The Flying Trunk

THERE was once a merchant who was so rich that he could have paved the whole street with gold, and would even then have had enough for a small alley. But he did not do so; he knew the value of money better than to use it in this way. So clever was he, that every shilling he put out brought him a crown; and so he continued till he died. His son inherited his wealth, and he lived a merry life with it; he went to a masquerade every night, made kites out of five pound notes, and threw pieces of gold into the sea instead of stones, making ducks and drakes of them. In this manner he soon lost all his money. At last he had nothing left but a pair of slippers, an old dressing-gown, and four shillings. And now all his friends deserted him, they could not walk with him in the streets; but one of them, who was very good-natured, sent him an old trunk with this message, “Pack up!” “Yes,” he said, “it is all very well to say ‘pack up,’” but he had nothing left to pack up, therefore he seated himself in the trunk. It was a very wonderful trunk; no sooner did any one press on the lock than the trunk could fly. He shut the lid and pressed the lock, when away flew the trunk up the chimney with the merchant’s son in it, right up into the clouds. Whenever the bottom of the trunk cracked, he was in a great fright, for if the trunk fell to pieces he would have made a tremendous somerset over the trees. However, he got safely in his trunk to the land of Turkey. He hid the trunk in the wood under some dry leaves, and then went into the town: he could so this very well, for the Turks always go about dressed in dressing-gowns and slippers, as he was himself. He happened to meet a nurse with a little child. “I say, you Turkish nurse,” cried he, “what castle is that near the town, with the windows placed so high?”
“The king’s daughter lives there,” she replied; “it has been prophesied that she will be very unhappy about a lover, and therefore no one is allowed to visit her, unless the king and queen are present.”
“Thank you,” said the merchant’s son. So he went back to the wood, seated himself in his trunk, flew up to the roof of the castle, and crept through the window into the princess’s room. She lay on the sofa asleep, and she was so beautiful that the merchant’s son could not help kissing her. Then she awoke, and was very much frightened; but he told her he was a Turkish angel, who had come down through the air to see her, which pleased her very much. He sat down by her side and talked to her: he said her eyes were like beautiful dark lakes, in which the thoughts swam about like little mermaids, and he told her that her forehead was a snowy mountain, which contained splendid halls full of pictures. And then he related to her about the stork who brings the beautiful children from the rivers. These were delightful stories; and when he asked the princess if she would marry him, she consented immediately.
“But you must come on Saturday,” she said; “for then the king and queen will take tea with me. They will be very proud when they find that I am going to marry a Turkish angel; but you must think of some very pretty stories to tell them, for my parents like to hear stories better than anything. My mother prefers one that is deep and moral; but my father likes something funny, to make him laugh.”
“Very well,” he replied; “I shall bring you no other marriage portion than a story,” and so they parted. But the princess gave him a sword which was studded with gold coins, and these he could use.
Then he flew away to the town and bought a new dressing-gown, and afterwards returned to the wood, where he composed a story, so as to be ready for Saturday, which was no easy matter. It was ready however by Saturday, when he went to see the princess. The king, and queen, and the whole court, were at tea with the princess; and he was received with great politeness.
“Will you tell us a story?” said the queen,—“one that is instructive and full of deep learning.”
“Yes, but with something in it to laugh at,” said the king.
“Certainly,” he replied, and commenced at once, asking them to listen attentively. “There was once a bundle of matches that were exceedingly proud of their high descent. Their genealogical tree, that is, a large pine-tree from which they had been cut, was at one time a large, old tree in the wood. The matches now lay between a tinder-box and an old iron saucepan, and were talking about their youthful days. ‘Ah! then we grew on the green boughs, and were as green as they; every morning and evening we were fed with diamond drops of dew. Whenever the sun shone, we felt his warm rays, and the little birds would relate stories to us as they sung. We knew that we were rich, for the other trees only wore their green dress in summer, but our family were able to array themselves in green, summer and winter. But the wood-cutter came, like a great revolution, and our family fell under the axe. The head of the house obtained a situation as mainmast in a very fine ship, and can sail round the world when he will. The other branches of the family were taken to different places, and our office now is to kindle a light for common people. This is how such high-born people as we came to be in a kitchen.’
“‘Mine has been a very different fate,’ said the iron pot, which stood by the matches; ‘from my first entrance into the world I have been used to cooking and scouring. I am the first in this house, when anything solid or useful is required. My only pleasure is to be made clean and shining after dinner, and to sit in my place and have a little sensible conversation with my neighbors. All of us, excepting the water-bucket, which is sometimes taken into the courtyard, live here together within these four walls. We get our news from the market-basket, but he sometimes tells us very unpleasant things about the people and the government. Yes, and one day an old pot was so alarmed, that he fell down and was broken to pieces. He was a liberal, I can tell you.’
“‘You are talking too much,’ said the tinder-box, and the steel struck against the flint till some sparks flew out, crying, ‘We want a merry evening, don’t we?’
“‘Yes, of course,’ said the matches, ‘let us talk about those who are the highest born.’
“‘No, I don’t like to be always talking of what we are,’ remarked the saucepan; ‘let us think of some other amusement; I will begin. We will tell something that has happened to ourselves; that will be very easy, and interesting as well. On the Baltic Sea, near the Danish shore’—
“‘What a pretty commencement!’ said the plates; ‘we shall all like that story, I am sure.’
“‘Yes; well in my youth, I lived in a quiet family, where the furniture was polished, the floors scoured, and clean curtains put up every fortnight,’
“‘What an interesting way you have of relating a story,’ said the carpet-broom; ‘it is easy to perceive that you have been a great deal in women’s society, there is something so pure runs through what you say.’
“‘That is quite true,’ said the water-bucket; and he made a spring with joy, and splashed some water on the floor.
“Then the saucepan went on with his story, and the end was as good as the beginning.
“The plates rattled with pleasure, and the carpet-broom brought some green parsley out of the dust-hole and crowned the saucepan, for he knew it would vex the others; and he thought, ‘If I crown him to-day he will crown me to-morrow.’
“‘Now, let us have a dance,’ said the fire-tongs; and then how they danced and stuck up one leg in the air. The chair-cushion in the corner burst with laughter when she saw it.
“‘Shall I be crowned now?’ asked the fire-tongs; so the broom found another wreath for the tongs.
“‘They were only common people after all,’ thought the matches. The tea-urn was now asked to sing, but she said she had a cold, and could not sing without boiling heat. They all thought this was affectation, and because she did not wish to sing excepting in the parlor, when on the table with the grand people.
“In the window sat an old quill-pen, with which the maid generally wrote. There was nothing remarkable about the pen, excepting that it had been dipped too deeply in the ink, but it was proud of that.
“‘If the tea-urn won’t sing,’ said the pen, ‘she can leave it alone; there is a nightingale in a cage who can sing; she has not been taught much, certainly, but we need not say anything this evening about that.’
“‘I think it highly improper,’ said the tea-kettle, who was kitchen singer, and half-brother to the tea-urn, ‘that a rich foreign bird should be listened to here. Is it patriotic? Let the market-basket decide what is right.’
“‘I certainly am vexed,’ said the basket; ‘inwardly vexed, more than any one can imagine. Are we spending the evening properly? Would it not be more sensible to put the house in order? If each were in his own place I would lead a game; this would be quite another thing.’
“‘Let us act a play,’ said they all. At the same moment the door opened, and the maid came in. Then not one stirred; they all remained quite still; yet, at the same time, there was not a single pot amongst them who had not a high opinion of himself, and of what he could do if he chose.
“‘Yes, if we had chosen,’ they each thought, ‘we might have spent a very pleasant evening.’
“The maid took the matches and lighted them; dear me, how they sputtered and blazed up!
“‘Now then,’ they thought, ‘every one will see that we are the first. How we shine; what a light we give!’ Even while they spoke their light went out.
“What a capital story,” said the queen, “I feel as if I were really in the kitchen, and could see the matches; yes, you shall marry our daughter.”
“Certainly,” said the king, “thou shalt have our daughter.” The king said thou to him because he was going to be one of the family. The wedding-day was fixed, and, on the evening before, the whole city was illuminated. Cakes and sweetmeats were thrown among the people. The street boys stood on tiptoe and shouted “hurrah,” and whistled between their fingers; altogether it was a very splendid affair.
“I will give them another treat,” said the merchant’s son. So he went and bought rockets and crackers, and all sorts of fire-works that could be thought of, packed them in his trunk, and flew up with it into the air. What a whizzing and popping they made as they went off! The Turks, when they saw such a sight in the air, jumped so high that their slippers flew about their ears. It was easy to believe after this that the princess was really going to marry a Turkish angel.
As soon as the merchant’s son had come down in his flying trunk to the wood after the fireworks, he thought, “I will go back into the town now, and hear what they think of the entertainment.” It was very natural that he should wish to know. And what strange things people did say, to be sure! every one whom he questioned had a different tale to tell, though they all thought it very beautiful.
“ I saw the Turkish angel myself,” said one; “he had eyes like glittering stars, and a head like foaming water.”
“He flew in a mantle of fire,” cried another, “and lovely little cherubs peeped out from the folds.”
He heard many more fine things about himself, and that the next day he was to be married. After this he went back to the forest to rest himself in his trunk. It had disappeared! A spark from the fireworks which remained had set it on fire; it was burnt to ashes! So the merchant’s son could not fly any more, nor go to meet his bride. She stood all day on the roof waiting for him, and most likely she is waiting there still; while he wanders through the world telling fairy tales, but none of them so amusing as the one he related about the matches.

