beautiful room downstairs, up to a tiny one in the garret, where he not only polished his boots himself but also mended them with a large needle. None of his friends came to see him, for they said there were too many stairs to climb.

  It was a very dark evening and he could not even buy a candle. Suddenly he remembered that he had seen the stub of a candle in the tinderbox that he had brought up from the bottom of the hollow tree. He found the tinderbox and took out the candle. He struck the flint. There was a spark, and in through the door came the dog with eyes as big as teacups.

  “What does my master command?” asked the dog.

  “What’s this all about?” exclaimed the soldier. “That certainly was an interesting tinderbox. Can I have whatever I want? Bring me some money,” he ordered. In less time than it takes to say thank you, the dog was gone and back with a big sack of copper coins in his mouth.

  Now the soldier understood why the witch had thought the tinderbox so valuable. If he struck it once, the dog appeared who sat on the chest full of copper coins; if he struck it twice, then the dog came who guarded the silver money; and if he struck it three times, then came the one who had the gold.

  The soldier moved downstairs again, wore fine clothes again, and had fine friends, for now they all remembered him and cared for him as they had before.

  One night, when he was sitting alone after his friends had gone, he thought, “It is a pity that no one can see that beautiful princess. What is the good of her beauty if she must always remain behind the high walls and towers of a copper castle? Will I never see her? … Where is my tinderbox?”

  He made the sparks fly and the dog with eyes as big as teacups came. “I know it’s very late at night,” he said, “but I would so like to see the beautiful princess, if only for a minute.”

  Away went the dog; and faster than thought he returned with the sleeping princess on his back. She was so lovely that anyone would have known that she was a real princess. The soldier could not help kissing her, for he was a true soldier.

  The dog brought the princess back to her copper castle; but in the morning while she was having tea with her father and mother, the king and queen, she told them that she had had a very strange dream that night. A large dog had come and carried her away to a soldier who kissed her.

  “That’s a nice story,” said the queen, but she didn’t mean it.

  The next night one of the older ladies in waiting was sent to watch over the princess while she slept, and find out whether it had only been a dream, and not something worse.

  The soldier longed to see the princess so much that he couldn’t bear it, so at night he sent the dog to fetch her. The dog ran as fast as he could, but the lady in waiting had her boots on and she kept up with him all the way. When she saw which house he had entered, she took out a piece of chalk and made a big white cross on the door.

  “Now we’ll be able to find it in the morning,” she thought, and went home to get some sleep.

  When the dog returned the princess to the castle, he noticed the cross on the door of the house where his master lived; so he took a piece of white chalk and put crosses on all the doors of all the houses in the whole town. It was a very clever thing to do, for now the lady in waiting would never know which was the right door.

  The next morning the king and queen, the old lady in waiting, and all the royal officers went out into town to find the house where the princess had been.

  “Here it is!” exclaimed the king, when he saw the first door with a cross on it.

  “No, my sweet husband, it is here,” said his wife, who had seen the second door with a cross on it.

  “Here’s one!”

  “There’s one!”

  Everyone shouted at once, for it didn’t matter where anyone looked: there he would find a door with a cross on it; and so they all gave up.

  Now the queen was so clever, she could do more than ride in a golden carriage. She took out her golden scissors and cut out a large piece of silk and sewed it into a pretty little bag. This she filled with the fine grain of buckwheat, and tied the bag around the princess’ waist. When this was done, she cut a little hole in the bag just big enough for the little grains of buckwheat to fall out, one at a time, and show the way to the house where the princess was taken by the dog.

  During the night the dog came to fetch the princess and carry her on his back to the soldier, who loved her so much that now he had only one desire, and that was to be a prince so that he could marry her.

  The dog neither saw nor felt the grains of buckwheat that made a little trail all the way from the copper castle to the soldier’s room at the inn. In the morning the king and queen had no difficulty in finding where the princess had been, and the soldier was thrown into jail.

  There he sat in the dark with nothing to do; and what made matters worse was that everyone said, “Tomorrow you are going to be hanged!”

  That was not amusing to hear. If only he had had his tinderbox, but he had forgotten it in his room. When the sun rose, he watched the people, through the bars of his window, as they hurried toward the gates of the city, for the hanging was to take place outside the walls. He heard the drums and the royal soldiers marching. Everyone was running. He saw a shoemaker’s apprentice, who had not bothered to take off his leather apron and was wearing slippers. The boy lifted his legs so high, it looked as though he were galloping. One of his slippers flew off and landed near the window of the soldier’s cell.

  “Hey!” shouted the soldier. “Listen, shoemaker, wait a minute, nothing much will happen before I get there. But if you will run to the inn and get the tinderbox I left in my room, you can earn four copper coins. But you’d better use your legs or it will be too late.”

  The shoemaker’s apprentice, who didn’t have one copper coin, was eager to earn four; and he ran to get the tinderbox as fast as he could; and gave it to the soldier.

  And now you shall hear what happened after that!

  Outside the gates of the town, a gallows had been built; around it stood the royal soldiers and many hundreds of thousands of people. The king and the queen sat on their lovely throne, and across from them sat the judge and the royal council.

  The soldier was standing on the platform, but as the noose was put around his neck, he declared that it was an ancient custom to grant a condemned man his last innocent wish. The only thing he wanted was to be allowed to smoke a pipe of tobacco.

  The king couldn’t refuse; and the soldier took out his tinderbox and struck it: once, twice, three times! Instantly, the three dogs were before him: the one with eyes as big as teacups, the one with eyes as big as millstones, and the one with eyes as big as the Round Tower in Copenhagen.

  “Help me! I don’t want to be hanged!” cried the soldier.

  The dogs ran toward the judge and the royal council. They took one man by the leg and another by the nose, and threw them up in the air, so high that when
they hit the earth again they broke into little pieces.

  “Not me!” screamed the king; but the biggest dog took both the king and the queen and sent them flying up as high as all the others had been.

  The royal guards got frightened; and the people began to shout: “Little soldier, you shall be our king and marry the princess!”

  The soldier rode in the king’s golden carriage; and the three dogs danced in front of it and barked: “Hurrah!”

  The little boys whistled and the royal guards presented arms. The princess came out of her copper castle and became queen, which she liked very much. The wedding feast lasted a week; and the three dogs sat at the table and made eyes at everyone.

  2

  Little Claus and Big Claus

  Once upon a time there lived in a village two men who had the same name; they were both called Claus. But one of them owned four horses, while the other had only one; so to tell them apart the richer man was called Big Claus and the poorer one Little Claus. Now let’s hear what happened to the two of them because that’s a real story!

  Six days a week Little Claus had to work for Big Claus and loan him his horse; and in return Big Claus had to let Little Claus borrow his four horses on Sunday. One day a week Little Claus felt as if all the horses belonged to him, and he would crack his whip in the air and shout orders to them merrily.

  One morning when the sun was shining brightly and the villagers, all dressed up in their Sunday best, with their prayer books under their arms, were passing his field, Little Claus cracked his whip in the air, whistled, and called out very loudly, “Gee up, all my horses!”