Saturday's Good Reading: “O Rouxinol” by Hans Christian Andersen (translated into Portuguese by Monteiro Lobato).

 

A China, Vocês sabem, o imperador é chinês e todos que vivem em redor dele são chineses.

Há muito e muitos anos o palácio do imperador da China era o mais belo de todos os palácios do mundo; basta dizer que fora construído inteiro de porcelana finíssima — tão fina e frágil que ninguém tinha ânimo de nele tocar nem com a ponta do dedo. Nos jardins viam-se as flores mais esquisitas, com minúsculas campainhas de prata amarradas nas pétalas; o vento fazia retinir esses sininhos chamando a atenção dos passantes. Tudo mais nos jardins do imperador era desse gosto e a tal distância se prolongavam que nem os jardineiros sabiam onde era o fim. Mas se alguém conseguisse chegar ao fim dos jardins veria que davam para uma floresta de enormes árvores e muitos lagos fundos. A floresta ia descendo até uma praia e mergulhava num mar, de modo que em certo ponto os navios navegavam por cima das ramagens. Naquela floresta morava um rouxinol de maravilhoso canto. Que músicas sabia esse passarinho! Os pescadores que passavam por perto, de caminho aos lagos, esqueciam-se dos peixes para ouvi-lo.

Viajantes vinham de todas as partes do mundo para admirar o palácio e os jardins do imperador da China, mas quando ouviam o canto do rouxinol murmuravam extasiados: "Isto vale mais que tudo!" E ao regressarem para suas terras contavam as maravilhas vistas e escreviam livros e livros sobre o palácio e os jardins, sem nunca se esquecerem do rouxinol que valia mais que tudo. Os que eram poetas faziam lindas poesias sobre a maravilhosa avezinha cantora da floresta dos lagos.

Esses livros começaram a correr mundo e um deles foi parar nas mãos do imperador, que ficou a lê-lo em seu trono de ouro, volta e meia balançando a cabeça para indicar que estava satisfeito com o que diziam a respeito dos seus jardins e palácios. Mas esse livro também acabava com a mesma observação de todos os viajantes sobre o rouxinol, considerando-o superior a tudo.

— Que é isto? indagou o soberano. Não sei de nada! Será possível que exista semelhante passarinho em minhas terras, em meu próprio jardim, e eu o ignore?

E chamou o mordomo, que era um personagem de tal importância que se alguém falava com ele a única resposta recebida era "Pf!" som que não quer dizer coisa nenhuma.

— Deve haver um passarinho muito notável, chamado rouxinol, disse-lhe o imperador. Os viajantes declaram que é a maior maravilha que viram no meu reino. Por que nunca me disseram nada a respeito?

— Jamais ouvi falar dele, Majestade, respondeu o mordomo, e creio que nunca foi apresentado à corte.

Pois ordeno que venha cantar diante de mim esta mesma noite, disse o soberano. O mundo inteiro sabe que esse rouxinol existe e eu o desconheço...

— Jamais ouvi falar dele, repetiu o mordomo, mas farei que seja procurado e introduzido perante Vossa Majestade.

Muito fácil de dizer, mas onde encontrar o rouxinol? O mordomo consultou toda a gente do palácio e de ninguém obteve a menor informação a respeito. Foi ter com o imperador e disse que o tal rouxinol com certeza era peta de quem escreveu o livro.

— Vossa Majestade não deve crer em tudo quanto está nos livros; muita coisa é fantasia poética da arte negra (eles chamam arte negra à arte de escrever, por causa da tinta).

— Mas o livro em que li isso, replicou o soberano, foi-me enviado pelo muito alto e poderoso imperador do Japão — e de nenhum modo pode conter falsidade. Quero ouvir o rouxinol! Quero ouvi-lo esta noite. E se não vier, toda a corte será passada a fio de espada, logo depois da ceia.

— Tsing-pe! murmurou humildemente o mordomo, e voltou a correr o palácio inteirinho, onde falou com todo o mundo, porque era necessário descobrir-se, fosse lá como fosse, o tal rouxinol maravilhoso; do contrário perderiam todos a vida naquela mesma noite.

Depois de muita correria encontraram na cozinha do palácio uma pequena ajudante de cozinheira que disse:

— Um rouxinol? Oh, conheço esse rouxinol que canta maravilhosamente. Eu costumo levar os restos de comida para minha mãe doente; ela mora perto da praia, e quando volto, e me sinto cansada, sento-me debaixo duma árvore da floresta e ouço o rouxinol cantar. E tão lindo ele canta, que eu choro sem querer, porque é o mesmo que se minha mãe estivesse me beijando.

— Menina, disse o mordomo, arranjarei para você um emprego nesta cozinha e ainda darei licença para que assista ao jantar do imperador, se nos mostrar o caminho que vai ter à floresta desse rouxinol.

Momentos depois chegavam à floresta em questão. Metade da corte, pelo menos, seguira a menina. Súbito, uma vaca mugiu.

— Oh, exclamou um dos cortesãos, lá está ele! E que força de pulmões tem, para um corpinho tão pequeno! Mas... parece-me que já ouvi este canto nalgum lugar...

— Bolas! exclamou a menina. Isso é uma vaca que está berrando. Estamos ainda longe.

Mais adiante uma rã coaxou num brejo.

— Magnífico! exclamou outro cortesão. É ele! Canta que parece sino de igreja!...

— Qual o que, disse a menina. Isso é uma rã do brejo!

Mas afinal chegaram ao ponto onde o rouxinol costumava aparecer e imediatamente ouviram seu gorjeio.

— Lá está o rouxinol! gritou a menina. Devagar agora, se não foge. Ali, naquela árvore. Olhem, olhem! E aquele passarinho escuro!...

— Será possível! duvidou o mordomo. Nunca imaginei coisa assim. Tão singelo e sem cor. Com certeza perdeu as cores de assombro de ver tanta gente notável aqui reunida.