The Elf of the Rose

IN the midst of a garden grew a rose-tree, in full blossom, and in the prettiest of all the roses lived an elf. He was such a little wee thing, that no human eye could see him. Behind each leaf of the rose he had a sleeping chamber. He was as well formed and as beautiful as a little child could be, and had wings that reached from his shoulders to his feet. Oh, what sweet fragrance there was in his chambers! and how clean and beautiful were the walls! for they were the blushing leaves of the rose.
During the whole day he enjoyed himself in the warm sunshine, flew from flower to flower, and danced on the wings of the flying butterflies. Then he took it into his head to measure how many steps he would have to go through the roads and cross-roads that are on the leaf of a linden-tree. What we call the veins on a leaf, he took for roads; ay, and very long roads they were for him; for before he had half finished his task, the sun went down: he had commenced his work too late. It became very cold, the dew fell, and the wind blew; so he thought the best thing he could do would be to return home. He hurried himself as much as he could; but he found the roses all closed up, and he could not get in; not a single rose stood open. The poor little elf was very much frightened. He had never before been out at night, but had always slumbered secretly behind the warm rose-leaves. Oh, this would certainly be his death. At the other end of the garden, he knew there was an arbor, overgrown with beautiful honey-suckles. The blossoms looked like large painted horns; and he thought to himself, he would go and sleep in one of these till the morning. He flew thither; but “hush!” two people were in the arbor,—a handsome young man and a beautiful lady. They sat side by side, and wished that they might never be obliged to part. They loved each other much more than the best child can love its father and mother.
“But we must part,” said the young man; “your brother does not like our engagement, and therefore he sends me so far away on business, over mountains and seas. Farewell, my sweet bride; for so you are to me.”
And then they kissed each other, and the girl wept, and gave him a rose; but before she did so, she pressed a kiss upon it so fervently that the flower opened. Then the little elf flew in, and leaned his head on the delicate, fragrant walls. Here he could plainly hear them say, “Farewell, farewell;” and he felt that the rose had been placed on the young man’s breast. Oh, how his heart did beat! The little elf could not go to sleep, it thumped so loudly. The young man took it out as he walked through the dark wood alone, and kissed the flower so often and so violently, that the little elf was almost crushed. He could feel through the leaf how hot the lips of the young man were, and the rose had opened, as if from the heat of the noonday sun.
There came another man, who looked gloomy and wicked. He was the wicked brother of the beautiful maiden. He drew out a sharp knife, and while the other was kissing the rose, the wicked man stabbed him to death; then he cut off his head, and buried it with the body in the soft earth under the linden-tree.
“Now he is gone, and will soon be forgotten,” thought the wicked brother; “he will never come back again. He was going on a long journey over mountains and seas; it is easy for a man to lose his life in such a journey. My sister will suppose he is dead; for he cannot come back, and she will not dare to question me about him.”
Then he scattered the dry leaves over the light earth with his foot, and went home through the darkness; but he went not alone, as he thought,—the little elf accompanied him. He sat in a dry rolled-up linden-leaf, which had fallen from the tree on to the wicked man’s head, as he was digging the grave. The hat was on the head now, which made it very dark, and the little elf shuddered with fright and indignation at the wicked deed.
It was the dawn of morning before the wicked man reached home; he took off his hat, and went into his sister’s room. There lay the beautiful, blooming girl, dreaming of him whom she loved so, and who was now, she supposed, travelling far away over mountain and sea. Her wicked brother stopped over her, and laughed hideously, as fiends only can laugh. The dry leaf fell out of his hair upon the counterpane; but he did not notice it, and went to get a little sleep during the early morning hours. But the elf slipped out of the withered leaf, placed himself by the ear of the sleeping girl, and told her, as in a dream, of the horrid murder; described the place where her brother had slain her lover, and buried his body; and told her of the linden-tree, in full blossom, that stood close by.
“That you may not think this is only a dream that I have told you,” he said, “you will find on your bed a withered leaf.”
Then she awoke, and found it there. Oh, what bitter tears she shed! and she could not open her heart to any one for relief.
The window stood open the whole day, and the little elf could easily have reached the roses, or any of the flowers; but he could not find it in his heart to leave one so afflicted. In the window stood a bush bearing monthly roses. He seated himself in one of the flowers, and gazed on the poor girl. Her brother often came into the room, and would be quite cheerful, in spite of his base conduct; so she dare not say a word to him of her heart’s grief.
As soon as night came on, she slipped out of the house, and went into the wood, to the spot where the linden-tree stood; and after removing the leaves from the earth, she turned it up, and there found him who had been murdered. Oh, how she wept and prayed that she also might die! Gladly would she have taken the body home with her; but that was impossible; so she took up the poor head with the closed eyes, kissed the cold lips, and shook the mould out of the beautiful hair.
“I will keep this,” said she; and as soon as she had covered the body again with the earth and leaves, she took the head and a little sprig of jasmine that bloomed in the wood, near the spot where he was buried, and carried them home with her. As soon as she was in her room, she took the largest flower-pot she could find, and in this she placed the head of the dead man, covered it up with earth, and planted the twig of jasmine in it.
“Farewell, farewell,” whispered the little elf. He could not any longer endure to witness all this agony of grief, he therefore flew away to his own rose in the garden. But the rose was faded; only a few dry leaves still clung to the green hedge behind it.
“Alas! how soon all that is good and beautiful passes away,” sighed the elf.
After a while he found another rose, which became his home, for among its delicate fragrant leaves he could dwell in safety. Every morning he flew to the window of the poor girl, and always found her weeping by the flower pot. The bitter tears fell upon the jasmine twig, and each day, as she became paler and paler, the sprig appeared to grow greener and fresher. One shoot after another sprouted forth, and little white buds blossomed, which the poor girl fondly kissed. But her wicked brother scolded her, and asked her if she was going mad. He could not imagine why she was weeping over that flower-pot, and it annoyed him. He did not know whose closed eyes were there, nor what red lips were fading beneath the earth. And one day she sat and leaned her head against the flower-pot, and the little elf of the rose found her asleep. Then he seated himself by her ear, talked to her of that evening in the arbor, of the sweet perfume of the rose, and the loves of the elves. Sweetly she dreamed, and while she dreamt, her life passed away calmly and gently, and her spirit was with him whom she loved, in heaven. And the jasmine opened its large white bells, and spread forth its sweet fragrance; it had no other way of showing its grief for the dead. But the wicked brother considered the beautiful blooming plant as his own property, left to him by his sister, and he placed it in his sleeping room, close by his bed, for it was very lovely in appearance, and the fragrance sweet and delightful. The little elf of the rose followed it, and flew from flower to flower, telling each little spirit that dwelt in them the story of the murdered young man, whose head now formed part of the earth beneath them, and of the wicked brother and the poor sister. “We know it,” said each little spirit in the flowers, “we know it, for have we not sprung from the eyes and lips of the murdered one. We know it, we know it,” and the flowers nodded with their heads in a peculiar manner. The elf of the rose could not understand how they could rest so quietly in the matter, so he flew to the bees, who were gathering honey, and told them of the wicked brother. And the bees told it to their queen, who commanded that the next morning they should go and kill the murderer. But during the night, the first after the sister’s death, while the brother was sleeping in his bed, close to where he had placed the fragrant jasmine, every flower cup opened, and invisibly the little spirits stole out, armed with poisonous spears. They placed themselves by the ear of the sleeper, told him dreadful dreams and then flew across his lips, and pricked his tongue with their poisoned spears. “Now have we revenged the dead,” said they, and flew back into the white bells of the jasmine flowers. When the morning came, and as soon as the window was opened, the rose elf, with the queen bee, and the whole swarm of bees, rushed in to kill him. But he was already dead. People were standing round the bed, and saying that the scent of the jasmine had killed him. Then the elf of the rose understood the revenge of the flowers, and explained it to the queen bee, and she, with the whole swarm, buzzed about the flower-pot. The bees could not be driven away. Then a man took it up to remove it, and one of the bees stung him in the hand, so that he let the flower-pot fall, and it was broken to pieces. Then every one saw the whitened skull, and they knew the dead man in the bed was a murderer. And the queen bee hummed in the air, and sang of the revenge of the flowers, and of the elf of the rose and said that behind the smallest leaf dwells One, who can discover evil deeds, and punish them also.

