There was once a woman who wished very much to have
a little child, but she could not obtain her wish. At last she went to a fairy,
and said, “I should so very much like to have a little child; can you tell me
where I can find one?”
“Oh, that can be
easily managed,” said the fairy. “Here is a barleycorn of a different kind to
those which grow in the farmer’s fields, and which the chickens eat; put it
into a flower-pot, and see what will happen.”
“Thank you,” said
the woman, and she gave the fairy twelve shillings, which was the price of the
barleycorn. Then she went home and planted it, and immediately there grew up a
large handsome flower, something like a tulip in appearance, but with its
leaves tightly closed as if it were still a bud. “It is a beautiful flower,”
said the woman, and she kissed the red and golden-colored leaves, and while she
did so the flower opened, and she could see that it was a real tulip. Within
the flower, upon the green velvet stamens, sat a very delicate and graceful
little maiden. She was scarcely half as long as a thumb, and they gave her the
name of “Thumbelina,” or Tiny, because she was so small. A walnut-shell,
elegantly polished, served her for a cradle; her bed was formed of blue
violet-leaves, with a rose-leaf for a counterpane. Here she slept at night, but
during the day she amused herself on a table, where the woman had placed a
plateful of water. Round this plate were wreaths of flowers with their stems in
the water, and upon it floated a large tulip-leaf, which served Tiny for a
boat. Here the little maiden sat and rowed herself from side to side, with two
oars made of white horse-hair. It really was a very pretty sight. Tiny could,
also, sing so softly and sweetly that nothing like her singing had ever before been
heard. One night, while she lay in her pretty bed, a large, ugly, wet toad
crept through a broken pane of glass in the window, and leaped right upon the
table where Tiny lay sleeping under her rose-leaf quilt. “What a pretty little
wife this would make for my son,” said the toad, and she took up the
walnut-shell in which little Tiny lay asleep, and jumped through the window
with it into the garden.
In the swampy
margin of a broad stream in the garden lived the toad, with her son. He was
uglier even than his mother, and when he saw the pretty little maiden in her
elegant bed, he could only cry, “Croak, croak, croak.”
“Don’t speak so
loud, or she will wake,” said the toad, “and then she might run away, for she
is as light as swan’s down. We will place her on one of the water-lily leaves
out in the stream; it will be like an island to her, she is so light and small,
and then she cannot escape; and, while she is away, we will make haste and
prepare the state-room under the marsh, in which you are to live when you are
married.”
Far out in the
stream grew a number of water-lilies, with broad green leaves, which seemed to
float on the top of the water. The largest of these leaves appeared farther off
than the rest, and the old toad swam out to it with the walnut-shell, in which
little Tiny lay still asleep. The tiny little creature woke very early in the
morning, and began to cry bitterly when she found where she was, for she could
see nothing but water on every side of the large green leaf, and no way of
reaching the land. Meanwhile the old toad was very busy under the marsh,
decking her room with rushes and wild yellow flowers, to make it look pretty
for her new daughter-in-law. Then she swam out with her ugly son to the leaf on
which she had placed poor little Tiny. She wanted to fetch the pretty bed, that
she might put it in the bridal chamber to be ready for her. The old toad bowed
low to her in the water, and said, “Here is my son, he will be your husband,
and you will live happily in the marsh by the stream.”
“Croak, croak,
croak,” was all her son could say for himself; so the toad took up the elegant
little bed, and swam away with it, leaving Tiny all alone on the green leaf,
where she sat and wept. She could not bear to think of living with the old
toad, and having her ugly son for a husband. The little fishes, who swam about
in the water beneath, had seen the toad, and heard what she said, so they
lifted their heads above the water to look at the little maiden. As soon as
they caught sight of her, they saw she was very pretty, and it made them very
sorry to think that she must go and live with the ugly toads. “No, it must
never be!” so they assembled together in the water, round the green stalk which
held the leaf on which the little maiden stood, and gnawed it away at the root
with their teeth. Then the leaf floated down the stream, carrying Tiny far away
out of reach of land.