— Rouxinolzinho, gritou a menina, o nosso poderoso imperador deseja que você vá cantar diante dele esta noite.

— Com o maior prazer, respondeu o passarinho, e para dar amostra do seu canto gorjeou a sua linda música extasiando a todos.

— Parece som de cristal, disse o mordomo, e olhem como palpita a gargantinha dele! É espantoso que nunca ouvíssemos falar dessa ave! Vai fazer um enorme sucesso na corte.

— Quer que cante mais um pouco para o imperador ouvir? inquiriu o rouxinol, certo que algum daqueles figurões era o soberano.

— Meu querido rouxinolzinho, respondeu o mordomo, o imperador não está aqui, e eu o convido para comparecer hoje de noite no palácio imperial, onde Sua Majestade o espera ansioso.

— É muito melhor o meu canto ouvido na floresta do que num palácio, mas irei, já que o imperador o quer.

Os preparativos no palácio para receber o rouxinol foram magníficos. As paredes de porcelana brilhavam, batidas da luz de mil lâmpadas de ouro; as mais raras flores, todas com os seus sininhos de prata, enfeitavam os corredores, fazendo tanto barulho que ali ninguém podia conversar.

No centro do salão onde estava o imperador em seu trono havia um poleiro de ouro para o rouxinol, Toda a corte se colocara lado a lado, à espera, e a menina da cozinha ficou a espiar pelo vão da porta, visto que ainda não obtivera o cargo prometido pelo mordomo. Todos tinham os olhos na avezinha, para o qual o imperador fez sinal de começar.

E o rouxinol cantou e cantou tão maravilhosamente bem que lágrimas começaram a deslizar pelas faces do imperador. O seu encanto foi tamanho que ele resolveu pôr em redor do pescoço da avezinha um colar de diamantes mas o rouxinol recusou, achando que já se achava sobejamente recompensado.

— Vi lágrimas nos olhos de Vossa Majestade, disse ele, e isso vale para mim pela mais alta recompensa. As lágrimas do imperador possuem a virtude de ser o maior dos prêmios.

E continuou a cantar.

— Isto é a mais bela música que ainda ouvi! disseram as damas presentes e puseram água na boca a fim de ficarem com a fala líquida ou fluida, como era a vozinha do rouxinol. Até a criadagem do palácio ficou maravilhada — o que é de estranhar, porque justamente os criados são os mais exigentes. O sucesso do rouxinol havia sido completo.

O Imperador convidou-o para ficar residindo ali, numa gaiola de ouro, da qual podia sair duas vezes de dia e uma de noite — sempre acompanhado de dois fâmulos a segurarem uma fita de seda amarrada a um dos seus pezinhos. Aquele modo de viver, entretanto, não lhe agradava e só servia para avivar as saudades da vida livre da floresta.

Em toda a cidade o assunto era aquele — o rouxinol. Numerosas crianças foram batizadas com o seu nome, mas nenhuma mostrou possuir a sua gargantinha de cristal.

Um dia o imperador recebeu uma caixa de presente.

— Há de ser algum novo livro a respeito do famoso pássaro, pensou consigo. Mas não era livro nenhum e sim um rouxinol artificial, feito de diamantes, safiras e rubis. Quando lhe davam corda, cantava uma das músicas do rouxinol de verdade, e também estremecia a caudinha, toda rutilante de pedrarias. Em redor do seu pescoço vinha uma fitinha com estes dizeres: "O rouxinol do Imperador do Japão é pobre comparado com o rouxinol do Imperador da China."

— Maravilhoso! exclamaram todos os presentes, e o portador da ave artificial foi imediatamente nomeado para um cargo novo Imperial Trazedor do Rouxinol Imperial.

— Eles agora precisam cantar em dueto, este e o outro, lembraram os cortesãos. Vai ser um assombro.

A ideia foi aceita com entusiasmo e o duelo teve logo início. Mas a tentativa não deu resultado porque o rouxinol de verdade cantava como queria e o outro só de acordo com a corda.

—Não é culpa do rouxinol novo, observou o maestro do palácio, porque este está certo, visto como marca os compassos segundo os princípios da minha escola — e foi então ordenado que o rouxinol artificial cantasse sozinho. O seu sucesso foi muito maior que o obtido pelo rouxinol real — e além disso era ele muito mais agradável à vista, por causa das pedrarias foi a opinião de todos.

Trinta e três vezes cantou a mesma música sem cansar-se, e cantaria ainda outras se o Imperador não declarasse que era tempo de ser ouvido o rouxinol real. Mas... onde estava ele? Ninguém o tinha visto escapar-se da gaiola e sumir-se pela janela.

—Como foi isso? indagou o Imperador magoado — e todos os cortesãos recriminaram a avezinha como profundamente ingrata.

— Mas o melhor ficou, disseram logo em seguida, e o rouxinol artificial foi posto a cantar novamente, e cantou pela trigésima quarta vez a mesma música. O maestro do palácio disse dele ainda maiores louvores, continuando a afirmar que era na realidade muito melhor que o outro, além de ser incomparavelmente mais lindo.

— Vossa Majestade compreende o valor desta jóia, explicou o maestro ao Imperador. Com o outro não podíamos saber nunca que música viria, mas com este temos a certeza do que vai cantar. Podemos analisá-lo, abri-lo, ver o que tem dentro e admirar a maravilha do engenho humano.

— Realmente! afirmaram todos os presentes. O maestro tem toda a razão — e combinaram exibi-lo ao povo no próximo domingo, depois de obtida do Imperador a necessária licença.

Fez-se com grande sucesso a exibição; o povo ouviu-o cantar com o mesmo prazer com que toma chá, porque eram todos chineses e para o chinês nada como o chá. Todos, menos um. Um pescador que já havia ouvido o rouxinol na floresta, só esse não gostou.

— Canta bem, não há dúvida, dissera esse homem, mas só canta uma certa música, e além disso noto que falta qualquer coisa nessa música — o que, não sei.