The Brave Tin Soldier

THERE were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers, who were all brothers, for they had been made out of the same old tin spoon. They shouldered arms and looked straight before them, and wore a splendid uniform, red and blue. The first thing in the world they ever heard were the words, “Tin soldiers!” uttered by a little boy, who clapped his hands with delight when the lid of the box, in which they lay, was taken off. They were given him for a birthday present, and he stood at the table to set them up. The soldiers were all exactly alike, excepting one, who had only one leg; he had been left to the last, and then there was not enough of the melted tin to finish him, so they made him to stand firmly on one leg, and this caused him to be very remarkable.
The table on which the tin soldiers stood, was covered with other playthings, but the most attractive to the eye was a pretty little paper castle. Through the small windows the rooms could be seen. In front of the castle a number of little trees surrounded a piece of looking-glass, which was intended to represent a transparent lake. Swans, made of wax, swam on the lake, and were reflected in it. All this was very pretty, but the prettiest of all was a tiny little lady, who stood at the open door of the castle; she, also, was made of paper, and she wore a dress of clear muslin, with a narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders just like a scarf. In front of these was fixed a glittering tinsel rose, as large as her whole face. The little lady was a dancer, and she stretched out both her arms, and raised one of her legs so high, that the tin soldier could not see it at all, and he thought that she, like himself, had only one leg. “That is the wife for me,” he thought; “but she is too grand, and lives in a castle, while I have only a box to live in, five-and-twenty of us altogether, that is no place for her. Still I must try and make her acquaintance.” Then he laid himself at full length on the table behind a snuff-box that stood upon it, so that he could peep at the little delicate lady, who continued to stand on one leg without losing her balance. When evening came, the other tin soldiers were all placed in the box, and the people of the house went to bed. Then the playthings began to have their own games together, to pay visits, to have sham fights, and to give balls. The tin soldiers rattled in their box; they wanted to get out and join the amusements, but they could not open the lid. The nut-crackers played at leap-frog, and the pencil jumped about the table. There was such a noise that the canary woke up and began to talk, and in poetry too. Only the tin soldier and the dancer remained in their places. She stood on tiptoe, with her legs stretched out, as firmly as he did on his one leg. He never took his eyes from her for even a moment. The clock struck twelve, and, with a bounce, up sprang the lid of the snuff-box; but, instead of snuff, there jumped up a little black goblin; for the snuff-box was a toy puzzle.
“Tin soldier,” said the goblin, “don’t wish for what does not belong to you.”
But the tin soldier pretended not to hear.
“Very well; wait till to-morrow, then,” said the goblin.
When the children came in the next morning, they placed the tin soldier in the window. Now, whether it was the goblin who did it, or the draught, is not known, but the window flew open, and out fell the tin soldier, heels over head, from the third story, into the street beneath. It was a terrible fall; for he came head downwards, his helmet and his bayonet stuck in between the flagstones, and his one leg up in the air. The servant maid and the little boy went down stairs directly to look for him; but he was nowhere to be seen, although once they nearly trod upon him. If he had called out, “Here I am,” it would have been all right, but he was too proud to cry out for help while he wore a uniform.
Presently it began to rain, and the drops fell faster and faster, till there was a heavy shower. When it was over, two boys happened to pass by, and one of them said, “Look, there is a tin soldier. He ought to have a boat to sail in.”
So they made a boat out of a newspaper, and placed the tin soldier in it, and sent him sailing down the gutter, while the two boys ran by the side of it, and clapped their hands. Good gracious, what large waves arose in that gutter! and how fast the stream rolled on! for the rain had been very heavy. The paper boat rocked up and down, and turned itself round sometimes so quickly that the tin soldier trembled; yet he remained firm; his countenance did not change; he looked straight before him, and shouldered his musket. Suddenly the boat shot under a bridge which formed a part of a drain, and then it was as dark as the tin soldier’s box.
“Where am I going now?” thought he. “This is the black goblin’s fault, I am sure. Ah, well, if the little lady were only here with me in the boat, I should not care for any darkness.”
Suddenly there appeared a great water-rat, who lived in the drain.
“Have you a passport?“ asked the rat, “give it to me at once.” But the tin soldier remained silent and held his musket tighter than ever. The boat sailed on and the rat followed it. How he did gnash his teeth and cry out to the bits of wood and straw, “Stop him, stop him; he has not paid toll, and has not shown his pass.“ But the stream rushed on stronger and stronger. The tin soldier could already see daylight shining where the arch ended. Then he heard a roaring sound quite terrible enough to frighten the bravest man. At the end of the tunnel the drain fell into a large canal over a steep place, which made it as dangerous for him as a waterfall would be to us. He was too close to it to stop, so the boat rushed on, and the poor tin soldier could only hold himself as stiffly as possible, without moving an eyelid, to show that he was not afraid. The boat whirled round three or four times, and then filled with water to the very edge; nothing could save it from sinking. He now stood up to his neck in water, while deeper and deeper sank the boat, and the paper became soft and loose with the wet, till at last the water closed over the soldier’s head. He thought of the elegant little dancer whom he should never see again, and the words of the song sounded in his ears—

