The Flying Trunk

The Flying Trunk

Translated from the German of Hans Andersen.

There was once a merchant who was so rich that he could have paved

the whole street, and perhaps even a little side-street besides, with

silver. But he did not do that; he knew another way of spending his

money. If he spent a shilling he got back a florin-such an excellent

merchant he was till he died.

Now his son inherited all this money. He lived very merrily; he went

every night to the theatre, made paper kites out of five-pound notes,

and played ducks and drakes with sovereigns instead of stones. In this

way the money was likely to come soon to an end, and so it did.

At last he had nothing left but four shillings, and he had no clothes

except a pair of slippers and an old dressing-gown.

His friends did not trouble themselves any more about him; they would

not even walk down the street with him.

But one of them who was rather good-natured sent him an old trunk with

the message, ‘Pack up!” That was all very well, but he had nothing to

pack up, so he got into the trunk himself.

It was an enchanted trunk, for as soon as the lock was pressed it could

fly. He pressed it, and away he flew in it up the chimney, high into the

clouds, further and further away. But whenever the bottom gave a little

creak he was in terror lest the trunk should go to pieces, for then he

would have turned a dreadful somersault-just think of it!

In this way he arrived at the land of the Turks. He hid the trunk in a

wood under some dry leaves, and then walked into the town. He could

do that quite well, for all the Turks were dressed just as he was-in a

dressing-gown and slippers.

He met a nurse with a little child.

‘Halloa! you Turkish nurse,’ said he, ‘what is that great castle there

close to the town? The one with the windows so high up?’

‘The sultan’s daughter lives there,’ she replied. ‘It is prophesied that

she will be very unlucky in her husband, and so no one is allowed to see

her except when the sultan and sultana are by.’

‘Thank you,’ said the merchant’s son, and he went into the wood, sat

himself in his trunk, flew on to the roof, and crept through the window

into the princess’s room.

She was lying on the sofa asleep, and was so beautiful that the young

merchant had to kiss her. Then she woke up and was very much frightened,

but he said he was a Turkish god who had come through the air to see

her, and that pleased her very much.

They sat close to each other, and he told her a story about her eyes.

They were beautiful dark lakes in which her thoughts swam about like

mermaids. And her forehead was a snowy mountain, grand and shining.

These were lovely stories.

Then he asked the princess to marry him, and she said yes at once.

‘But you must come here on Saturday,’ she said, ‘for then the sultan and

the sultana are coming to tea with me. They will be indeed proud that

I receive the god of the Turks. But mind you have a really good story

ready, for my parents like them immensely. My mother likes something

rather moral and high-flown, and my father likes something merry to make

him laugh.’

‘Yes, I shall only bring a fairy story for my dowry,’ said he, and so

they parted. But the princess gave him a sabre set with gold pieces

which he could use.

Then he flew away, bought himself a new dressing-gown, and sat down

in the wood and began to make up a story, for it had to be ready by

Saturday, and that was no easy matter.

When he had it ready it was Saturday.

The sultan, the sultana, and the whole court were at tea with the

princess.

He was most graciously received.

‘Will you tell us a story?’ said the sultana; ‘one that is thoughtful

and instructive?’

‘But something that we can laugh at,’ said the sultan.

‘Oh, certainly,’ he replied, and began: ‘Now, listen attentively. There

was once a box of matches which lay between a tinder-box and an old iron

pot, and they told the story of their youth.

‘“We used to be on the green fir-boughs. Every morning and evening

we had diamond-tea, which was the dew, and the whole day long we had

sunshine, and the little birds used to tell us stories. We were very

rich, because the other trees only dressed in summer, but we had green

dresses in summer and in winter. Then the woodcutter came, and our

family was split up. We have now the task of making light for the lowest

people. That is why we grand people are in the kitchen.”

‘“My fate was quite different,” said the iron pot, near which the

matches lay.

‘“Since I came into the world I have been many times scoured, and have

cooked much. My only pleasure is to have a good chat with my companions

when I am lying nice and clean in my place after dinner.”