Mas para a grande massa do povo vencera o rouxinol artificial, e em vista disso o verdadeiro foi banido da China por um decreto do soberano.

O novo vencedor viu-se colocado sobre um coxim de seda, ao lado do leito do imperador, no meio de um monte de jóias e pedrarias. Foi-lhe dado o título de Imperial Cantor da Câmara Imperial, com direito ao lado esquerdo do soberano, que é o lado mais importante por ser o lado do coração. O maestro do palácio escreveu uma obra em vinte e cinco volumes sobre a jóia cantora, obra tão cheia daquelas letras chinesas desenhadas com tinta nanquim, que ninguém leu — e se alguém lesse não entenderia. Mas todos a admiraram para não correrem o risco de ser tidos como estúpidos.

Um ano passou-se. Tanto o Imperador, como toda a sua corte e ainda o povo chinês, aprenderam de cor, sem escapar um sonzinho, a célebre música do rouxinol. E todos a cantavam. Até nas ruas a meninada ia para as escolas cantando a cantiga do rouxinol imperial.

Certa manhã, em que o rouxinol estava pela milésima vez cantando a sua música para o imperador, qualquer coisa dentro dele estalou — craque! e o silêncio se fez.

O imperador pulou da cama onde se achava e chamou pelo médico do palácio. Mas o médico, apesar de grande sábio, nada pode fazer.

Foi chamado um relojoeiro, que abriu o rouxinol e procurou consertá-lo. As molas estavam gastas e se se pusessem outras a música se alteraria. Foram apesar disso mudadas as molas, e para que não se gastassem como as primeiras, o imperador declarou que ele só cantaria uma vez por ano. O maestro do palácio fez um longo discurso para provar que a música mudara um pouco, mas era ainda melhor que a primitiva — o todos tiveram de achar que sim.

Cinco anos mais tarde uma desgraça caiu sobre o império: o imperador adoecera de doença grave. Vendo que o soberano estava nas últimas, os ministros providenciaram para a imediata escolha do seu sucessor. O povo aglomerado em frente ao palácio ansiava por saber do mordomo como ia passando o velho soberano; mas o mordomo aparecia e emitia apenas aquele seu célebre "Pf!" que não significava coisa nenhuma.

O imperador jazia muito pálido e desfigurado em seu leito, e sozinho, porque todos os cortesãos só queriam saber de rodear o futuro soberano. Os criados tinham corrido a servir o novo sol e as camareiras também — e como os corredores próximos haviam sido tapetados para que nenhum rumor fosse feito, o silêncio em torno do velho Imperador era mortal.

O pobre soberano mal podia respirar; sentia um grande peso no coração e, abrindo os olhos, viu que o vulto da Morte estava sentado sobre o seu peito, com a sua coroa na cabeça, o seu cetro numa das mãos descarnadas e a sua espada na outra. Estranhos seres espiavam detrás dos reposteiros de veludo. Eram as más ações do soberano que vinham espiá-lo, agora que a Morte se sentara em cima do seu peito.

— Lembra-se de mim? murmurava uma, fazendo caretas.

— E de mim? murmurava outra, e tantas foram as perguntas desse gênero que o imperador começou a suar frio.

— Oh! exclamou ele, horrorizado. Música! Que soem os tambores! Não quero ouvir o que estas sombras me dizem!

Mas as sombras das suas más ações continuaram a fazer-se lembradas e a Morte concordava com a cabeça com tudo quanto elas diziam.

— Música! Música! vociferava o soberano. Meu rouxinol de ouro, canta, canta! Dei-te todas as honras e te pus ao pescoço o meu colar de diamantes. Cante, eu ordeno, canta!

— Mas o rouxinol artificial conservou-se mudo — estava sem corda — e sem corda não podia cantar ainda com ordem do imperador. E a Morte continuava a encarar firmemente o moribundo com as suas órbitas ocas, no silêncio tumular que envolvia tudo.

Súbito, uma melodia estranha soou à janela. Vinha lá de fora, da garganta dum rouxinol vivo que pousara num galho. Era o rouxinol da floresta, que ouvira o apelo do moribundo e se apressara em vir confortar sua pobre alma dolorida. E à medida que ia cantando, os fantasmas do quarto se iam esvaindo e o sangue voltava a circular com mais vida nas veias do Imperador. Até a própria Morte se pôs a ouvi-lo, maravilhada, murmurando a espaços:

— Continue, rouxinolzinho! Continue...

— Só continuarei se você me der essa coroa.

A morte tirou da sua cabeça a coroa do Imperador e deu-a ao rouxinol — e o rouxinol cantou mais uma canção. A Morte pediu mais música — e o rouxinol para cada nova canção exigia uma das coisas que ela já havia tirado do Imperador — o cetro, a espada, o estandarte.

E o rouxinol cantou, cantou como os rouxinóis costumam cantar nos jardins sombrios, ao cair da noite, quando o orvalho começa a misturar-se aos perfumes das flores sonolentas. Por fim a Morte esvaiu-se do quarto, como um nevoeiro que se extingue ao sol.

— Obrigado! Obrigado, meu maravilhoso amigo! Conheço-te muito bem. Foste por mim mesmo banido dos meus domínios e no entanto vieste afugentar do meu quarto os horrendos monstros que me torturavam. Como poderei recompensar-te do bem que me fizeste?

— Recompensado estou, respondeu o rouxinol. Já vi lágrimas em vossos olhos, da primeira vez que cantei — e não me esquecerei disso nunca. Dormi, Imperador, dormi que o sono vos restaurará as forças. Eu continuarei a cantar para embalo do vosso sono.

E cantou, cantou, cantou até ver o soberano profundamente adormecido.

O sol já batia de novo em sua janela quando o Imperador caiu do sono, refeito da doença e curado. Nenhum dos seus serviçais aparecera no quarto, porque todos já o supunham falecido. Só o rouxinol lhe fazia companhia, lá do galho a cantar.