The DAISY

NOW listen! In the country, close by the high road, stood a farmhouse; perhaps you have passed by and seen it yourself. There was a little flower garden with painted wooden palings in front of it; close by was a ditch, on its fresh green bank grew a little daisy; the sun shone as warmly and brightly upon it as on the magnificent garden flowers, and therefore it thrived well. One morning it had quite opened, and its little snow-white petals stood round the yellow centre, like the rays of the sun. It did not mind that nobody saw it in the grass, and that it was a poor despised flower; on the contrary, it was quite happy, and turned towards the sun, looking upward and listening to the song of the lark high up in the air.
The little daisy was as happy as if the day had been a great holiday, but it was only Monday. All the children were at school, and while they were sitting on the forms and learning their lessons, it sat on its thin green stalk and learnt from the sun and from its surroundings how kind God is, and it rejoiced that the song of the little lark expressed so sweetly and distinctly its own feelings. With a sort of reverence the daisy looked up to the bird that could fly and sing, but it did not feel envious. “I can see and hear,” it thought; “the sun shines upon me, and the forest kisses me. How rich I am!”
In the garden close by grew many large and magnificent flowers, and, strange to say, the less fragrance they had the haughtier and prouder they were. The peonies puffed themselves up in order to be larger than the roses, but size is not everything! The tulips had the finest colours, and they knew it well, too, for they were standing bolt upright like candles, that one might see them the better. In their pride they did not see the little daisy, which looked over to them and thought, “How rich and beautiful they are! I am sure the pretty bird will fly down and call upon them. Thank God, that I stand so near and can at least see all the splendour.” And while the daisy was still thinking, the lark came flying down, crying “Tweet,” but not to the peonies and tulips—no, into the grass to the poor daisy. Its joy was so great that it did not know what to think. The little bird hopped round it and sang, “How beautifully soft the grass is, and what a lovely little flower with its golden heart and silver dress is growing here.” The yellow centre in the daisy did indeed look like gold, while the little petals shone as brightly as silver.
How happy the daisy was! No one has the least idea. The bird kissed it with its beak, sang to it, and then rose again up to the blue sky. It was certainly more than a quarter of an hour before the daisy recovered its senses. Half ashamed, yet glad at heart, it looked over to the other flowers in the garden; surely they had witnessed its pleasure and the honour that had been done to it; they understood its joy. But the tulips stood more stiffly than ever, their faces were pointed and red, because they were vexed. The peonies were sulky; it was well that they could not speak, otherwise they would have given the daisy a good lecture. The little flower could very well see that they were ill at ease, and pitied them sincerely.
Shortly after this a girl came into the garden, with a large sharp knife. She went to the tulips and began cutting them off, one after another. “Ugh!” sighed the daisy, “that is terrible; now they are done for.”
The girl carried the tulips away. The daisy was glad that it was outside, and only a small flower—it felt very grateful. At sunset it folded its petals, and fell asleep, and dreamt all night of the sun and the little bird.
On the following morning, when the flower once more stretched forth its tender petals, like little arms, towards the air and light, the daisy recognised the bird’s voice, but what it sang sounded so sad. Indeed the poor bird had good reason to be sad, for it had been caught and put into a cage close by the open window. It sang of the happy days when it could merrily fly about, of fresh green corn in the fields, and of the time when it could soar almost up to the clouds. The poor lark was most unhappy as a prisoner in a cage. The little daisy would have liked so much to help it, but what could be done? Indeed, that was very difficult for such a small flower to find out. It entirely forgot how beautiful everything around it was, how warmly the sun was shining, and how splendidly white its own petals were. It could only think of the poor captive bird, for which it could do nothing. Then two little boys came out of the garden; one of them had a large sharp knife, like that with which the girl had cut the tulips. They came straight towards the little daisy, which could not understand what they wanted.
“Here is a fine piece of turf for the lark,” said one of the boys, and began to cut out a square round the daisy, so that it remained in the centre of the grass.
“Pluck the flower off” said the other boy, and the daisy trembled for fear, for to be pulled off meant death to it; and it wished so much to live, as it was to go with the square of turf into the poor captive lark’s cage.
“No let it stay,” said the other boy, “it looks so pretty.”
And so it stayed, and was brought into the lark’s cage. The poor bird was lamenting its lost liberty, and beating its wings against the wires; and the little daisy could not speak or utter a consoling word, much as it would have liked to do so. So the forenoon passed.
“I have no water,” said the captive lark, “they have all gone out, and forgotten to give me anything to drink. My throat is dry and burning. I feel as if I had fire and ice within me, and the air is so oppressive. Alas! I must die, and part with the warm sunshine, the fresh green meadows, and all the beauty that God has created.” And it thrust its beak into the piece of grass, to refresh itself a little. Then it noticed the little daisy, and nodded to it, and kissed it with its beak and said: “You must also fade in here, poor little flower. You and the piece of grass are all they have given me in exchange for the whole world, which I enjoyed outside. Each little blade of grass shall be a green tree for me, each of your white petals a fragrant flower. Alas! you only remind me of what I have lost.”
“I wish I could console the poor lark,” thought the daisy. It could not move one of its leaves, but the fragrance of its delicate petals streamed forth, and was much stronger than such flowers usually have: the bird noticed it, although it was dying with thirst, and in its pain tore up the green blades of grass, but did not touch the flower.
The evening came, and nobody appeared to bring the poor bird a drop of water; it opened its beautiful wings, and fluttered about in its anguish; a faint and mournful “Tweet, tweet,” was all it could utter, then it bent its little head towards the flower, and its heart broke for want and longing. The flower could not, as on the previous evening, fold up its petals and sleep; it dropped sorrowfully. The boys only came the next morning; when they saw the dead bird, they began to cry bitterly, dug a nice grave for it, and adorned it with flowers. The bird’s body was placed in a pretty red box; they wished to bury it with royal honours. While it was alive and sang they forgot it, and let it suffer want in the cage; now, they cried over it and covered it with flowers. The piece of turf, with the little daisy in it, was thrown out on the dusty highway. Nobody thought of the flower which had felt so much for the bird and had so greatly desired to comfort it.