‘“Now you are talking too fast,” spluttered the fire.

‘“Yes, let us decide who is the grandest!” said the matches.

‘“No, I don’t like talking about myself,” said the pot.

‘“Let us arrange an evening’s entertainment. I will tell the story of my

life.

‘“On the Baltic by the Danish shore-”

‘What a beautiful beginning!” said all the plates. “That’s a story that

will please us all.”

‘And the end was just as good as the beginning. All the plates clattered

for joy.

‘“Now I will dance,” said the tongs, and she danced. Oh! how high she

could kick!

‘The old chair-cover in the corner split when he saw her.

‘The urn would have sung but she said she had a cold; she could not sing

unless she boiled.

‘In the window was an old quill pen. There was nothing remarkable about

her except that she had been dipped too deeply into the ink. But she was

very proud of that.

‘“If the urn will not sing,” said she, “outside the door hangs a

nightingale in a cage who will sing.”

‘“I don’t think it’s proper,” said the kettle, “that such a foreign bird

should be heard.”

‘“Oh, let us have some acting,” said everyone. “Do let us!”

‘Suddenly the door opened and the maid came in. Everyone was quite

quiet. There was not a sound. But each pot knew what he might have done,

and how grand he was.

‘The maid took the matches and lit the fire with them. How they

spluttered and flamed, to be sure! “Now everyone can see,” they thought,

“that we are the grandest! How we sparkle! What a light-”

‘But here they were burnt out.’

‘That was a delightful story!’ said the sultana. ‘I quite feel myself in

the kitchen with the matches. Yes, now you shall marry our daughter.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said the sultan, ‘you shall marry our daughter on

Monday.’ And they treated the young man as one of the family.

The wedding was arranged, and the night before the whole town was

illuminated.

Biscuits and gingerbreads were thrown among the people, the street boys

stood on tiptoe crying hurrahs and whistling through their fingers. It

was all splendid.

‘Now I must also give them a treat,’ thought the merchant’s son. And

so he bought rockets, crackers, and all the kinds of fireworks you can

think of, put them in his trunk, and flew up with them into the air.

Whirr-r-r, how they fizzed and blazed!

All the Turks jumped so high that their slippers flew above their heads;

such a splendid glitter they had never seen before.

Now they could quite well understand that it was the god of the Turks

himself who was to marry the princess.

As soon as the young merchant came down again into the wood with his

trunk he thought, ‘Now I will just go into the town to see how the show

has taken.’

And it was quite natural that he should want to do this.

Oh! what stories the people had to tell!

Each one whom he asked had seen it differently, but they had all found

it beautiful.

‘I saw the Turkish god himself,’ said one. ‘He had eyes like glittering

stars, and a beard like foaming water.’

‘He flew away in a cloak of fire,’ said another. They were splendid

things that he heard, and the next day was to be his wedding day.

Then he went back into the wood to sit in his trunk; but what had become

of it? The trunk had been burnt. A spark of the fireworks had set it

alight, and the trunk was in ashes. He could no longer fly, and could

never reach his bride.

She stood the whole day long on the roof and waited; perhaps she is

waiting there still.

But he wandered through the world and told stories; though they are not

so merry as the one he told about the matches.

The Snow-man

Translated from the German of Hans Andersen.

‘How astonishingly cold it is! My body is cracking all over!’ said the

Snow-man. ‘The wind is really cutting one’s very life out! And how that

fiery thing up there glares!’ He meant the sun, which was just setting.

‘It sha’n’t make me blink, though, and I shall keep quite cool and

collected.’

Instead of eyes he had two large three-cornered pieces of slate in his

head; his mouth consisted of an old rake, so that he had teeth as well.

He was born amidst the shouts and laughter of the boys, and greeted by

the jingling bells and cracking whips of the sledges.

The sun went down, the full moon rose, large, round, clear and

beautiful, in the dark blue sky.

