The Brave Tin Soldier

There were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers, who were all brothers, for they had been made out of the same old tin spoon. They looked straight before them, and wore a splendid uniform, red and blue. The first thing in the world they ever heard were the words, “Tin soldiers!” uttered by a little boy, who clapped his hands with delight when he saw them. They were given him for a birthday present. The soldiers were all exactly alike, except one, who had only one leg. He was made last, and there was not enough of the melted tin to finish him.

The table on which the tin soldiers stood was covered with other toys, but the most attractive to the eye was a pretty little paper castle. Through the small windows the rooms could be seen. In front of the castle a number of little trees surrounded a piece of looking-glass, which was intended to represent a transparent lake. Swans, made of wax, swam on the lake, and were reflected in it. All this was very pretty, but the prettiest of all was a tiny little lady, who stood at the open door of the castle. She was made of paper, with a dress of clear muslin and a narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders. In front of her dress was fixed a glittering tinsel rose. She was a dancer: both of her arms were stretched out, and one of her legs was raised so high, that the tin soldier could not see it at all. He thought that she, like himself, had only one leg. “That is the wife for me,” he thought; “but she lives in a castle, while I live in a box with my brothers. That is no place for her. Still I want to meet her.” He laid himself at full length on the table behind a snuff-box, so that he could look at the little delicate lady. When evening came, the other tin soldiers were all placed in the box, and the people of the house went to bed. Then the toys came to life and began to have their own games together. They visited each other, had fights, and held balls. The tin soldiers rattled in their box; they wanted to get out and join everyone else, but they could not open the lid. The nut-crackers played at leapfrog, and the pencil jumped about the table. There was a lot of noise. Only the tin soldier and the dancer remained in their places. She stood on tiptoe, with her legs stretched out. He never took his eyes from her for even a moment. The clock struck twelve, and, the lid of the snuff-box opened and a little black goblin jumped out. The snuff-box was a toy puzzle.

“Tin soldier,” said the goblin, “don’t wish for what does not belong to you.”

But the tin soldier pretended not to hear.

“Very well; wait till tomorrow, then,” said the goblin.

When the children came in the next morning, they placed the tin soldier in the window. Now, whether it was the goblin who did it, or the draught, is not known, but the window flew open, and the tin soldier fell into the street beneath. It was a terrible fall. His helmet and his bayonet stuck in between the stones, and his one leg was up in the air. The servant maid and the little boy went downstairs to look for him, but they couldn’t see him. If he had called out, “Here I am,” they would’ve found him, but he was too proud to cry out for help.

It began to rain. After it was over, two boys happened to pass by, and one of them said, “Look, there is a tin soldier. Let’s make him a boat to sail in.”

So they made a boat out of a newspaper, and placed the tin soldier in it. They sent him sailing down the gutter. What large waves arose around him and how fast the stream was flowing! The paper boat rocked up and down, but the tin soldier remained firm. Suddenly the boat shot into a drain, and then it was as dark as the tin soldier’s box.

Suddenly there appeared a great water-rat, who lived in the drain.

“Have you a passport?” asked the rat, “Give it to me at once.” But the tin soldier remained silent and held his musket tighter than ever. The boat sailed on and the rat followed it. “Stop him, stop him; he has not paid toll, and has not shown his pass,” it said. But the stream rushed on stronger and stronger. At the end of the tunnel the drain fell into a large canal. He was too close to it to stop, so the boat rushed on, and the poor tin soldier could only hold himself as tight as possible. The boat filled with water to the very edge and started to sink. The soldier now stood up to his neck in water, while the boat sank deeper and deeper. The paper became soft, and then the boat sank completely, and the water closed over the soldier’s head. He thought of the elegant little dancer, and the words of the song sounded in his ears—

 

“Farewell, warrior!

        ever brave,

Drifting onward

        to thy grave.”

 

And in that moment the soldier was swallowed up by a great fish. Oh how dark it was inside the fish! A great deal darker than in the tunnel, and narrower too. The fish swam to and fro, making the most wonderful movements, but at last it became quite still. After a while, a flash of lightning seemed to pass through him, and he saw daylight, and a voice cried out, “Here is the tin soldier!” The fish had been caught, taken to the market and sold to the cook, who took him into the kitchen and cut him open with a large knife. She picked up the soldier and carried him into the room. They were all anxious to see this wonderful soldier who had travelled about inside a fish! They placed him on the table, and—how many curious things do happen in the world!—there he was in the very same room from the window of which he had fallen! There were the same children, the same toys on the table, and the pretty castle with the little dancer at the door. It touched the tin soldier so much to see her that he almost cried. But he only looked at her and they both remained silent.

