by Hans Christian Andersen
THERE was once a darning-needle who thought herself so fine that
she fancied she must be fit for embroidery. "Hold me tight," she would
say to the fingers, when they took her up, "don't let me fall; if
you do I shall never be found again, I am so very fine."
"That is your opinion, is it?" said the fingers, as they seized
her round the body.
"See, I am coming with a train," said the darning-needle,
drawing a long thread after her; but there was no knot in the thread.
The fingers then placed the point of the needle against the cook's
slipper. There was a crack in the upper leather, which had to be
sewn together.
"What coarse work!" said the darning-needle, "I shall never get
through. I shall break!- I am breaking!" and sure enough she broke.
"Did I not say so?" said the darning-needle, "I know I am too fine for
such work as that."
"This needle is quite useless for sewing now," said the fingers;
but they still held it fast, and the cook dropped some sealing-wax
on the needle, and fastened her handkerchief with it in front.
"So now I am a breast-pin," said the darning-needle; "I knew
very well I should come to honor some day: merit is sure to rise;" and
she laughed, quietly to herself, for of course no one ever saw a
darning-needle laugh. And there she sat as proudly as if she were in a
state coach, and looked all around her. "May I be allowed to ask if
you are made of gold?" she inquired of her neighbor, a pin; "you
have a very pretty appearance, and a curious head, although you are
rather small. You must take pains to grow, for it is not every one who
has sealing-wax dropped upon him;" and as she spoke, the
darning-needle drew herself up so proudly that she fell out of the
handkerchief right into the sink, which the cook was cleaning. "Now
I am going on a journey," said the needle, as she floated away with
the dirty water, "I do hope I shall not be lost." But she really was
lost in a gutter. "I am too fine for this world," said the
darning-needle, as she lay in the gutter; "but I know who I am, and
that is always some comfort." So the darning-needle kept up her
proud behavior, and did not lose her good humor. Then there floated
over her all sorts of things,- chips and straws, and pieces of old
newspaper. "See how they sail," said the darning-needle; "they do
not know what is under them. I am here, and here I shall stick. See,
there goes a chip, thinking of nothing in the world but himself-
only a chip. There's a straw going by now; how he turns and twists
about! Don't be thinking too much of yourself, or you may chance to
run against a stone. There swims a piece of newspaper; what is written
upon it has been forgotten long ago, and yet it gives itself airs. I
sit here patiently and quietly. I know who I am, so I shall not move."
One day something lying close to the darning-needle glittered so
splendidly that she thought it was a diamond; yet it was only a
piece of broken bottle. The darning-needle spoke to it, because it
sparkled, and represented herself as a breast-pin. "I suppose you
are really a diamond?" she said.
"Why yes, something of the kind," he replied; and so each believed
the other to be very valuable, and then they began to talk about the
world, and the conceited people in it.
"I have been in a lady's work-box," said the darning-needle,
"and this lady was the cook. She had on each hand five fingers, and
anything so conceited as these five fingers I have never seen; and yet
they were only employed to take me out of the box and to put me back
again."
"Were they not high-born?"
"High-born!" said the darning-needle, "no indeed, but so
haughty. They were five brothers, all born fingers; they kept very
proudly together, though they were of different lengths. The one who
stood first in the rank was named the thumb, he was short and thick,
and had only one joint in his back, and could therefore make but one
bow; but he said that if he were cut off from a man's hand, that man
would be unfit for a soldier. Sweet-tooth, his neighbor, dipped
himself into sweet or sour, pointed to the sun and moon, and formed
the letters when the fingers wrote. Longman, the middle finger, looked
over the heads of all the others. Gold-band, the next finger, wore a
golden circle round his waist. And little Playman did nothing at
all, and seemed proud of it. They were boasters, and boasters they
will remain; and therefore I left them."
"And now we sit here and glitter," said the piece of broken
bottle.
At the same moment more water streamed into the gutter, so that it
overflowed, and the piece of bottle was carried away.
"So he is promoted," said the darning-needle, "while I remain
here; I am too fine, but that is my pride, and what do I care?" And so
she sat there in her pride, and had many such thoughts as these,- "I
could almost fancy that I came from a sunbeam, I am so fine. It
seems as if the sunbeams were always looking for me under the water.
Ah! I am so fine that even my mother cannot find me. Had I still my
old eye, which was broken off, I believe I should weep; but no, I
would not do that, it is not genteel to cry."
One day a couple of street boys were paddling in the gutter, for
they sometimes found old nails, farthings, and other treasures. It was
dirty work, but they took great pleasure in it. "Hallo!" cried one, as
he pricked himself with the darning-needle, "here's a fellow for you."
"I am not a fellow, I am a young lady," said the darning-needle;
but no one heard her.
The sealing-wax had come off, and she was quite black; but black
makes a person look slender, so she thought herself even finer than
before.
"Here comes an egg-shell sailing along," said one of the boys;
so they stuck the darning-needle into the egg-shell.
"White walls, and I am black myself," said the darning-needle,
"that looks well; now I can be seen, but I hope I shall not be
sea-sick, or I shall break again." She was not sea-sick, and she did
not break. "It is a good thing against sea-sickness to have a steel
stomach, and not to forget one's own importance. Now my sea-sickness
has past: delicate people can bear a great deal."
Crack went the egg-shell, as a waggon passed over it. "Good
heavens, how it crushes!" said the darning-needle. "I shall be sick
now. I am breaking!" but she did not break, though the waggon went
over her as she lay at full length; and there let her lie.