The Emperor’s New Suit

MANY, many years ago lived an emperor, who thought so much of new clothes that he spent all his money in order to obtain them; his only ambition was to be always well dressed. He did not care for his soldiers, and the theatre did not amuse him; the only thing, in fact, he thought anything of was to drive out and show a new suit of clothes. He had a coat for every hour of the day; and as one would say of a king “He is in his cabinet,” so one could say of him, “The emperor is in his dressing-room.”
The great city where he resided was very gay; every day many strangers from all parts of the globe arrived. One day two swindlers came to this city; they made people believe that they were weavers, and declared they could manufacture the finest cloth to be imagined. Their colours and patterns, they said, were not only exceptionally beautiful, but the clothes made of their material possessed the wonderful quality of being invisible to any man who was unfit for his office or unpardonably stupid.
“That must be wonderful cloth,” thought the emperor. “If I were to be dressed in a suit made of this cloth I should be able to find out which men in my empire were unfit for their places, and I could distinguish the clever from the stupid. I must have this cloth woven for me without delay.” And he gave a large sum of money to the swindlers, in advance, that they should set to work without any loss of time. They set up two looms, and pretended to be very hard at work, but they did nothing whatever on the looms. They asked for the finest silk and the most precious gold-cloth; all they got they did away with, and worked at the empty looms till late at night.
“I should very much like to know how they are getting on with the cloth,” thought the emperor. But he felt rather uneasy when he remembered that he who was not fit for his office could not see it. Personally, he was of opinion that he had nothing to fear, yet he thought it advisable to send somebody else first to see how matters stood. Everybody in the town knew what a remarkable quality the stuff possessed, and all were anxious to see how bad or stupid their neighbours were.
“I shall send my honest old minister to the weavers,” thought the emperor. “He can judge best how the stuff looks, for he is intelligent, and nobody understands his office better than he.”
The good old minister went into the room where the swindlers sat before the empty looms. “Heaven preserve us!” he thought, and opened his eyes wide, “I cannot see anything at all,” but he did not say so. Both swindlers requested him to come near, and asked him if he did not admire the exquisite pattern and the beautiful colours, pointing to the empty looms. The poor old minister tried his very best, but he could see nothing, for there was nothing to be seen. “Oh dear,” he thought, “can I be so stupid? I should never have thought so, and nobody must know it! Is it possible that I am not fit for my office? No, no, I cannot say that I was unable to see the cloth.”
“Now, have you got nothing to say?” said one of the swindlers, while he pretended to be busily weaving.
“Oh, it is very pretty, exceedingly beautiful,” replied the old minister looking through his glasses. “What a beautiful pattern, what brilliant colours! I shall tell the emperor that I like the cloth very much.”
“We are pleased to hear that,” said the two weavers, and described to him the colours and explained the curious pattern. The old minister listened attentively, that he might relate to the emperor what they said; and so he did.
Now the swindlers asked for more money, silk and gold-cloth, which they required for weaving. They kept everything for themselves, and not a thread came near the loom, but they continued, as hitherto, to work at the empty looms.
Soon afterwards the emperor sent another honest courtier to the weavers to see how they were getting on, and if the cloth was nearly finished. Like the old minister, he looked and looked but could see nothing, as there was nothing to be seen.
“Is it not a beautiful piece of cloth?” asked the two swindlers, showing and explaining the magnificent pattern, which, however, did not exist.
“I am not stupid,” said the man. “It is therefore my good appointment for which I am not fit. It is very strange, but I must not let any one know it;” and he praised the cloth, which he did not see, and expressed his joy at the beautiful colours and the fine pattern. “It is very excellent,” he said to the emperor.
Everybody in the whole town talked about the precious cloth. At last the emperor wished to see it himself, while it was still on the loom. With a number of courtiers, including the two who had already been there, he went to the two clever swindlers, who now worked as hard as they could, but without using any thread.
“Is it not magnificent?” said the two old statesmen who had been there before. “Your Majesty must admire the colours and the pattern.” And then they pointed to the empty looms, for they imagined the others could see the cloth.
“What is this?” thought the emperor, “I do not see anything at all. That is terrible! Am I stupid? Am I unfit to be emperor? That would indeed be the most dreadful thing that could happen to me.”
“Really,” he said, turning to the weavers, “your cloth has our most gracious approval;” and nodding contentedly he looked at the empty loom, for he did not like to say that he saw nothing. All his attendants, who were with him, looked and looked, and although they could not see anything more than the others, they said, like the emperor, “It is very beautiful.” And all advised him to wear the new magnificent clothes at a great procession which was soon to take place. “It is magnificent, beautiful, excellent,” one heard them say; everybody seemed to be delighted, and the emperor appointed the two swindlers “Imperial Court weavers.”
The whole night previous to the day on which the procession was to take place, the swindlers pretended to work, and burned more than sixteen candles. People should see that they were busy to finish the emperor’s new suit. They pretended to take the cloth from the loom, and worked about in the air with big scissors, and sewed with needles without thread, and said at last: “The emperor’s new suit is ready now.”
The emperor and all his barons then came to the hall; the swindlers held their arms up as if they held something in their hands and said: “These are the trousers!” “This is the coat!” and “Here is the cloak!” and so on. “They are all as light as a cobweb, and one must feel as if one had nothing at all upon the body; but that is just the beauty of them.”
“Indeed!” said all the courtiers; but they could not see anything, for there was nothing to be seen.
“Does it please your Majesty now to graciously undress,” said the swindlers, “that we may assist your Majesty in putting on the new suit before the large looking-glass?”
The emperor undressed, and the swindlers pretended to put the new suit upon him, one piece after another; and the emperor looked at himself in the glass from every side.
“How well they look! How well they fit!” said all. “What a beautiful pattern! What fine colours! That is a magnificent suit of clothes!”
The master of the ceremonies announced that the bearers of the canopy, which was to be carried in the procession, were ready.
“I am ready,” said the emperor. “Does not my suit fit me marvellously?” Then he turned once more to the looking-glass, that people should think he admired his garments.
The chamberlains, who were to carry the train, stretched their hands to the ground as if they lifted up a train, and pretended to hold something in their hands; they did not like people to know that they could not see anything.
The emperor marched in the procession under the beautiful canopy, and all who saw him in the street and out of the windows exclaimed: “Indeed, the emperor’s new suit is incomparable! What a long train he has! How well it fits him!” Nobody wished to let others know he saw nothing, for then he would have been unfit for his office or too stupid. Never emperor’s clothes were more admired.
“But he has nothing on at all,” said a little child at last. “Good heavens! listen to the voice of an innocent child,” said the father, and one whispered to the other what the child had said. “But he has nothing on at all,” cried at last the whole people. That made a deep impression upon the emperor, for it seemed to him that they were right; but he thought to himself, “Now I must bear up to the end.” And the chamberlains walked with still greater dignity, as if they carried the train which did not exist.

The Top and Ball

A WHIPPING TOP and a little ball lay together in a box, among other toys, and the top said to the ball, “Shall we be married, as we live in the same box?”

But the ball, which wore a dress of morocco leather, and thought as much of herself as any other young lady, would not even condescend to reply.

The next day came the little boy to whom the playthings belonged, and he painted the top red and yellow, and drove a brass-headed nail into the middle, so that while the top was spinning round it looked splendid.

“Look at me,” said the top to the ball. “What do you say now? Shall we be engaged to each other? We should suit so well; you spring, and I dance. No one could be happier than we should be.”

“Indeed! do you think so? Perhaps you do not know that my father and mother were morocco slippers, and that I have a Spanish cork in my body.”

“Yes; but I am made of mahogany,” said the top. “The major himself turned me. He has a turning lathe of his own, and it is a great amusement to him.”

“Can I believe it?” asked the ball.

“May I never be whipped again,” said the top, “if I am not telling you the truth.”

“You certainly know how to speak for yourself very well,” said the ball; “but I cannot accept your proposal. I am almost engaged to a swallow. Every time I fly up in the air, he puts his head out of the nest, and says, ‘Will you?’ and I have said, ‘Yes,’ to myself silently, and that is as good as being half engaged; but I will promise never to forget you.”