Tiny
sailed past many towns, and the little birds in the bushes saw her, and sang,
“What a lovely little creature;” so the leaf swam away with her farther and
farther, till it brought her to other lands. A graceful little white butterfly
constantly fluttered round her, and at last alighted on the leaf. Tiny pleased
him, and she was glad of it, for now the toad could not possibly reach her, and
the country through which she sailed was beautiful, and the sun shone upon the
water, till it glittered like liquid gold. She took off her girdle and tied one
end of it round the butterfly, and the other end of the ribbon she fastened to
the leaf, which now glided on much faster than ever, taking little Tiny with it
as she stood. Presently a large cockchafer flew by; the moment he caught sight
of her, he seized her round her delicate waist with his claws, and flew with
her into a tree. The green leaf floated away on the brook, and the butterfly
flew with it, for he was fastened to it, and could not get away.
Oh, how
frightened little Tiny felt when the cockchafer flew with her to the tree! But
especially was she sorry for the beautiful white butterfly which she had
fastened to the leaf, for if he could not free himself he would die of hunger.But
the cockchafer did not trouble himself at all about the matter. He seated
himself by her side on a large green leaf, gave her some honey from the flowers
to eat, and told her she was very pretty, though not in the least like a
cockchafer. After a time, all the cockchafers turned up their feelers, and
said, “She has only two legs! how ugly that looks.” “She has no feelers,” said
another. “Her waist is quite slim. Pooh! she is like a human being.”
“Oh! she is
ugly,” said all the lady cockchafers, although Tiny was very pretty. Then the
cockchafer who had run away with her, believed all the others when they said
she was ugly, and would have nothing more to say to her, and told her she might
go where she liked. Then he flew down with her from the tree, and placed her on
a daisy, and she wept at the thought that she was so ugly that even the
cockchafers would have nothing to say to her. And all the while she was really
the loveliest creature that one could imagine, and as tender and delicate as a
beautiful rose-leaf. During the whole summer poor little Tiny lived quite alone
in the wide forest. She wove herself a bed with blades of grass, and hung it up
under a broad leaf, to protect herself from the rain. She sucked the honey from
the flowers for food, and drank the dew from their leaves every morning. So
passed away the summer and the autumn, and then came the winter,— the long,
cold winter. All the birds who had sung to her so sweetly were flown away, and
the trees and the flowers had withered. The large clover leaf under the shelter
of which she had lived, was now rolled together and shrivelled up, nothing
remained but a yellow withered stalk. She felt dreadfully cold, for her clothes
were torn, and she was herself so frail and delicate, that poor little Tiny was
nearly frozen to death. It began to snow too; and the snow-flakes, as they fell
upon her, were like a whole shovelful falling upon one of us, for we are tall,
but she was only an inch high. Then she wrapped herself up in a dry leaf, but
it cracked in the middle and could not keep her warm, and she shivered with
cold. Near the wood in which she had been living lay a corn-field, but the corn
had been cut a long time; nothing remained but the bare dry stubble standing up
out of the frozen ground. It was to her like struggling through a large wood.
Oh! how she shivered with the cold. She came at last to the door of a
field-mouse, who had a little den under the corn-stubble. There dwelt the
field-mouse in warmth and comfort, with a whole roomful of corn, a kitchen, and
a beautiful dining room. Poor little Tiny stood before the door just like a
little beggar-girl, and begged for a small piece of barley-corn, for she had
been without a morsel to eat for two days.
“You poor little
creature,” said the field-mouse, who was really a good old field-mouse, “come
into my warm room and dine with me.” She was very pleased with Tiny, so she
said, “You are quite welcome to stay with me all the winter, if you like; but
you must keep my rooms clean and neat, and tell me stories, for I shall like to
hear them very much.” And Tiny did all the field-mouse asked her, and found herself
very comfortable.