Then something happened. One of the little boys took up the tin soldier, and threw him into the stove. He had no reason for doing so, therefore it must have been the fault of the black goblin who lived in the snuff-box. The flames lighted up the tin soldier. He felt the heat, but couldn’t tell if it was the real fire or the fire of love. He could see that the bright colors were faded from his uniform, but he didn’t know whether they washed off during his journey or from fire. He looked at the little lady, and she looked at him. He felt himself melting away, but still remained firm with his gun on his shoulder. Suddenly, the door of the room flew open and the draught of air picked up the little dancer and she fluttered right into the stove by the side of the tin soldier. Since she was made of paper, the flames enveloped her instantly and she was gone. The tin soldier melted down into a lump, and the next morning, when the maid servant took the ashes out of the stove, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. And of the little dancer there remained a tinsel rose, which was burnt black as a cinder.

The Wild Swans

In a far away land, lived a king who had eleven sons, and one daughter, named Eliza. The king married a very wicked queen, who did not love the poor children at all. They knew this from the very first day after the wedding. In the palace there were great festivities, and the children played all day. But instead of having, as usual, all the cakes and apples that were left, she gave them some sand in a tea-cup, and told them to pretend it was cake. She wanted the princes and Eliza gone. The week after, she sent little Eliza to live with a peasant and his wife. As for the princes, she told the king many untrue things about them, so that he gave himself no more trouble respecting them.

The queen was a bit of a witch. One day, she said to the princes: “Go out into the world and get your own living. Fly like great birds, who have no voice.” And the brothers turned into eleven beautiful wild swans. They flew through the windows of the palace, to the forest beyond. It was early morning when they passed the peasant’s cottage. This was where their sister Eliza lay asleep in her room. They hovered over the roof, twisted their long necks and flapped their wings, but no one heard them or saw them, so they had to fly away.

Poor little Eliza was all alone. One day passed just like another. At fifteen she returned home, but when the queen saw how beautiful she was, she became full of spite and hatred towards her. First, she wanted to turn her into a swan, like she did her brothers. But she did not dare to do so yet, because the king wished to see his daughter.

One morning, the queen went into the bathroom. She took three toads with her, and said to one, “When Eliza comes to the bath, seat yourself upon her head, that she may become as stupid as you are.”

Then she said to another, “Place yourself on her forehead, so that she may become as ugly as you are, and that her father may not know her.”

“Rest on her heart,” she whispered to the third, “then she will become evil.”

So she put the toads into the clear water, and they turned green immediately. She called Eliza, and helped her to undress and get into the bath. As Eliza dipped her head under the water, one of the toads sat on her hair, a second on her forehead, and a third on her breast, but she did not seem to notice them. When she rose out of the water, there were three red poppies floating upon it. She was too good and too innocent for witchcraft to have any power over her. When the wicked queen saw this, she rubbed her face with walnut-juice, so that she was quite dirty; then she tangled her beautiful hair and smeared it with disgusting ointment, till it was quite impossible to recognize the beautiful Eliza.

When her father saw her, he declared she was not his daughter. No one but the watch-dog and the swallows knew her; and they were only poor animals, and could say nothing. Poor Eliza wept, and thought of her eleven brothers, who were all away. She stole away from the palace, and walked the whole day, till she came to the great forest. She knew not in what direction to go; but she was determined to find her brothers. Soon the night came on, and Eliza lost the path; so she laid herself down on the soft moss, offered up her evening prayer, and fell asleep.

All night long she dreamt of her brothers. She and they were children again, playing together.

When she awoke, the sun was high in the sky. Lofty trees spread their branches thickly over her head; but the sun beams were glancing through the leaves here and there. There was a sweet fragrance of the fresh green grass. She heard water bubbling in springs and flowing into a lake. The lake was so clear that it was like a mirror. As soon as Eliza saw her own face, she saw that it was dirty. So she washed her face and bathed in the lake. As soon as she had dressed herself again, and braided her long hair, she went to the bubbling spring, and drank some water. Then she wandered deeper into the forest. When the night fell, it was so still that she could hear the sound of her own footsteps. Such solitude she had never known before. It was very dark.

She laid herself down to sleep. When she awoke in the morning, she continued forward. Soon she met an old woman with berries in her basket, and she gave her a few to eat. Then Eliza asked her if she had not seen eleven princes riding through the forest.