“Much good that will be to me,” said the top; and they spoke to each other no more.

Next day the ball was taken out by the boy. The top saw it flying high in the air, like a bird, till it would go quite out of sight. Each time it came back, as it touched the earth, it gave a higher leap than before, either because it longed to fly upwards, or from having a Spanish cork in its body. But the ninth time it rose in the air, it remained away, and did not return. The boy searched everywhere for it, but he searched in vain, for it could not be found; it was gone.

“I know very well where she is,” sighed the top; “she is in the swallow’s nest, and has married the swallow.”

The more the top thought of this, the more he longed for the ball. His love increased the more, just because he could not get her; and that she should have been won by another, was the worst of all. The top still twirled about and hummed, but he continued to think of the ball; and the more he thought of her, the more beautiful she seemed to his fancy.

Thus several years passed by, and his love became quite old. The top, also, was no longer young; but there came a day when he looked handsomer than ever; for he was gilded all over. He was now a golden top, and whirled and danced about till he hummed quite loud, and was something worth looking at; but one day he leaped too high, and then he, also, was gone. They searched everywhere, even in the cellar, but he was nowhere to be found. Where could he be? He had jumped into the dust-bin, where all sorts of rubbish were lying: cabbage-stalks, dust, and rain-droppings that had fallen down from the gutter under the roof.

“Now I am in a nice place,” said he; “my gilding will soon be washed off here. Oh dear, what a set of rabble I have got amongst!” And then he glanced at a curious round thing like an old apple, which lay near a long, leafless cabbage-stalk. It was, however, not an apple, but an old ball, which had lain for years in the gutter, and was soaked through with water.

“Thank goodness, here comes one of my own class, with whom I can talk,” said the ball, examining the gilded top. “I am made of morocco,” she said. “I was sewn together by a young lady, and I have a Spanish cork in my body; but no one would think it, to look at me now. I was once engaged to a swallow; but I fell in here from the gutter under the roof, and I have lain here more than five years, and have been thoroughly drenched. Believe me, it is a long time for a young maiden.”

The top said nothing, but he thought of his old love; and the more she said, the more clear it became to him that this was the same ball.

The servant then came to clean out the dust-bin.

“Ah,” she exclaimed, “here is a gilt top.” So the top was brought again to notice and honor, but nothing more was heard of the little ball. He spoke not a word about his old love; for that soon died away. When the beloved object has lain for five years in a gutter, and has been drenched through, no one cares to know her again on meeting her in a dust-bin.

The Princess and the Pea

ONCE upon a time there was a prince who wanted to marry a princess; but she would have to be a real princess. He travelled all over the world to find one, but nowhere could he get what he wanted. There were princesses enough, but it was difficult to find out whether they were real ones. There was always something about them that was not as it should be. So he came home again and was sad, for he would have liked very much to have a real princess.
One evening a terrible storm came on; there was thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in torrents. Suddenly a knocking was heard at the city gate, and the old king went to open it.
It was a princess standing out there in front of the gate. But, good gracious! what a sight the rain and the wind had made her look. The water ran down from her hair and clothes; it ran down into the toes of her shoes and out again at the heels. And yet she said that she was a real princess.
“Well, we’ll soon find that out,” thought the old queen. But she said nothing, went into the bed-room, took all the bedding off the bedstead, and laid a pea on the bottom; then she took twenty mattresses and laid them on the pea, and then twenty eider-down beds on top of the mattresses.
On this the princess had to lie all night. In the morning she was asked how she had slept.
“Oh, very badly!” said she. “I have scarcely closed my eyes all night. Heaven only knows what was in the bed, but I was lying on something hard, so that I am black and blue all over my body. It’s horrible!”
Now they knew that she was a real princess because she had felt the pea right through the twenty mattresses and the twenty eider-down beds.
Nobody but a real princess could be as sensitive as that.
So the prince took her for his wife, for now he knew that he had a real princess; and the pea was put in the museum, where it may still be seen, if no one has stolen it.
There, that is a true story.

The Princess and the Pea terjemahan

Dahulu kala, ada seorang pangeran yang menginginkan seorang Putri Raja, tetapi Putri tersebut haruslah sempurna. Dia kemudian melakukan perjalanan mengelilingin dunia hanya untuk mencari putri tersebut, tetapi dia selalu menemukan bahwa ada sesuatu yang tidak sempurna pada setiap Putri Raja yang ditemuinya. Dia menemukan banyak Putri Raja, tapi tak ada yang benar-benar dianggap sempurna oleh Pangeran itu. Dengan putus asa akhirnya dia pulang kembali ke istananya dan merasa sangat sedih karena tidak menemukan apa yang dicarinya.

Suatu malam, terjadi hujan badai yang sangat keras; dimana kilat dan guntur beserta hujan turun dengan deras sekali; malam itu sungguh menakutkan.

Ditengah-tengah badai tiba-tiba seseorang mengetuk pintu istana, dan ayah Pangeran yang menjadi Raja waktu itu, sendiri keluar membuka pintu untuk tamu tersebut.

Seorang Putri yang sangat cantik berdiri di luar pintu, kedinginan dan basah kuyup karena badai pada malam itu. Air mengalir dari rambut dan pakaiannya yang masih basah; mengalir turun ke kaki dan sepatunya. Putri tersebut mengaku bahwa dia adalah Putri yang sempurna.

Putri dan dua puluh kasur"Kita akan segera mengetahui apakah yang dikatakan oleh Putri tersebut benar atau tidak," pikir sang Ratu, tetapi dia tidak berkata apa-apa. Dia masuk ke dalam kamar tidur, mengeluarkan seprei yang mengalas tempat tidur yang akan dipakai oleh sang Putri dan menaruh sebutir kacang polong di atas tempat tidur itu. Kemudian dia mengambil dua puluh kasur dan meletakkannya di atas sebutir kacang tersebut. Malam itu sang Putri tidur di atas ranjang tersebut. Di pagi hari, mereka menanyakan apakah sang Putri tidur nyenyak di malam itu.

"Oh saya sangat susah tidur!" kata sang Putri, "Saya sangat sulit untuk memejamkan mata sepanjang malam! Saya tidak tahu apa yang ada pada ranjang itu, saya merasa berbaring di atas sesuatu yang kasar, dan seluruh tubuh saya pegal-pegal dan memar di pagi ini, sungguh menakutkan!"

Raja dan Ratu langsung tahu bahwa sang Putri ini pastilah putri yang benar-benar sempurna, karena hanya putri yang sempurna dapat merasakan sebutir kacang yang ditempatkan di bawah dua puluh kasur an dilapisi dengan dua puluh selimut. Hanya putri yang benar-benar sempurna mempunyai kulit yang begitu halus.

Pangeran kemudian mengambilnya sebagai istri, dan sekarang dia telah menemukan putri yang selama ini dicarinya.

Hans Christian Andersen : Bapak Dongeng Dunia

Hans Christian Andersen (lahir di Odense, Denmark bagian selatan, 2 April 1805 – meninggal di Rolighed dekat Kopenhagen, Denmark, 4 Agustus 1875 pada umur 70 tahun) adalah seorang penulis dan penyair berkebangsaan Denmark yang paling terkenal berkat karya dongengnya.

Andersen lahir di kawasan kumuh kota Odense, Denmark bagian selatan, pada 2 April 1805. Ayahnya, Hans Andersen adalah seorang pembuat sepatu yang miskin dan buta huruf yang merasa dirinya masih keturunan bangsawan. Sedangkan ibunya Anne Marie Andersdatter, bekerja sebagai buruh cuci.