“We shall have a
visitor soon,” said the field-mouse one day; “my neighbor pays me a visit once
a week. He is better off than I am; he has large rooms, and wears a beautiful
black velvet coat. If you could only have him for a husband, you would be well
provided for indeed. But he is blind, so you must tell him some of your
prettiest stories.”
But Tiny did not
feel at all interested about this neighbor, for he was a mole. However, he came
and paid his visit dressed in his black velvet coat.
“He is very rich
and learned, and his house is twenty times larger than mine,” said the
field-mouse.
He was rich and
learned, no doubt, but he always spoke slightingly of the sun and the pretty
flowers, because he had never seen them. Tiny was obliged to sing to him,
“Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home,” and many other pretty songs. And the
mole fell in love with her because she had such a sweet voice; but he said
nothing yet, for he was very cautious. A short time before, the mole had dug a
long passage under the earth, which led from the dwelling of the field-mouse to
his own, and here she had permission to walk with Tiny whenever she liked. But
he warned them not to be alarmed at the sight of a dead bird which lay in the
passage. It was a perfect bird, with a beak and feathers, and could not have
been dead long, and was lying just where the mole had made his passage. The
mole took a piece of phosphorescent wood in his mouth, and it glittered like
fire in the dark; then he went before them to light them through the long, dark
passage. When they came to the spot where lay the dead bird, the mole pushed
his broad nose through the ceiling, the earth gave way, so that there was a
large hole, and the daylight shone into the passage. In the middle of the floor
lay a dead swallow, his beautiful wings pulled close to his sides, his feet and
his head drawn up under his feathers; the poor bird had evidently died of the
cold. It made little Tiny very sad to see it, she did so love the little birds;
all the summer they had sung and twittered for her so beautifully. But the mole
pushed it aside with his crooked legs, and said, “He will sing no more now. How
miserable it must be to be born a little bird! I am thankful that none of my
children will ever be birds, for they can do nothing but cry, ‘Tweet, tweet,’
and always die of hunger in the winter.”
“Yes, you may
well say that, as a clever man!” exclaimed the field-mouse, “What is the use of
his twittering, for when winter comes he must either starve or be frozen to
death. Still birds are very high bred.”
Tiny said
nothing; but when the two others had turned their backs on the bird, she
stooped down and stroked aside the soft feathers which covered the head, and
kissed the closed eyelids. “Perhaps this was the one who sang to me so sweetly
in the summer,” she said; “and how much pleasure it gave me, you dear, pretty
bird.”
The mole now
stopped up the hole through which the daylight shone, and then accompanied the
lady home. But during the night Tiny could not sleep; so she got out of bed and
wove a large, beautiful carpet of hay; then she carried it to the dead bird,
and spread it over him; with some down from the flowers which she had found in
the field-mouse’s room. It was as soft as wool, and she spread some of it on
each side of the bird, so that he might lie warmly in the cold earth.
“Farewell, you pretty little bird,” said she, “farewell; thank you for your
delightful singing during the summer, when all the trees were green, and the
warm sun shone upon us.” Then she laid her head on the bird’s breast, but she
was alarmed immediately, for it seemed as if something inside the bird went
“thump, thump.” It was the bird’s heart; he was not really dead, only benumbed
with the cold, and the warmth had restored him to life. In autumn, all the
swallows fly away into warm countries, but if one happens to linger, the cold
seizes it, it becomes frozen, and falls down as if dead; it remains where it
fell, and the cold snow covers it. Tiny trembled very much; she was quite
frightened, for the bird was large, a great deal larger than herself,—she was
only an inch high. But she took courage, laid the wool more thickly over the
poor swallow, and then took a leaf which she had used for her own counterpane,
and laid it over the head of the poor bird. The next morning she again stole
out to see him. He was alive but very weak; he could only open his eyes for a
moment to look at Tiny, who stood by holding a piece of decayed wood in her
hand, for she had no other lantern. “Thank you, pretty little maiden,” said the
sick swallow; “I have been so nicely warmed, that I shall soon regain my
strength, and be able to fly about again in the warm sunshine.”