“No,” replied the old woman, “But I saw yesterday eleven swans, with gold crowns on their heads, swimming on the river close by.” Then she led Eliza to a bank of the river. Eliza bade the old woman farewell, and walked by the flowing river, till she reached the shore of the open sea. Not a sail appeared on its surface, not even a boat could be seen. On the foam-covered sea-weeds lay eleven white swan feathers, which she gathered up and placed together. Drops of water lay upon them; whether they were dew-drops or tears no one could say.

When the sun was about to set, Eliza saw eleven white swans with golden crowns on their heads, flying towards the land, one behind the other, like a long white ribbon. Eliza hid herself behind the bushes. As soon as the sun had disappeared under the water, the feathers of the swans fell off, and eleven beautiful princes, Eliza’s brothers, stood near her. She uttered a loud cry and sprang into their arms, and called them each by name. They laughed, and they wept. “We brothers,” said the eldest, “fly about as wild swans, so long as the sun is in the sky. But when it sinks behind the hills, we turn human. We always must be near a resting place before sunset. We do not dwell here, but in a land just as fair, that lies beyond the ocean, which we have to cross for a long distance. There is no island on our way; nothing but a little rock rising out of the sea. We can barely stand on it, even closely crowded together. Yet we thank God even for this rock; we have passed whole nights upon it, or we should never have reached our beloved fatherland, for our flight across the sea occupies two of the longest days in the year. We have permission to visit our home once in every year, and to remain eleven days, during which we fly across the forest to look once more at the palace where our father dwells, and where we were born, and at the church, where our mother lies buried. Two days longer we can remain here, and then must we fly away to a beautiful land which is not our home. But how can we take you with us? We have neither ship nor boat.”

“How can I break this spell?” said their sister. And then she talked about it nearly the whole night. Eventually she went to sleep. When she woke up, the swans were flying above. They flew in circles wider and wider, till they were far away; but one of them, the youngest swan, remained behind, and laid his head in his sister’s lap, while she stroked his wings. They remained together the whole day. Towards the evening, the rest came back, and as the sun went down they turned human. “Tomorrow,” said one, “we shall fly away, and we will be away for a whole year. But we cannot leave you here. Have you courage to go with us?”

“Yes, take me with you,” said Eliza. Then they spent the whole night in weaving a net out of willow. It was very large and strong. When the sun rose, and her brothers again became wild swans, Eliza laid herself down on the net. Her brothers took up the net with their beaks, and flew up to the clouds with their dear sister. It seemed so strange to Eliza to feel herself being carried so high in the air over the sea. They flew onward the whole day. They were slower than usual, for they had their sister to carry. Eliza watched the sinking sun with great anxiety. The little rock in the ocean was not yet in sight.

The sun had reached the edge of the sea, when the swans darted down swiftly. Eliza thought they were falling at first, but then she caught sight of the rock below. By this time the sun was half hidden by the waves. When their feet touched the rock, the last flash of the sun appeared, and then it sunk into the waves. Then she saw her brothers standing closely round her with their arms linked together. There was just room enough for them, and not the smallest space to spare. The sea dashed against the rock, and covered them with spray. At sunrise the swans flew away from the rock with Eliza. The sea was still rough, and from their high position in the air, the white foam on the dark green waves looked like millions of swans swimming on the water.

At last she saw the land, with its blue mountains, its cedar forests, and its cities and palaces. Her brothers landed near a large cave. There were delicate green creeping plants that looked like an embroidered carpet on its floor.

When Eliza went to sleep, she dreamt that she was flying high in the air, towards a palace in the clouds. A fairy came out to meet her. She was beautiful, and reminded Eliza of the old woman who had given her berries in the wood. “Your brothers can be released,” said she, “if you have only courage and perseverance. Do you see the stinging nettle which I hold in my hand? You must gather it and break it to pieces with your hands and feet. Then you must spin it into thread. From it you must weave eleven coats with long sleeves. Once they’ll be ready, throw them over the eleven swans and the spell will be broken. But from the moment you start and until you’re finished, you must not speak. The first word you utter will pierce through the hearts of your brothers like a deadly dagger.” And as she finished speaking, Eliza woke up.

It was broad daylight. There was nettle laying near her, like the one she saw in her dream. So she went out of the cave to begin her work with her delicate hands. She gathered nettle, which burnt her hands and arms, but she kept working. Then she bruised the nettles with her bare feet and spun the thread. At sunset her brothers returned and were very much frightened when they found she wouldn’t speak. They thought it was some new sorcery of their wicked step-mother. But when they saw her hands, they understood what she was doing for them.