Walau besar dalam lingkungan yang miskin, sejak kecil Hans Christian Andersen sudah mengenal berbagai cerita dongeng. Ia juga akrab dengan pertunjukkan sandiwara. Kendati tak mengenal bangku sekolah dan percaya takhayul, sang ibunya yang membuat H.C Andersen berkenalan dengan certa-cerita Rakyat.

Di kemudian hari, H.C. Andersen sempat melukiskan sosok sang Ibu dalam berbagai novelnya, misalnya dari cerita yang berjudul Hun Duede Ikke. Sayang Ibunya belakangan terjebak menjadi seorang pemabuk berat sebelum wafat pada 1833 di sebuah panti jompo.

Ayahnya seorang pencinta sastra. Lelaki itu kerap mengajak Hans menonton pertunjukkan sandiwara. Dalam otobiografinya, The True Story of My Life yang terbit pada tahun 1846, H.C. Andersen menulis, "Ayah memuaskan semua dahagaku. Ia seolah hidup hanya untukku. Setiap Minggu ia membuatkan gambar-gambar dan membacakan certa-cerita dongeng. hanya pada saat-saat seperti inilah aku melihat dia begitu riang, karena sesungguhnya ia tak pernah bahagia dalam kehidupannya sebagai seorang pengrajin sepatu". Pada tahun 1816 ayah H.C Andersen meninggal.

Sikap dan pengalaman dari orang tua itulah yang membuah H.C. Andersen tertarik dengan dunia mainan, cerita, sandiwara termasuk karya William Shakespeare.

Setelah ayahnya meninggal. H.C. Andersen yang belum lama mengenyam pendidikan formal akhirnya bekerja serabutan di antaranya pernah bekerja di sebuah pabrik rokok, magang di sebuah penjahit dan bekerja sebagai penenun. Ia terpaksa memburuh untuk memenuhi kebutuhan hidupnya.

Pada tahun 1819, ia pindah menuju ibu kota Denmark, Kopenhagen. Di sana ia berharap untuk menjadi seorang aktor, penyanyi atau penari. Tiga tahun di kota itu, ia menjalani kehidupan yang sulit.

Awalnya, Andersen sempat berhasil bergabung dengan Royal Theater. Tetapi ketika suaranya berubah karena masa pubertas, ia terpaksa meninggalkan panggung sandiwara. Andersen kemudian meninggalkan peran sebagai aktor dan penyanyi. Ia merasa lebih tepat dittunjuk sebagai penyair. Anderson mencoba menjadi seorang penulis sandiwara. tetapi sayang, semua karyanya ditolak dimana-mana.

Pada masa-masa sulit itulah dia bertemu dengan Raja Denmark, Frederik VI, yang tertarik dengan penampilan Hans muda. Raja Frederick kemudian mengirimkan Andersen untuk bersekolah. Berkat kebaikan raja, Andersen berkesempatan mengenyam pendidikan di sebuah sekolah bahasa di Slagelse dan Elsinore hingga 1927. Sebelum sekolah, ia sempat menerbitkan jilid pertama karyanya yang berjudul The Gost at Palnatoke's Grave (1822).

Di bangku sekolah, Andersen termasuk siswa tertinggal, lagipula dia menjalaninya dengan setengah hati. Menurutnya, kurun masa sekolah adalah masa-masa gelap dan menyakitkan dalam hidupnya. Dia merasa sangat tidak nyaman berada di tengah para siswa yang berusia enam tahun lebih muda dari dirinya. Kepala sekolahnya yang bernama Meilsing, yang rumahnya sempat ditempati Andersen, menyebut karakter pemuda ini sangat sensitf dan sukar ditenggang.

Beruntung, setamat dari sekolah bahasa, Andersen melanjutkan studi ke Universitas Kopenhagen. Salah seorang direktur Royal Theater, Jonas Collin, mendesak dia untuk menjalani pendidikan sampai tamat dan dia pula yang membiayai. Sambil kuliah, pada tahun 1828 Hans Christian menulis kisah perjalanan yang berjudul Fodreise fra Holmens Kanal Til Ostpynten af Amager (Berjalan kaki dari Kanal Holmen ke Titik Timur Amager).

Kisah ini mendapat sambutan yang luar biasa. Andersen menggarap ceritanya dengan meminjam gaya penulisan E.T.A Hoffmann seorang pengarang roman asal Jerman. Sejak itu, puisinya yang berjudul "The Dying Child" diterbitkan oleh sebuah jurnal sastra di Kopenhagen. Pada tahun 1829, Royal Theater juga mementaskan drama musik karya Andersen.

Andersen juga menuangkan kisah pribadinya dalam kumpulan puisi berjudul "Phantasier og Skisser" pada saat jatuh cinta pada Riborg Voigt. Sayang, cintanya tidak bersambut, karena perempuan itu menikah dengan lelaki lain pada 1831. "Aku benar-benar ingin mati saja", ujarnya kepada Edvard, anak laki-laki Jonas Collin. Saat itu secara tidak sadar ia menggemakan melankoli ala Goethe dalam "The Sorrows of young Werther". Meskipun ia tidak pernah bertemu Goethe, penyair Jerman sekalipun Goethe masih hidup ketika Hans berkelana ke Jerman.

Hans Christian Andersen pergi berkelana ke luar negeri selain Jerman. Hingga 1833, Raja Frederick VI bersedia membiayai seluruh perjalanan Andersen ke Perancis, Swedia, Spanyol, Portugal, Italia bahkan hingga Timur Tengah.

Berbagai kunjungan itu melahirkan setumpuk kisah perjalanan. Ketika melawat ke Paris, Andersen bertemu dengan Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, Heinrich Heine dan Balzac. Di tengah perjalanan panjang ini pula, ia sempat menyelesaikan penulisan "Agnette and the Merman".

Pada awal 1835, novel pertama Andersen terbit dan meraih sukses besar. Sebagai novelis, ia membuat terobosan lewat The Imrpvisator, karya yang ditulisnya pada tahun yang sama. Cerita yang mengambil setting Italia inimencerminkan kisah hidupnya sendiri; melukiskan upaya seorang bocah miskin masuk ke dalam lingkungan pergaulan masyarakat. Malah sampai akhir hayatnya, buku The Improvisatore inilah yang paling banyak dibaca orang banyak dibandingkan dengan karya karya Andersen yang lain. Sejak buku ini terbit, masa masa sulit Andersen mulai berubah. Sepanjang 1835, ia meluncurkan tujuh cerita dongeng yang disusun jauh hari sebelumnya.

Untuk menggenapkan karyanya, Andersen melahirkan karya-karya novel baru pada 1836 dan 1837. Disamping puluhan cerita dongeng yang terbit dalam kurun waktu tersebut, novel kedua, O.T dan Only A Fiddler. Ia juga berpolemik dengan filusuf Denmark terkemuka, Soren Aabye Kierkegaard.

Lewat buku berjudul Af En Endnu Levendes papirer yang terbit pada tahun 1838, filsuf Denmark tersebut mengkritik habis novel-novel Andersen. "Pergulatan hidup tak menyenangkan yang dialami Andersen kini terulang lewat karya-karyanya," tulis kierkegaard.