“Oh,” said she,
“it is cold out of doors now; it snows and freezes. Stay in your warm bed; I
will take care of you.”
Then she brought
the swallow some water in a flower-leaf, and after he had drank, he told her
that he had wounded one of his wings in a thorn-bush, and could not fly as fast
as the others, who were soon far away on their journey to warm countries. Then
at last he had fallen to the earth, and could remember no more, nor how he came
to be where she had found him. The whole winter the swallow remained
underground, and Tiny nursed him with care and love. Neither the mole nor the
field-mouse knew anything about it, for they did not like swallows. Very soon
the spring time came, and the sun warmed the earth. Then the swallow bade
farewell to Tiny, and she opened the hole in the ceiling which the mole had
made. The sun shone in upon them so beautifully, that the swallow asked her if
she would go with him; she could sit on his back, he said, and he would fly
away with her into the green woods. But Tiny knew it would make the field-mouse
very grieved if she left her in that manner, so she said, “No, I cannot.”
“Farewell, then,
farewell, you good, pretty little maiden,” said the swallow; and he flew out
into the sunshine.
Tiny looked after
him, and the tears rose in her eyes. She was very fond of the poor swallow.
“Tweet, tweet,”
sang the bird, as he flew out into the green woods, and Tiny felt very sad. She
was not allowed to go out into the warm sunshine. The corn which had been sown
in the field over the house of the field-mouse had grown up high into the air,
and formed a thick wood to Tiny, who was only an inch in height.
“You are going to
be married, Tiny,” said the field-mouse. “My neighbor has asked for you. What
good fortune for a poor child like you. Now we will prepare your wedding
clothes. They must be both woollen and linen. Nothing must be wanting when you
are the mole’s wife.”
Tiny had to turn
the spindle, and the field-mouse hired four spiders, who were to weave day and
night. Every evening the mole visited her, and was continually speaking of the
time when the summer would be over. Then he would keep his wedding-day with
Tiny; but now the heat of the sun was so great that it burned the earth, and
made it quite hard, like a stone. As soon, as the summer was over, the wedding
should take place. But Tiny was not at all pleased; for she did not like the
tiresome mole. Every morning when the sun rose, and every evening when it went
down, she would creep out at the door, and as the wind blew aside the ears of
corn, so that she could see the blue sky, she thought how beautiful and bright
it seemed out there, and wished so much to see her dear swallow again. But he never
returned; for by this time he had flown far away into the lovely green forest.
When autumn
arrived, Tiny had her outfit quite ready; and the field-mouse said to her, “In
four weeks the wedding must take place.”
Then Tiny wept,
and said she would not marry the disagreeable mole.
“Nonsense,”
replied the field-mouse. “Now don’t be obstinate, or I shall bite you with my
white teeth. He is a very handsome mole; the queen herself does not wear more
beautiful velvets and furs. His kitchen and cellars are quite full. You ought
to be very thankful for such good fortune.”
So the
wedding-day was fixed, on which the mole was to fetch Tiny away to live with
him, deep under the earth, and never again to see the warm sun, because he did
not like it. The poor child was very unhappy at the thought of saying farewell
to the beautiful sun, and as the field-mouse had given her permission to stand
at the door, she went to look at it once more.
“Farewell bright
sun,” she cried, stretching out her arm towards it; and then she walked a short
distance from the house; for the corn had been cut, and only the dry stubble
remained in the fields. “Farewell, farewell,” she repeated, twining her arm
round a little red flower that grew just by her side. “Greet the little swallow
from me, if you should see him again.”
“Tweet, tweet,”
sounded over her head suddenly. She looked up, and there was the swallow
himself flying close by. As soon as he spied Tiny, he was delighted; and then
she told him how unwilling she felt to marry the ugly mole, and to live always
beneath the earth, and never to see the bright sun any more. And as she told
him she wept.