THE END
.
1872
FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
THE DROP OF WATER
by Hans Christian Andersen
OF course you know what is meant by a magnifying glass- one of
those round spectacle-glasses that make everything look a hundred
times bigger than it is? When any one takes one of these and holds
it to his eye, and looks at a drop of water from the pond yonder, he
sees above a thousand wonderful creatures that are otherwise never
discerned in the water. But there they are, and it is no delusion.
It almost looks like a great plateful of spiders jumping about in a
crowd. And how fierce they are! They tear off each other's legs. and
arms and bodies, before and behind; and yet they are merry and
joyful in their way.
Now, there once was an old man whom all the people called
Kribble-Krabble, for that was his name. He always wanted the best of
everything, and when he could not manage it otherwise, he did it by
magic.
There he sat one day, and held his magnifying-glass to his eye,
and looked at a drop of water that had been taken out of a puddle by
the ditch. But what a kribbling and krabbling was there! All the
thousands of little creatures hopped and sprang and tugged at one
another, and ate each other up.
"That is horrible!" said old Kribble-Krabble. "Can one not
persuade them to live in peace and quietness, so that each one may
mind his own business?"
And he thought it over and over, but it would not do, and so he
had recourse to magic.
"I must give them color, that they may be seen more plainly," said
he; and he poured something like a little drop of red wine into the
drop of water, but it was witches' blood from the lobes of the ear,
the finest kind, at ninepence a drop. And now the wonderful little
creatures were pink all over. It looked like a whole town of naked
wild men.
"What have you there?" asked another old magician, who had no
name- and that was the best thing about him.
"Yes, if you can guess what it is," said Kribble-Krabble, "I'll
make you a present of it."
But it is not so easy to find out if one does not know.
And the magician who had no name looked through the
magnifying-glass.
It looked really like a great town reflected there, in which all
the people were running about without clothes. It was terrible! But it
was still more terrible to see how one beat and pushed the other,
and bit and hacked, and tugged and mauled him. Those at the top were
being pulled down, and those at the bottom were struggling upwards.
"Look! look! his leg is longer than mine! Bah! Away with it! There
is one who has a little bruise. It hurts him, but it shall hurt him
still more."
And they hacked away at him, and they pulled at him, and ate him
up, because of the little bruise. And there was one sitting as still
as any little maiden, and wishing only for peace and quietness. But
now she had to come out, and they tugged at her, and pulled her about,
and ate her up.
"That's funny!" said the magician.
"Yes; but what do you think it is?" said Kribble-Krabble. "Can you
find that out?"
"Why, one can see that easily enough," said the other. "That's Paris,
or some other great city, for they're all alike. It's a great city!"
"It's a drop of puddle water!" said Kribble-Krabble.
THE END
.
1872
FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
THE DRYAD
by Hans Christian Andersen
WE are travelling to Paris to the Exhibition.
Now we are there. That was a journey, a flight without magic. We
flew on the wings of steam over the sea and across the land.
Yes, our time is the time of fairy tales.
We are in the midst of Paris, in a great hotel. Blooming flowers
ornament the staircases, and soft carpets the floors.
Our room is a very cosy one, and through the open balcony door
we have a view of a great square. Spring lives down there; it has come
to Paris, and arrived at the same time with us. It has come in the
shape of a glorious young chestnut tree, with delicate leaves newly
opened. How the tree gleams, dressed in its spring garb, before all
the other trees in the place! One of these latter had been struck
out of the list of living trees. It lies on the ground with roots
exposed. On the place where it stood, the young chestnut tree is to be
planted, and to flourish.
It still stands towering aloft on the heavy wagon which has
brought it this morning a distance of several miles to Paris. For
years it had stood there, in the protection of a mighty oak tree,
under which the old venerable clergyman had often sat, with children
listening to his stories.
The young chestnut tree had also listened to the stories; for
the Dryad who lived in it was a child also. She remembered the time
when the tree was so little that it only projected a short way above
the grass and ferns around. These were as tall as they would ever
be; but the tree grew every year, and enjoyed the air and the
sunshine, and drank the dew and the rain. Several times it was also,
as it must be, well shaken by the wind and the rain; for that is a
part of education.
The Dryad rejoiced in her life, and rejoiced in the sunshine,
and the singing of the birds; but she was most rejoiced at human
voices; she understood the language of men as well as she understood
that of animals.
Butterflies, cockchafers, dragon-flies, everything that could
fly came to pay a visit. They could all talk. They told of the
village, of the vineyard, of the forest, of the old castle with its
parks and canals and ponds. Down in the water dwelt also living
beings, which, in their way, could fly under the water from one
place to another- beings with knowledge and delineation. They said
nothing at all; they were so clever!
And the swallow, who had dived, told about the pretty little
goldfish, of the thick turbot, the fat brill, and the old carp. The
swallow could describe all that very well, but, "Self is the man," she
said. "One ought to see these things one's self." But how was the
Dryad ever to see such beings? She was obliged to be satisfied with
being able to look over the beautiful country and see the busy
industry of men.
It was glorious; but most glorious of all when the old clergyman
sat under the oak tree and talked of France, and of the great deeds of
her sons and daughters, whose names will be mentioned with
admiration through all time.
Then the Dryad heard of the shepherd girl, Joan of Arc, and of
Charlotte Corday; she heard about Henry the Fourth, and Napoleon the
First; she heard names whose echo sounds in the hearts of the people.
The village children listened attentively, and the Dryad no less