Kritik itu segera dijawab Andersen lewat karyanya yang terbit pada 1840 yang berjudul En Comedie I det Gronne. Ia menyerang Kierkegaard dengan cerita yang menggambarkan betapa tidak praktisnya pemikiran sang filsuf tadi.

Kendati novel-novelnya mendapat sambutan besar, nama Hans Christian Andersen di dunia justru menjulang sebagai penulis dongeng anak-anak. Pada 1835, ia meluncurkan cerita anak-anak Tales for Children dalam bentuk buku saku berharga murah. Lalu kumpulan cerita bertajuk Fairy Tales and Story digarapnya dalam kurun 1836-1872.

Serial anak-anaknya yang kebanyakan terbit pada hari Natal itu tidak hanya kisah kisah yang dibuat olehnya. Andersen juga mengungkap kembali dongeng anak-anak yang kerap didengarnya semasa kecil. Sepanjang hayatnya ia menulis 156 cerita. Dari jumlah itu, 12 dongeng ditulisnya berdasarkan cerita rakyat Denmark. Selebihnya merupakan cerita khayali yang lahir dari buah pikirannya sendiri.

Dua dari cerita dongengnya yang amat kesohor, The Little Mermaid dan The Emperor's New Clothes, diterbitkan dalam kumpulan cerita pada 1837. Tujuh dongengnya yang lain: Little Ugly Duckling, The Tinderbox, Little Claus and Big Claus, Princess and the Pea, The Snow Queen, The Nightingale dan The Steadfast Tin Soldier, juga dikenal di berbagai belahan dunia sebagai cerita yang kerap didongengkan pada anak-anak.

Lewat berbagai karyanya, Andersen dinilai menerobos pagar-pagar baku yang dianut pengarang Denmark pada masa itu. Baik gaya penceritaan maupun isi ceritanya berhasil memasukkan idiom-idiom dan bahasa lisan yang merupakan hal baru dalam dunia 'kepengarangan' negeri itu. Ia memasukkan pesan dan nilai moral dalam ceritanya tanpa menggurui sama sekali.

Bisa dilihat dari kisah dongeng The Emperor's new Clothes. Pesan bahwa keserakahan itu tidak baik disampaikan Andersen lewat parodi raja lalim yang cukup menggelikan itu. Salah satu ciri lain yang menonjol dalam cerita dongeng Andersen adalah hadirnya kaum papa dan mereka yang tidak beruntung dalam hidup.

Dalam sebagian besar karyanya pun tampak optimismenya bahwa yang baik akan selalu menang dan meraih akhir yang bahagia. Kecuali kisah The little Mermaid dan The Little Match Girl yang berakhir dengan kesedihan. Dalam The Little Mermaid misalnya, Andersen berusaha mengungkapkan bahwa betapa keinginan meraih hal yang diimpikan memiliki pengorbanan dan ternyata bisa berbuah nestapa.

Tak bisa disangkal, cerita-cerita dongeng Andersen memang berisi pesan-pesan moral universal. Maka tidaklah mengherankan bila karya-karyanya itu kemudian diterjemahkan tak kurang ke dalam 147 bahasa di dunia. Buah tangannya pun tudak sebatas "pelajaran" untuk anak-anak melainkan dibaca oleh orang dewasa di seluruh dunia. Meski terjemahan karyanya baru muncul pertama kali dalam edisi bahasa Inggris pada 1846.

Bukan itu saja, H.C. Andersen disebut-sebut menanamkan banyak pengaruh kepada para penulis cerita lainnya di Eropa. Sebut saja Charles Dickens, pengarang Inggris yang terkenal dengan karya karya seperti A Christmas Carol in Prose, The Chimes, The Cricket on the Hearth, dan The Haunted Man and the Ghost's Bargain. Juga pada pengarang Eropa lainnya seperti William Thackeray, Oscar Wilde dan C.S Lewis.

Dalam kurun 1840 hingga 1857, Andersen kembali melawat ke sejumlah egara Eropa, Turki, dan Afrika dan menuliskan kesan dalam buku-buku yang menuliskan kisah perjalanannya. Pada tahun 1855, Andersen menulis ulang memoarnya yang berjudul The Fairy Tale of My Life. Kisah hidup edisi ulang itulah yang hingga kini dinilai sebagai buku standar riwayat pendongeng legendaris ini.

Setelah berkelana lagi di Paris, Andersen jatuh sakit pada musim semi 1872. beberapa penyakit menggerogoti lelaki kurus ini. Selama tiga tahun terbaring tanpa daya di Rolighed dekat Kopenhagen, pengarang legendaris ini wafat pada 4 Agustus 1874. Ia dimakamkan dipemakaman khusus Kopenhagen.

Sepanjang hayatnya, H.C Andersen tidak pernah menikah. Patah hati mendalam rupanya dialami pengarang besar ini setelah cinta matinya kepada penyanyi opera berdarah Swedia, Jenny Lind, ternyata bertepuk sebelah tangan. Di peristirahatannya yang terakhir, H.C. Andersen hanya ditemani oleh guru sekaligus sahabatnya, Jonas Collin, yang dimakamkan bersebelahan dengannya.

Sepanjang hidupnya, Hans Christian Andersen ternyata tak pernah memiliki rumah. Sejak kecil hingga akhir hayatnya, ia selalu hidup di rumah para patron (tokoh masyarakat) yang kaya raya. Jika tidak, ia tinggal di kamar sewaan dengan perabot yang minim atau di hotel. Tetapi jika tidak sedang dalam perjalanan, ia pasti tinggal lama di rumah orang-orang yang cukup baik hati mengundangnya.

Tapi tidak semua tuan rumah bahagia dengan kunjungan Andersen. Pengarang ternama Inggris, Charles Dickens misalnya, akhirnya merasa terganggu oleh kehadiran Andersen di rumahnya. Andersen pertama kali berjumpa dengan Dickens ketika ia berkunjung ke Inggris pada tahun 1847. Keduanya saling mengagumi. Andersen menggambarkan, betapa bahagia dirinya ketika Dickens berkunjung ke penginapannya.

Sebenarnya tak jelas, seberapa dekat hubungan Dickens dengan Andersen ini. Tapi sebagian pengamat menyebut karakter Uriah Heep dalam David Coperfield, salah satu karya Dickens yang terbit empat tahun setelah pertemuan mereka berdua, ditulis Dickens berdasarkan karakter Andersen.

Ketika Andersen berkunjung ke Inggris, satu dasawarsa kemudian, Dickens tak sekedar menyambangi, ia malah mengundang Andersen tinggal di rumahnya. Menurut biografi Andersen yang ditulis Jackie Wullschlager, kunjungan di rumah Dickens ini jauh dari sukses.

Kala itu, Dickens dengan istrinya sedang dalam krisis perkawinan yang sungguh parah. Komunikasi mereka dengan Andersen pun tak terjalin baik. Maklum, suami-istri Dickens sama sekali tidak mengerti bahasa Denmark sedangkan bahasa Inggris Andersen jauh dari memadai. Hasilnya, keluarga Dickens segera menginginkan Andersen pergi.

Tapi, bukannya pergi, Andersen justru memperlama masa tinggalnya menjadi dua kali waktu yang diundang Dickens. "Kami benar-benar menderita karena Andersen," tulis Dickens dalam surat kepada salah satu sahabatnya. Ketika Andersen akhirnya pergi, Dickens menancapkan catatan di pintu kamar yang didiami Andersen. Di situ tertulis "Hans Andersen tidur di kamar ini selama lima minggu. Tapi bagi kami rasanya berabad-abad."