—Ficarás agora sempre comigo, disse o Imperador e cantarás sempre que eu pedir. O outro, o teu rival de diamantes e rubis, será despedaçado.

— Por que isso? disse a avezinha. Ele cantou enquanto pode. Conservai-o como antes. Eu não posso construir meu ninho aqui, nem viver no palácio, mas virei sempre que puder, e pousarei neste galhinho, perto desta janela, e cantarei para Vossa Majestade apenas. Cantarei em prol dos que sofrem, dos que injustamente são afastados da vossa presença pelos maus cortesãos. Isso porque sou um cantorzinho que voa por toda a parte, e pousa no teto dos camponeses humildes e dos pescadores paupérrimos, e de toda a gente que vive longe da corte e nem sequer é por ela suspeitada. Eu amo mais o vosso coração do que a vossa coroa. Virei cantar apenas para vós — mas haveis de prometer-me uma coisa.

— Prometo tudo quanto pedires! disse o Imperador erguendo o punho da espada como testemunha.

— Quero que ninguém saiba que Vossa Majestade possui uma avezinha que lhe conta tudo.

Disse e voou para longe.

Os criados vieram afinal espiar o cadáver do velho Imperador... Mas o seu assombro não teve limites quando o cadáver se ergueu na cama e lhes disse, muito amavelmente:

— Bons olhos os vejam, amigos!

Good Readings: "The Ugly Duckling" by Hans C. Andersen (translated into English by Mrs. Henry H. B. Paull)

It was lovely summer weather in the country, and the golden corn, the green oats, and the haystacks piled up in the meadows looked beautiful. The stork walking about on his long red legs chattered in the Egyptian language, which he had learnt from his mother. The corn-fields and meadows were surrounded by large forests, in the midst of which were deep pools. It was, indeed, delightful to walk about in the country. In a sunny spot stood a pleasant old farm-house close by a deep river, and from the house down to the water side grew great burdock leaves, so high, that under the tallest of them a little child could stand upright. The spot was as wild as the centre of a thick wood. In this snug retreat sat a duck on her nest, watching for her young brood to hatch; she was beginning to get tired of her task, for the little ones were a long time coming out of their shells, and she seldom had any visitors. The other ducks liked much better to swim about in the river than to climb the slippery banks, and sit under a burdock leaf, to have a gossip with her. At length one shell cracked, and then another, and from each egg came a living creature that lifted its head and cried, “Peep, peep.” “Quack, quack,” said the mother, and then they all quacked as well as they could, and looked about them on every side at the large green leaves. Their mother allowed them to look as much as they liked, because green is good for the eyes. “How large the world is,” said the young ducks, when they found how much more room they now had than while they were inside the egg-shell. “Do you imagine this is the whole world?” asked the mother; “Wait till you have seen the garden; it stretches far beyond that to the parson’s field, but I have never ventured to such a distance. Are you all out?” she continued, rising; “No, I declare, the largest egg lies there still. I wonder how long this is to last, I am quite tired of it;” and she seated herself again on the nest.

          “Well, how are you getting on?” asked an old duck, who paid her a visit.

         “One egg is not hatched yet,” said the duck, “it will not break. But just look at all the others, are they not the prettiest little ducklings you ever saw? They are the image of their father, who is so unkind, he never comes to see.”

          “Let me see the egg that will not break,” said the duck; “I have no doubt it is a turkey’s egg. I was persuaded to hatch some once, and after all my care and trouble with the young ones, they were afraid of the water. I quacked and clucked, but all to no purpose. I could not get them to venture in. Let me look at the egg. Yes, that is a turkey’s egg; take my advice, leave it where it is and teach the other children to swim.”

“I think I will sit on it a little while longer,” said the duck; “as I have sat so long already, a few days will be nothing.”

                “Please yourself,” said the old duck, and she went away.

                At last the large egg broke, and a young one crept forth crying, “Peep, peep.” It was very large and ugly. The duck stared at it and exclaimed, “It is very large and not at all like the others. I wonder if it really is a turkey. We shall soon find it out, however when we go to the water. It must go in, if I have to push it myself.”

                On the next day the weather was delightful, and the sun shone brightly on the green burdock leaves, so the mother duck took her young brood down to the water, and jumped in with a splash. “Quack, quack,” cried she, and one after another the little ducklings jumped in. The water closed over their heads, but they came up again in an instant, and swam about quite prettily with their legs paddling under them as easily as possible, and the ugly duckling was also in the water swimming with them.

                “Oh,” said the mother, “that is not a turkey; how well he uses his legs, and how upright he holds himself! He is my own child, and he is not so very ugly after all if you look at him properly. Quack, quack! come with me now, I will take you into grand society, and introduce you to the farmyard, but you must keep close to me or you may be trodden upon; and, above all, beware of the cat.”

                When they reached the farmyard, there was a great disturbance, two families were fighting for an eel’s head, which, after all, was carried off by the cat. “See, children, that is the way of the world,” said the mother duck, whetting her beak, for she would have liked the eel’s head herself. “Come, now, use your legs, and let me see how well you can behave. You must bow your heads prettily to that old duck yonder; she is the highest born of them all, and has Spanish blood, therefore, she is well off. Don’t you see she has a red flag tied to her leg, which is something very grand, and a great honor for a duck; it shows that every one is anxious not to lose her, as she can be recognized both by man and beast. Come, now, don’t turn your toes, a well-bred duckling spreads his feet wide apart, just like his father and mother, in this way; now bend your neck, and say ‘quack.’”

                The ducklings did as they were bid, but the other duck stared, and said, “Look, here comes another brood, as if there were not enough of us already! and what a queer looking object one of them is; we don’t want him here,” and then one flew out and bit him in the neck.

                “Let him alone,” said the mother; “he is not doing any harm.”

                “Yes, but he is so big and ugly,” said the spiteful duck “and therefore he must be turned out.”

                “The others are very pretty children,” said the old duck, with the rag on her leg, “all but that one; I wish his mother could improve him a little.”