‘There it is again on the other side!’ said the Snow-man, by which he

meant the sun was appearing again. ‘I have become quite accustomed to

its glaring. I hope it will hang there and shine, so that I may be

able to see myself. I wish I knew, though, how one ought to see about

changing one’s position. I should very much like to move about. If I

only could, I would glide up and down the ice there, as I saw the boys

doing; but somehow or other, I don’t know how to run.’

‘Bow-wow!’ barked the old yard-dog; he was rather hoarse and couldn’t

bark very well. His hoarseness came on when he was a house-dog and used

to lie in front of the stove. ‘The sun will soon teach you to run! I saw

that last winter with your predecessor, and farther back still with his

predecessors! They have all run away!’

‘I don’t understand you, my friend,’ said the Snow-man. ‘That thing up

there is to teach me to run?’ He meant the moon. ‘Well, it certainly did

run just now, for I saw it quite plainly over there, and now here it is

on this side.’

‘You know nothing at all about it,’ said the yard-dog. ‘Why, you have

only just been made. The thing you see there is the moon; the other

thing you saw going down the other side was the sun. He will come up

again tomorrow morning, and will soon teach you how to run away down the

gutter. The weather is going to change; I feel it already by the pain in

my left hind-leg; the weather is certainly going to change.’

‘I can’t understand him,’ said the Snow-man; ‘but I have an idea that he

is speaking of something unpleasant. That thing that glares so, and then

disappears, the sun, as he calls it, is not my friend. I know that by

instinct.’

‘Bow-wow!’ barked the yard-dog, and walked three times round himself,

and then crept into his kennel to sleep. The weather really did change.

Towards morning a dense damp fog lay over the whole neighbourhood; later

on came an icy wind, which sent the frost packing. But when the sun

rose, it was a glorious sight. The trees and shrubs were covered with

rime, and looked like a wood of coral, and every branch was thick with

long white blossoms. The most delicate twigs, which are lost among the

foliage in summer-time, came now into prominence, and it was like a

spider’s web of glistening white. The lady-birches waved in the wind;

and when the sun shone, everything glittered and sparkled as if it were

sprinkled with diamond dust, and great diamonds were lying on the snowy

carpet.

‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ exclaimed a girl who was walking with a young

man in the garden. They stopped near the Snow-man, and looked at the

glistening trees. ‘Summer cannot show a more beautiful sight,’ she said,

with her eyes shining.

‘And one can’t get a fellow like this in summer either,’ said the young

man, pointing to the Snow-man. ‘He’s a beauty!’

The girl laughed, and nodded to the Snow-man, and then they both danced

away over the snow.

‘Who were those two?’ asked the Snow-man of the yard-dog. ‘You have been

in this yard longer than I have. Do you know who they are?’

‘Do I know them indeed?’ answered the yard-dog. ‘She has often stroked

me, and he has given me bones. I don’t bite either of them!’

‘But what are they?’ asked the Snow-man.

‘Lovers!’ replied the yard-dog. ‘They will go into one kennel and gnaw

the same bone!’

‘Are they the same kind of beings that we are?’ asked the Snow-man.

‘They are our masters,’ answered the yard-dog. ‘Really people who have

only been in the world one day know very little.’ That’s the conclusion

I have come to. Now I have age and wisdom; I know everyone in the house,

and I can remember a time when I was not lying here in a cold kennel.

Bow-wow!’

‘The cold is splendid,’ said the Snow-man. ‘Tell me some more. But don’t

rattle your chain so, it makes me crack!’

‘Bow-wow!’ barked the yard-dog. ‘They used to say I was a pretty little

fellow; then I lay in a velvet-covered chair in my master’s house. My

mistress used to nurse me, and kiss and fondle me, and call me her dear,

sweet little Alice! But by-and-by I grew too big, and I was given to the

housekeeper, and I went into the kitchen. You can see into it from where

you are standing; you can look at the room in which I was master, for so

I was when I was with the housekeeper. Of course it was a smaller place

than upstairs, but it was more comfortable, for I wasn’t chased about

and teased by the children as I had been before. My food was just as

good, or even better. I had my own pillow, and there was a stove there,

which at this time of year is the most beautiful thing in the world. I

used to creep right under that stove. Ah me! I often dream of that stove

still! Bow-wow!’

