Little Tiny or Thumbelina
by
Hans Christian Andersen
(1835)
HERE was once a woman who wished very
much to have a little child, but she could not obtain her wish. At last
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
of a different kind to those which grow in the farmer’s fields, and which
the chickens eat; put it into a flower-pot, and see what will 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 immediately there grew up a large handsome flower, something 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 leaves, and while she did so the flower
opened, and she could see that it was a real tulip. 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 “Thumbelina,” or Tiny, 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 woman
had placed a plateful 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 Tiny for a boat. Here the little maiden sat and rowed
herself from side to side, with two oars made of white horse-hair. It
really was a very pretty sight. Tiny 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 Tiny 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 little Tiny 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 away, we will make haste and prepare the state-room 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 little Tiny lay still asleep.
The tiny little 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 wild yellow flowers, 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 little Tiny. She wanted to fetch 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 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 Tiny 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 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 made them very sorry to think that she
must go and live with the ugly toads. “No, it must never be!” so they
assembled 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 Tiny
far away out of reach of land.
Tiny 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. Tiny 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, and the other end of the ribbon she fastened to the leaf,
which now glided on much faster than ever, taking little Tiny 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 little Tiny 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 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, although Tiny was very
pretty. Then the cockchafer who had run away with her, believed all the
others when they said she was ugly, and 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 Tiny 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 were
flown away, and the trees and the flowers had withered. The large clover
leaf under the shelter of which she had lived, was now rolled together
and shrivelled 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 poor little Tiny was nearly frozen to death. It began
to snow too; and the snow-flakes, 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. Then she wrapped herself up 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 lay a corn-field, 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
little Tiny stood before the door just like a little beggar-girl, and
begged for a small piece of barley-corn, for she had been without a
morsel to eat for two days.
“You poor little creature,” said the field-mouse, who was really a good
old field-mouse, “come into my warm room and dine with me.” She was very
pleased with Tiny, 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 Tiny
did all 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.”
But Tiny 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. Tiny was
obliged to sing to him, “Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home,” and many
other pretty songs. And the mole fell in love with her because she had
such a sweet voice; but he said nothing yet, for he was very 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 Tiny 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, and was lying just where the mole had made his passage. The
mole took a piece of phosphorescent wood in his mouth, and it 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 lay the dead bird,
the mole pushed his broad nose through the ceiling, the earth gave way,
so that there was a large hole, and the daylight shone into the passage.
In the middle of the floor lay a dead swallow, his beautiful wings pulled
close to his sides, his feet and his head drawn up under his feathers;
the poor bird had evidently died of the cold. It made little Tiny 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 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, for when winter comes he must either
starve or be frozen to death. Still birds are very high bred.”
Tiny said nothing; but when the two others had turned their backs on the
bird, she stooped down and stroked aside the soft feathers which covered
the 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 lady home. But during the night Tiny could not
sleep; so she got out of bed and wove a large, beautiful carpet of hay;
then 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, you 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 immediately, 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, it becomes frozen, and falls down as if
dead; it remains where it fell, and the cold snow covers it. Tiny
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 the
head of the poor bird. The next morning 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 Tiny, 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.”
Then she brought the swallow some water in a flower-leaf, and after he
had drank, he told her that he had wounded one of his wings in a
thorn-bush, and could not fly as fast as the others, who were soon far
away on their journey to warm countries. Then at last he had fallen to
the earth, and could remember no more, nor how he came to be where she
had found him. The whole winter the swallow remained underground, and
Tiny nursed him with care and love. Neither the mole nor the field-mouse
knew anything about it, for they did not like swallows. Very soon the
spring time came, and the sun warmed the earth. Then the swallow bade
farewell to Tiny, 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 Tiny knew it
would make the field-mouse very grieved 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.
Tiny 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
Tiny felt very sad. She was not allowed to go out into the warm sunshine.
The corn which had been sown in the field over the house of the
field-mouse had grown up high into the air, and formed a thick wood to
Tiny, who was only an inch in height.
“You are going to be married, Tiny,” 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 both woollen and linen.
Nothing must be wanting when you are the mole’s wife.”
Tiny 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 Tiny; but now the heat of the sun was so
great that it burned the earth, and made it quite hard, like a stone. As
soon, as the summer was over, the wedding should take place. But Tiny 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 swallow again. But he never
returned; for by this time he had flown far away into the lovely green
forest.
When autumn arrived, Tiny had her outfit quite ready; and the field-mouse
said to her, “In four weeks the wedding must take place.”
Then Tiny 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 kitchen 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 fetch Tiny 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 round 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 Tiny, he was
delighted; and then she told him how unwilling she felt to marry the ugly
mole, and to live always beneath the earth, and never to see the bright
sun any more. 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 Tiny; you saved my life when I lay frozen in that dark
passage.”
“Yes, I will go with you,” said Tiny; 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.
Then the swallow rose in the air, and flew over forest and over sea, high
above the highest mountains, covered with eternal snow. Tiny 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 woods; 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 Tiny.
“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 Tiny, 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 Tiny
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 Tiny 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 Tiny, 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 to the son of a toad,
or the mole, with my 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 Tiny 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 Tiny’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
Tiny, and would have liked never to part from her again.
“You must not be called Tiny any more,” said the spirit of the flowers to
her. “It is an ugly name, and you are so very pretty. 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.
موضوع: Little Tiny or Thumbelina