                “That is impossible, your grace,” replied the mother; “he is not pretty; but he has a very good disposition, and swims as well or even better than the others. I think he will grow up pretty, and perhaps be smaller; he has remained too long in the egg, and therefore his figure is not properly formed;” and then she stroked his neck and smoothed the feathers, saying, “It is a drake, and therefore not of so much consequence. I think he will grow up strong, and able to take care of himself.”

                “The other ducklings are graceful enough,” said the old duck. “Now make yourself at home, and if you can find an eel’s head, you can bring it to me.”

                And so they made themselves comfortable; but the poor duckling, who had crept out of his shell last of all, and looked so ugly, was bitten and pushed and made fun of, not only by the ducks, but by all the poultry. “He is too big,” they all said, and the turkey cock, who had been born into the world with spurs, and fancied himself really an emperor, puffed himself out like a vessel in full sail, and flew at the duckling, and became quite red in the head with passion, so that the poor little thing did not know where to go, and was quite miserable because he was so ugly and laughed at by the whole farmyard. So it went on from day to day till it got worse and worse. The poor duckling was driven about by every one; even his brothers and sisters were unkind to him, and would say, “Ah, you ugly creature, I wish the cat would get you,” and his mother said she wished he had never been born. The ducks pecked him, the chickens beat him, and the girl who fed the poultry kicked him with her feet. So at last he ran away, frightening the little birds in the hedge as he flew over the palings.

                “They are afraid of me because I am ugly,” he said. So he closed his eyes, and flew still farther, until he came out on a large moor, inhabited by wild ducks. Here he remained the whole night, feeling very tired and sorrowful.

                In the morning, when the wild ducks rose in the air, they stared at their new comrade. “What sort of a duck are you?” they all said, coming round him.

                He bowed to them, and was as polite as he could be, but he did not reply to their question. “You are exceedingly ugly,” said the wild ducks, “but that will not matter if you do not want to marry one of our family.”

                Poor thing! he had no thoughts of marriage; all he wanted was permission to lie among the rushes, and drink some of the water on the moor. After he had been on the moor two days, there came two wild geese, or rather goslings, for they had not been out of the egg long, and were very saucy. “Listen, friend,” said one of them to the duckling, “you are so ugly, that we like you very well. Will you go with us, and become a bird of passage? Not far from here is another moor, in which there are some pretty wild geese, all unmarried. It is a chance for you to get a wife; you may be lucky, ugly as you are.”

                “Pop, pop,” sounded in the air, and the two wild geese fell dead among the rushes, and the water was tinged with blood. “Pop, pop,” echoed far and wide in the distance, and whole flocks of wild geese rose up from the rushes. The sound continued from every direction, for the sportsmen surrounded the moor, and some were even seated on branches of trees, overlooking the rushes. The blue smoke from the guns rose like clouds over the dark trees, and as it floated away across the water, a number of sporting dogs bounded in among the rushes, which bent beneath them wherever they went. How they terrified the poor duckling! He turned away his head to hide it under his wing, and at the same moment a large terrible dog passed quite near him. His jaws were open, his tongue hung from his mouth, and his eyes glared fearfully. He thrust his nose close to the duckling, showing his sharp teeth, and then, “splash, splash,” he went into the water without touching him, “Oh,” sighed the duckling, “how thankful I am for being so ugly; even a dog will not bite me.” And so he lay quite still, while the shot rattled through the rushes, and gun after gun was fired over him. It was late in the day before all became quiet, but even then the poor young thing did not dare to move. He waited quietly for several hours, and then, after looking carefully around him, hastened away from the moor as fast as he could. He ran over field and meadow till a storm arose, and he could hardly struggle against it. Towards evening, he reached a poor little cottage that seemed ready to fall, and only remained standing because it could not decide on which side to fall first. The storm continued so violent, that the duckling could go no farther; he sat down by the cottage, and then he noticed that the door was not quite closed in consequence of one of the hinges having given way. There was therefore a narrow opening near the bottom large enough for him to slip through, which he did very quietly, and got a shelter for the night. A woman, a tom cat, and a hen lived in this cottage. The tom cat, whom the mistress called, “My little son,” was a great favorite; he could raise his back, and purr, and could even throw out sparks from his fur if it were stroked the wrong way. The hen had very short legs, so she was called “Chickie short legs.” She laid good eggs, and her mistress loved her as if she had been her own child. In the morning, the strange visitor was discovered, and the tom cat began to purr, and the hen to cluck.

                “What is that noise about?” said the old woman, looking round the room, but her sight was not very good; therefore, when she saw the duckling she thought it must be a fat duck, that had strayed from home. “Oh what a prize!” she exclaimed, “I hope it is not a drake, for then I shall have some duck’s eggs. I must wait and see.” So the duckling was allowed to remain on trial for three weeks, but there were no eggs. Now the tom cat was the master of the house, and the hen was mistress, and they always said, “We and the world,” for they believed themselves to be half the world, and the better half too. The duckling thought that others might hold a different opinion on the subject, but the hen would not listen to such doubts. “Can you lay eggs?” she asked. “No.” “Then have the goodness to hold your tongue.” “Can you raise your back, or purr, or throw out sparks?” said the tom cat. “No.” “Then you have no right to express an opinion when sensible people are speaking.” So the duckling sat in a corner, feeling very low spirited, till the sunshine and the fresh air came into the room through the open door, and then he began to feel such a great longing for a swim on the water, that he could not help telling the hen.

                “What an absurd idea,” said the hen. “You have nothing else to do, therefore you have foolish fancies. If you could purr or lay eggs, they would pass away.”

                “But it is so delightful to swim about on the water,” said the duckling, “and so refreshing to feel it close over your head, while you dive down to the bottom.”

                “Delightful, indeed!” said the hen, “why you must be crazy! Ask the cat, he is the cleverest animal I know, ask him how he would like to swim about on the water, or to dive under it, for I will not speak of my own opinion; ask our mistress, the old woman—there is no one in the world more clever than she is. Do you think she would like to swim, or to let the water close over her head?”