‘Is a stove so beautiful?’ asked the Snow-man. ‘Is it anything like me?’

‘It is just the opposite of you! It is coal-black, and has a long neck

with a brass pipe. It eats firewood, so that fire spouts out of its

mouth. One has to keep close beside it-quite underneath is the nicest of

all. You can see it through the window from where you are standing.’

And the Snow-man looked in that direction, and saw a smooth polished

object with a brass pipe. The flicker from the fire reached him across

the snow. The Snow-man felt wonderfully happy, and a feeling came over

him which he could not express; but all those who are not snow-men know

about it.

‘Why did you leave her?’ asked the Snow-man. He had a feeling that such

a being must be a lady. ‘How could you leave such a place?’

‘I had to!’ said the yard-dog. ‘They turned me out of doors, and chained

me up here. I had bitten the youngest boy in the leg, because he took

away the bone I was gnawing; a bone for a bone, I thought! But they were

very angry, and from that time I have been chained here, and I have lost

my voice. Don’t you hear how hoarse I am? Bow-wow! I can’t speak like

other dogs. Bow-wow! That was the end of happiness!’

The Snow-man, however, was not listening to him any more; he was looking

into the room where the housekeeper lived, where the stove stood on its

four iron legs, and seemed to be just the same size as the Snow-man.

‘How something is cracking inside me!’ he said. ‘Shall I never be able

to get in there? It is certainly a very innocent wish, and our innocent

wishes ought to be fulfilled. I must get there, and lean against the

stove, if I have to break the window first!’

‘You will never get inside there!’ said the yard-dog; ‘and if you were

to reach the stove you would disappear. Bow-wow!’

‘I’m as good as gone already!’ answered the Snow-man. ‘I believe I’m

breaking up!’

The whole day the Snow-man looked through the window; towards dusk the

room grew still more inviting; the stove gave out a mild light, not at

all like the moon or even the sun; no, as only a stove can shine, when

it has something to feed upon. When the door of the room was open, it

flared up-this was one of its peculiarities; it flickered quite red upon

the Snow-man’s white face.

‘I can’t stand it any longer!’ he said. ‘How beautiful it looks with its

tongue stretched out like that!’

It was a long night, but the Snow-man did not find it so; there he

stood, wrapt in his pleasant thoughts, and they froze, so that he

cracked.

Next morning the panes of the kitchen window were covered with ice, and

the most beautiful ice-flowers that even a snow-man could desire, only

they blotted out the stove. The window would not open; he couldn’t see

the stove which he thought was such a lovely lady. There was a cracking

and cracking inside him and all around; there was just such a frost as a

snow-man would delight in. But this Snow-man was different: how could he

feel happy?

‘Yours is a bad illness for a Snow-man!’ said the yard-dog. ‘I also

suffered from it, but I have got over it. Bow-wow!’ he barked. ‘The

weather is going to change!’ he added.

The weather did change. There came a thaw.

When this set in the Snow-man set off. He did not say anything, and he

did not complain, and those are bad signs.

One morning he broke up altogether. And lo! where he had stood there

remained a broomstick standing upright, round which the boys had built

him!

‘Ah! now I understand why he loved the stove,’ said the yard-dog.

‘That is the raker they use to clean out the stove! The Snow-man had a

stove-raker in his body! That’s what was the matter with him! And now

it’s all over with him! Bow-wow!’

And before long it was all over with the winter too! ‘Bow-wow!’ barked

the hoarse yard-dog.

But the young girl sang:

 Woods, your bright green garments don!

 Willows, your woolly gloves put on!

 Lark and cuckoo, daily sing--     February has brought the spring!

 My heart joins in your song so sweet;

 Come out, dear sun, the world to greet!

And no one thought of the Snow-man.