Eliza kept to her work all night. During the following day, while her brothers were absent, she sat alone, working. One coat was already finished and she had begun the second, when she heard the huntsman’s horn. The sound came closer, she heard the dogs barking, and hid in the cave. She hastily bound together the nettles she had gathered into a bundle and sat upon them. A big dog came towards her, and then another and another; they barked loudly, ran back, and then came again. Then the huntsmen appeared before the cave, and one of them was the king of the country. He advanced towards her, for he had never seen a more beautiful maiden.

“How did you come here?” he asked. But Eliza shook her head. She hid her hands under her apron, so that the king might not see the blisters on them.

“Come with me,” he said; “If you are as good as you are beautiful, I will dress you in silk and velvet, I will place a golden crown upon your head, and you shall live, and rule, and make your home in my castle.” And then he lifted her on his horse and galloped away over the mountains, holding her before him on this horse. As the sun went down, they approached a royal city. When they arrived at the castle the king led her into marble halls, where large fountains played, and where the walls and the ceilings were covered with rich paintings. But she could only mourn and weep. Patiently she allowed the women to dress her in royal robes, to weave pearls in her hair, and put soft gloves over her blistered fingers. In this rich dress she looked so beautiful that the court bowed low in her presence.

The king declared that he wanted to marry Eliza. The archbishop did not like this, because he thought she was a witch who had put a spell on the king. But the king would not listen to this. He led Eliza through the palace’s halls and garden, but she remained very sad. Then he showed her the room that was prepared for her. The walls were green, and resembled the cave in which he had found her. On the floor lay the bundle of thread which she had spun from the nettles, and under the ceiling hung the coat she had made. The huntsmen brought these things from the cave out of curiosity.

When Eliza saw all these things, she smiled, and blood rushed to her cheeks. She thought of her brothers, and it made her so joyful that she kissed the king’s hand.

Very soon the marriage feast was announced. The archbishop kept trying to stop it, but the king paid no mind. The ceremony still took place, and the archbishop himself placed the crown on the bride’s head.

Eliza loved the king, who did everything to make her happy. Oh! If only she could tell him of her grief. But she had to finish her task first. Every night she crept away into her little room, and quickly wove one coat after another. But when she began the seventh she found she had no more thread. She knew that she had to pluck nettles herself. With a trembling heart, she crept into the garden in the night, and passed through the streets, until she reached the churchyard.

In the churchyard, the witches were gathering. They sat upon the tombstones and stared at poor Eliza. She was very scared, but she kept gathering nettles, and went back to the palace with a bundle of them in her hands.

One person only had seen her, and that was the archbishop. Now he thought that he was right and that Eliza was a witch. He told the king what he had seen and what he feared.

The king had doubt in his heart. At night he pretended to sleep, and he saw Eliza get up and disappear in her own chamber. From day to day his brow became darker, and it worried Eliza. She was almost done with her task; only one coat was remaining. But once again she had no thread left. Once more she had to go to the churchyard and pluck a few nettles.

Eliza went, and the king and the archbishop followed her. They saw her vanish through the wicket gate into the churchyard, and when they looked behind the gate, they saw the witches and thought that Eliza was with them.

The king was very upset. “The people must condemn her,” said he. And they quickly condemned her to death by fire. They put her in a dark cell and gave her the coats of mail which she had woven to cover her, and the bundle of nettles for a pillow. She continued her task. Towards evening, she heard the flutter of a swan’s wing. It was her youngest brother—he had found his sister, and she sobbed for joy. She hoped that she would finish her task.

When the sun came up, people came streaming from the gates of the city, to see the witch burn. An old horse drew the cart on which she sat. They had dressed her in a garment of coarse sackcloth. She was deadly pale, and her fingers still worked at the green thread. Even on the way to death, she would not give up her task. The ten coats of mail lay at her feet, and she was working hard at the eleventh.

The crowd went towards her, for they wanted to destroy the coats of mail, but at the same moment eleven wild swans flew over her, and sat on the cart. Then they flapped their large wings, and the crowd drew back.

“It is a sign from heaven that she is innocent,” whispered many of them; but nobody dared to say so aloud.

As the executioner took her by the hand, to lift her out of the cart, Eliza quickly threw the eleven coats of mail over the swans, and they immediately became eleven handsome princes; but the youngest had a swan’s wing instead of one arm; for she had not been able to finish the last sleeve of the coat.

“Now I may speak,” she exclaimed. “I am innocent.”

Then the people, who saw what happened, bowed to her.

“Yes, she is innocent,” said the eldest brother; and then told the entire story to the crowd. And while he spoke a sweet fragrance rose in the air. Every piece of twig in the pyre had taken root, and threw out branches, and turned a thick hedge, large and high, covered with roses. And the church bells rang, and the birds came in great troops, and all was well.