                “You don’t understand me,” said the duckling.

                “We don’t understand you? Who can understand you, I wonder? Do you consider yourself more clever than the cat, or the old woman? I will say nothing of myself. Don’t imagine such nonsense, child, and thank your good fortune that you have been received here. Are you not in a warm room, and in society from which you may learn something. But you are a chatterer, and your company is not very agreeable. Believe me, I speak only for your own good. I may tell you unpleasant truths, but that is a proof of my friendship. I advise you, therefore, to lay eggs, and learn to purr as quickly as possible.”

                “I believe I must go out into the world again,” said the duckling.

                “Yes, do,” said the hen. So the duckling left the cottage, and soon found water on which it could swim and dive, but was avoided by all other animals, because of its ugly appearance. Autumn came, and the leaves in the forest turned to orange and gold. then, as winter approached, the wind caught them as they fell and whirled them in the cold air. The clouds, heavy with hail and snow-flakes, hung low in the sky, and the raven stood on the ferns crying, “Croak, croak.” It made one shiver with cold to look at him. All this was very sad for the poor little duckling. One evening, just as the sun set amid radiant clouds, there came a large flock of beautiful birds out of the bushes. The duckling had never seen any like them before. They were swans, and they curved their graceful necks, while their soft plumage shown with dazzling whiteness. They uttered a singular cry, as they spread their glorious wings and flew away from those cold regions to warmer countries across the sea. As they mounted higher and higher in the air, the ugly little duckling felt quite a strange sensation as he watched them. He whirled himself in the water like a wheel, stretched out his neck towards them, and uttered a cry so strange that it frightened himself. Could he ever forget those beautiful, happy birds; and when at last they were out of his sight, he dived under the water, and rose again almost beside himself with excitement. He knew not the names of these birds, nor where they had flown, but he felt towards them as he had never felt for any other bird in the world. He was not envious of these beautiful creatures, but wished to be as lovely as they. Poor ugly creature, how gladly he would have lived even with the ducks had they only given him encouragement. The winter grew colder and colder; he was obliged to swim about on the water to keep it from freezing, but every night the space on which he swam became smaller and smaller. At length it froze so hard that the ice in the water crackled as he moved, and the duckling had to paddle with his legs as well as he could, to keep the space from closing up. He became exhausted at last, and lay still and helpless, frozen fast in the ice.

                Early in the morning, a peasant, who was passing by, saw what had happened. He broke the ice in pieces with his wooden shoe, and carried the duckling home to his wife. The warmth revived the poor little creature; but when the children wanted to play with him, the duckling thought they would do him some harm; so he started up in terror, fluttered into the milk-pan, and splashed the milk about the room. Then the woman clapped her hands, which frightened him still more. He flew first into the butter-cask, then into the meal-tub, and out again. What a condition he was in! The woman screamed, and struck at him with the tongs; the children laughed and screamed, and tumbled over each other, in their efforts to catch him; but luckily he escaped. The door stood open; the poor creature could just manage to slip out among the bushes, and lie down quite exhausted in the newly fallen snow.

                It would be very sad, were I to relate all the misery and privations which the poor little duckling endured during the hard winter; but when it had passed, he found himself lying one morning in a moor, amongst the rushes. He felt the warm sun shining, and heard the lark singing, and saw that all around was beautiful spring. Then the young bird felt that his wings were strong, as he flapped them against his sides, and rose high into the air. They bore him onwards, until he found himself in a large garden, before he well knew how it had happened. The apple-trees were in full blossom, and the fragrant elders bent their long green branches down to the stream which wound round a smooth lawn. Everything looked beautiful, in the freshness of early spring. From a thicket close by came three beautiful white swans, rustling their feathers, and swimming lightly over the smooth water. The duckling remembered the lovely birds, and felt more strangely unhappy than ever.

                “I will fly to those royal birds,” he exclaimed, “and they will kill me, because I am so ugly, and dare to approach them; but it does not matter: better be killed by them than pecked by the ducks, beaten by the hens, pushed about by the maiden who feeds the poultry, or starved with hunger in the winter.”

                Then he flew to the water, and swam towards the beautiful swans. The moment they espied the stranger, they rushed to meet him with outstretched wings.

                “Kill me,” said the poor bird; and he bent his head down to the surface of the water, and awaited death.

                But what did he see in the clear stream below? His own image; no longer a dark, gray bird, ugly and disagreeable to look at, but a graceful and beautiful swan. To be born in a duck’s nest, in a farmyard, is of no consequence to a bird, if it is hatched from a swan’s egg. He now felt glad at having suffered sorrow and trouble, because it enabled him to enjoy so much better all the pleasure and happiness around him; for the great swans swam round the new-comer, and stroked his neck with their beaks, as a welcome.

                Into the garden presently came some little children, and threw bread and cake into the water.

                “See,” cried the youngest, “there is a new one;” and the rest were delighted, and ran to their father and mother, dancing and clapping their hands, and shouting joyously, “There is another swan come; a new one has arrived.”

                Then they threw more bread and cake into the water, and said, “The new one is the most beautiful of all; he is so young and pretty.” And the old swans bowed their heads before him.

                Then he felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wing; for he did not know what to do, he was so happy, and yet not at all proud. He had been persecuted and despised for his ugliness, and now he heard them say he was the most beautiful of all the birds. Even the elder-tree bent down its bows into the water before him, and the sun shone warm and bright. Then he rustled his feathers, curved his slender neck, and cried joyfully, from the depths of his heart, “I never dreamed of such happiness as this, while I was an ugly duckling.”

Good Readings: “The Tinder-Box” by Hans Christian Andersen (translated into English by Mrs. Henry H. B. Paull)

A soldier came marching along the high road: “Left, right—left, right.” He had his knapsack on his back, and a sword at his side; he had been to the wars, and was now returning home.