“Cold winter is
coming,” said the swallow, “and I am going to fly away into warmer countries.
Will you go with me? You can sit on my back, and fasten yourself on with your
sash. Then we can fly away from the ugly mole and his gloomy rooms,—far away,
over the mountains, into warmer countries, where the sun shines more
brightly—than here; where it is always summer, and the flowers bloom in greater
beauty. Fly now with me, dear little Tiny; you saved my life when I lay frozen
in that dark passage.”
“Yes, I will go
with you,” said Tiny; and she seated herself on the bird’s back, with her feet
on his outstretched wings, and tied her girdle to one of his strongest
feathers.
Then the swallow
rose in the air, and flew over forest and over sea, high above the highest
mountains, covered with eternal snow. Tiny would have been frozen in the cold
air, but she crept under the bird’s warm feathers, keeping her little head
uncovered, so that she might admire the beautiful lands over which they passed.
At length they reached the warm countries, where the sun shines brightly, and the
sky seems so much higher above the earth. Here, on the hedges, and by the
wayside, grew purple, green, and white grapes; lemons and oranges hung from
trees in the woods; and the air was fragrant with myrtles and orange blossoms.
Beautiful children ran along the country lanes, playing with large gay
butterflies; and as the swallow flew farther and farther, every place appeared
still more lovely.
At last they came
to a blue lake, and by the side of it, shaded by trees of the deepest green,
stood a palace of dazzling white marble, built in the olden times. Vines
clustered round its lofty pillars, and at the top were many swallows’ nests,
and one of these was the home of the swallow who carried Tiny.
“This is my
house,” said the swallow; “but it would not do for you to live there—you would
not be comfortable. You must choose for yourself one of those lovely flowers,
and I will put you down upon it, and then you shall have everything that you
can wish to make you happy.”
“That will be
delightful,” she said, and clapped her little hands for joy.
A large marble
pillar lay on the ground, which, in falling, had been broken into three pieces.
Between these pieces grew the most beautiful large white flowers; so the
swallow flew down with Tiny, and placed her on one of the broad leaves. But how
surprised she was to see in the middle of the flower, a tiny little man, as
white and transparent as if he had been made of crystal! He had a gold crown on
his head, and delicate wings at his shoulders, and was not much larger than
Tiny herself. He was the angel of the flower; for a tiny man and a tiny woman
dwell in every flower; and this was the king of them all.
“Oh, how
beautiful he is!” whispered Tiny to the swallow.
The little prince
was at first quite frightened at the bird, who was like a giant, compared to
such a delicate little creature as himself; but when he saw Tiny, he was
delighted, and thought her the prettiest little maiden he had ever seen. He
took the gold crown from his head, and placed it on hers, and asked her name,
and if she would be his wife, and queen over all the flowers.
This certainly
was a very different sort of husband to the son of a toad, or the mole, with my
black velvet and fur; so she said, “Yes,” to the handsome prince. Then all the
flowers opened, and out of each came a little lady or a tiny lord, all so
pretty it was quite a pleasure to look at them. Each of them brought Tiny a
present; but the best gift was a pair of beautiful wings, which had belonged to
a large white fly and they fastened them to Tiny’s shoulders, so that she might
fly from flower to flower. Then there was much rejoicing, and the little
swallow who sat above them, in his nest, was asked to sing a wedding song,
which he did as well as he could; but in his heart he felt sad for he was very
fond of Tiny, and would have liked never to part from her again.
“You must not be
called Tiny any more,” said the spirit of the flowers to her. “It is an ugly
name, and you are so very pretty. We will call you Maia.”
“Farewell, farewell,” said the swallow, with a
heavy heart as he left the warm countries to fly back into Denmark. There he
had a nest over the window of a house in which dwelt the writer of fairy tales.
The swallow sang, “Tweet, tweet,” and from his song came the whole story.