                As he walked on, he met a very frightful-looking old witch in the road. Her under-lip hung quite down on her breast, and she stopped and said, “Good evening, soldier; you have a very fine sword, and a large knapsack, and you are a real soldier; so you shall have as much money as ever you like.”

                “Thank you, old witch,” said the soldier.

                “Do you see that large tree,” said the witch, pointing to a tree which stood beside them. “Well, it is quite hollow inside, and you must climb to the top, when you will see a hole, through which you can let yourself down into the tree to a great depth. I will tie a rope round your body, so that I can pull you up again when you call out to me.”

                “But what am I to do, down there in the tree?” asked the soldier.

                “Get money,” she replied; “for you must know that when you reach the ground under the tree, you will find yourself in a large hall, lighted up by three hundred lamps; you will then see three doors, which can be easily opened, for the keys are in all the locks. On entering the first of the chambers, to which these doors lead, you will see a large chest, standing in the middle of the floor, and upon it a dog seated, with a pair of eyes as large as teacups. But you need not be at all afraid of him; I will give you my blue checked apron, which you must spread upon the floor, and then boldly seize hold of the dog, and place him upon it. You can then open the chest, and take from it as many pence as you please, they are only copper pence; but if you would rather have silver money, you must go into the second chamber. Here you will find another dog, with eyes as big as mill-wheels; but do not let that trouble you. Place him upon my apron, and then take what money you please. If, however, you like gold best, enter the third chamber, where there is another chest full of it. The dog who sits on this chest is very dreadful; his eyes are as big as a tower, but do not mind him. If he also is placed upon my apron, he cannot hurt you, and you may take from the chest what gold you will.”

                “This is not a bad story,” said the soldier; “but what am I to give you, you old witch? for, of course, you do not mean to tell me all this for nothing.”

                “No,” said the witch; “but I do not ask for a single penny. Only promise to bring me an old tinder-box, which my grandmother left behind the last time she went down there.”

                “Very well; I promise. Now tie the rope round my body.”

                “Here it is,” replied the witch; “and here is my blue checked apron.”

                As soon as the rope was tied, the soldier climbed up the tree, and let himself down through the hollow to the ground beneath; and here he found, as the witch had told him, a large hall, in which many hundred lamps were all burning. Then he opened the first door. “Ah!” there sat the dog, with the eyes as large as teacups, staring at him.

                “You’re a pretty fellow,” said the soldier, seizing him, and placing him on the witch’s apron, while he filled his pockets from the chest with as many pieces as they would hold. Then he closed the lid, seated the dog upon it again, and walked into another chamber, And, sure enough, there sat the dog with eyes as big as mill-wheels.

                “You had better not look at me in that way,” said the soldier; “you will make your eyes water;” and then he seated him also upon the apron, and opened the chest. But when he saw what a quantity of silver money it contained, he very quickly threw away all the coppers he had taken, and filled his pockets and his knapsack with nothing but silver.

                Then he went into the third room, and there the dog was really hideous; his eyes were, truly, as big as towers, and they turned round and round in his head like wheels.

                “Good morning,” said the soldier, touching his cap, for he had never seen such a dog in his life. But after looking at him more closely, he thought he had been civil enough, so he placed him on the floor, and opened the chest. Good gracious, what a quantity of gold there was! enough to buy all the sugar-sticks of the sweet-stuff women; all the tin soldiers, whips, and rocking-horses in the world, or even the whole town itself. There was, indeed, an immense quantity. So the soldier now threw away all the silver money he had taken, and filled his pockets and his knapsack with gold instead; and not only his pockets and his knapsack, but even his cap and boots, so that he could scarcely walk.

                He was really rich now; so he replaced the dog on the chest, closed the door, and called up through the tree, “Now pull me out, you old witch.”

                “Have you got the tinder-box?” asked the witch.

                “No; I declare I quite forgot it.” So he went back and fetched the tinderbox, and then the witch drew him up out of the tree, and he stood again in the high road, with his pockets, his knapsack, his cap, and his boots full of gold.

                “What are you going to do with the tinder-box?” asked the soldier.

                “That is nothing to you,” replied the witch; “you have the money, now give me the tinder-box.”

                “I tell you what,” said the soldier, “if you don’t tell me what you are going to do with it, I will draw my sword and cut off your head.”

                “No,” said the witch.

                The soldier immediately cut off her head, and there she lay on the ground. Then he tied up all his money in her apron. and slung it on his back like a bundle, put the tinderbox in his pocket, and walked off to the nearest town. It was a very nice town, and he put up at the best inn, and ordered a dinner of all his favorite dishes, for now he was rich and had plenty of money.

                The servant, who cleaned his boots, thought they certainly were a shabby pair to be worn by such a rich gentleman, for he had not yet bought any new ones. The next day, however, he procured some good clothes and proper boots, so that our soldier soon became known as a fine gentleman, and the people visited him, and told him all the wonders that were to be seen in the town, and of the king’s beautiful daughter, the princess.

                “Where can I see her?” asked the soldier.

                “She is not to be seen at all,” they said; “she lives in a large copper castle, surrounded by walls and towers. No one but the king himself can pass in or out, for there has been a prophecy that she will marry a common soldier, and the king cannot bear to think of such a marriage.”

                “I should like very much to see her,” thought the soldier; but he could not obtain permission to do so. However, he passed a very pleasant time; went to the theatre, drove in the king’s garden, and gave a great deal of money to the poor, which was very good of him; he remembered what it had been in olden times to be without a shilling. Now he was rich, had fine clothes, and many friends, who all declared he was a fine fellow and a real gentleman, and all this gratified him exceedingly. But his money would not last forever; and as he spent and gave away a great deal daily, and received none, he found himself at last with only two shillings left. So he was obliged to leave his elegant rooms, and live in a little garret under the roof, where he had to clean his own boots, and even mend them with a large needle. None of his friends came to see him, there were too many stairs to mount up. One dark evening, he had not even a penny to buy a candle; then all at once he remembered that there was a piece of candle stuck in the tinder-box, which he had brought from the old tree, into which the witch had helped him.

                He found the tinder-box, but no sooner had he struck a few sparks from the flint and steel, than the door flew open and the dog with eyes as big as teacups, whom he had seen while down in the tree, stood before him, and said, “What orders, master?”

                “Hallo,” said the soldier; “well this is a pleasant tinderbox, if it brings me all I wish for.”

                “Bring me some money,” said he to the dog.

                He was gone in a moment, and presently returned, carrying a large bag of coppers in his month. The soldier very soon discovered after this the value of the tinder-box. If he struck the flint once, the dog who sat on the chest of copper money made his appearance; if twice, the dog came from the chest of silver; and if three times, the dog with eyes like towers, who watched over the gold. The soldier had now plenty of money; he returned to his elegant rooms, and reappeared in his fine clothes, so that his friends knew him again directly, and made as much of him as before.

                After a while he began to think it was very strange that no one could get a look at the princess. “Every one says she is very beautiful,” thought he to himself; “but what is the use of that if she is to be shut up in a copper castle surrounded by so many towers. Can I by any means get to see her. Stop! where is my tinder-box?” Then he struck a light, and in a moment the dog, with eyes as big as teacups, stood before him.

                “It is midnight,” said the soldier, “yet I should very much like to see the princess, if only for a moment.”

                The dog disappeared instantly, and before the soldier could even look round, he returned with the princess. She was lying on the dog’s back asleep, and looked so lovely, that every one who saw her would know she was a real princess. The soldier could not help kissing her, true soldier as he was. Then the dog ran back with the princess; but in the morning, while at breakfast with the king and queen, she told them what a singular dream she had had during the night, of a dog and a soldier, that she had ridden on the dog’s back, and been kissed by the soldier.

                “That is a very pretty story, indeed,” said the queen. So the next night one of the old ladies of the court was set to watch by the princess’s bed, to discover whether it really was a dream, or what else it might be.

                The soldier longed very much to see the princess once more, so he sent for the dog again in the night to fetch her, and to run with her as fast as ever he could. But the old lady put on water boots, and ran after him as quickly as he did, and found that he carried the princess into a large house. She thought it would help her to remember the place if she made a large cross on the door with a piece of chalk. Then she went home to bed, and the dog presently returned with the princess. But when he saw that a cross had been made on the door of the house, where the soldier lived, he took another piece of chalk and made crosses on all the doors in the town, so that the lady-in-waiting might not be able to find out the right door.

                Early the next morning the king and queen accompanied the lady and all the officers of the household, to see where the princess had been.

                “Here it is,” said the king, when they came to the first door with a cross on it.

                “No, my dear husband, it must be that one,” said the queen, pointing to a second door having a cross also.

                “And here is one, and there is another!” they all exclaimed; for there were crosses on all the doors in every direction.

                So they felt it would be useless to search any farther. But the queen was a very clever woman; she could do a great deal more than merely ride in a carriage. She took her large gold scissors, cut a piece of silk into squares, and made a neat little bag. This bag she filled with buckwheat flour, and tied it round the princess’s neck; and then she cut a small hole in the bag, so that the flour might be scattered on the ground as the princess went along. During the night, the dog came again and carried the princess on his back, and ran with her to the soldier, who loved her very much, and wished that he had been a prince, so that he might have her for a wife. The dog did not observe how the flour ran out of the bag all the way from the castle wall to the soldier’s house, and even up to the window, where he had climbed with the princess. Therefore in the morning the king and queen found out where their daughter had been, and the soldier was taken up and put in prison. Oh, how dark and disagreeable it was as he sat there, and the people said to him, “To-morrow you will be hanged.” It was not very pleasant news, and besides, he had left the tinder-box at the inn. In the morning he could see through the iron grating of the little window how the people were hastening out of the town to see him hanged; he heard the drums beating, and saw the soldiers marching. Every one ran out to look at them, and a shoemaker’s boy, with a leather apron and slippers on, galloped by so fast, that one of his slippers flew off and struck against the wall where the soldier sat looking through the iron grating. “Hallo, you shoemaker’s boy, you need not be in such a hurry,” cried the soldier to him. “There will be nothing to see till I come; but if you will run to the house where I have been living, and bring me my tinder-box, you shall have four shillings, but you must put your best foot foremost.”

                The shoemaker’s boy liked the idea of getting the four shillings, so he ran very fast and fetched the tinder-box, and gave it to the soldier. And now we shall see what happened. Outside the town a large gibbet had been erected, round which stood the soldiers and several thousands of people. The king and the queen sat on splendid thrones opposite to the judges and the whole council. The soldier already stood on the ladder; but as they were about to place the rope around his neck, he said that an innocent request was often granted to a poor criminal before he suffered death. He wished very much to smoke a pipe, as it would be the last pipe he should ever smoke in the world. The king could not refuse this request, so the soldier took his tinder-box, and struck fire, once, twice, thrice,— and there in a moment stood all the dogs;—the one with eyes as big as teacups, the one with eyes as large as mill-wheels, and the third, whose eyes were like towers. “Help me now, that I may not be hanged,” cried the soldier.

                And the dogs fell upon the judges and all the councillors; seized one by the legs, and another by the nose, and tossed them many feet high in the air, so that they fell down and were dashed to pieces.

                “I will not be touched,” said the king. But the largest dog seized him, as well as the queen, and threw them after the others. Then the soldiers and all the people were afraid, and cried, “Good soldier, you shall be our king, and you shall marry the beautiful princess.”

                So they placed the soldier in the king’s carriage, and the three dogs ran on in front and cried “Hurrah!” and the little boys whistled through their fingers, and the soldiers presented arms. The princess came out of the copper castle, and became queen, which was very pleasing to her. The wedding festivities lasted a whole week, and the dogs sat at the table, and stared with all their eyes.