Fairy Tales Every Child Should Know by Various

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"Yes, we will soon find that out," thought the old queen. But she said
nothing, only went into the bedchamber, took all the bedding off, and
put a pea on the flooring of the bedstead; then she took twenty
mattresses and laid them upon the pea, and then twenty eider-down beds
upon the mattresses. On this the princess had to lie all night. In the
morning she was asked how she had slept.

"Oh, miserably!" said the princess. "I scarcely closed my eyes all night
long. Goodness knows what was in my bed. I lay upon something hard, so
that I am black and blue all over. It is quite dreadful!"

Now they saw that she was a real princess, for through the twenty
mattresses and the twenty eider-down beds she had felt the pea. No one
but a real princess could be so delicate.

So the prince took her for his wife, for now he knew that he had a true
princess; and the pea was put in the museum, and it is there now, unless
somebody has carried it off.

Look you, this is a true story.

CHAPTER XXII

THE UGLY DUCKLING

It was so glorious out in the country; it was summer; the cornfields
were yellow, the oats were green, the hay had been put up in stacks in
the green meadows, and the stork went about on his long red legs, and
chattered Egyptian, for this was the language he had learned from his
good mother. All around the fields and meadows were great forests, and
in the midst of these forests lay deep lakes. Yes, it was right glorious
out in the country. In the midst of the sunshine there lay an old farm,
with deep canals about it, and from the wall down to the water grew
great burdocks, so high that little children could stand upright under
the loftiest of them. It was just as wild there as in the deepest wood,
and here sat a Duck upon her nest; she had to hatch her ducklings; but
she was almost tired out before the little ones came and then she so
seldom had visitors. The other ducks liked better to swim about in the
canals than to run up to sit down under a burdock, and cackle with her.

At last one egg-shell after another burst open. "Piep! piep!" it cried,
and in all the eggs there were little creatures that stuck out their
heads.

"Quack! quack!" they said; and they all came quacking out as fast as
they could, looking all round them under the green leaves; and the
mother let them look as much as they chose, for green is good for the
eye.

"How wide the world is!" said all the young ones, for they certainly had
much more room now than when they were in the eggs.

"D'ye think this is all the world?" said the mother. "That stretches far
across the other side of the garden, quite into the parson's field; but
I have never been there yet. I hope you are all together," and she stood
up. "No, I have not all. The largest egg still lies there. How long is
that to last? I am really tired of it." And she sat down again.

"Well, how goes it?" asked an old Duck who had come to pay her a visit.

"It lasts a long time with that one egg," said the Duck who sat there.
"It will not burst. Now, only look at the others; are they not the
prettiest little ducks one could possibly see? They are all like their
father. The rogue, he never comes to see me."

"Let me see the egg which will not burst," said the old visitor. "You
may be sure it is a turkey's egg. I was once cheated in that way, and
had much anxiety and trouble with the young ones, for they are afraid of
the water. Must I say it to you, I could not get them to venture in. I
quacked and I clacked, but it was no use. Let me see the egg. Yes,
that's a turkey's egg. Let it lie there, and teach the other children to
swim."

"I think I will sit on it a little longer," said the Duck. "I've sat so
long now that I can sit a few days more."

"Just as you please," said the old Duck; and she went away.

At last the great egg burst. "Piep! piep!" said the little one, and
crept forth. It was very large and very ugly. The Duck looked at it.

"It's a very large duckling," said she; "none of the others look like
that. Can it really be a turkey chick? Well, we shall soon find out. It
must go into the water, even if I have to thrust it in myself."

The next day it was bright, beautiful weather; the sun shone on all the
green trees. The Mother-Duck went down to the canal with all her family.
Splash! she jumped into the water. "Quack! quack!" she said, and one
duckling after another plunged in. The water closed over their heads,
but they came up in an instant, and swam capitally; their legs went of
themselves, and they were all in the water. The ugly gray Duckling swam
with them.

"No, it's not a turkey," said she; "look how well it can use its legs,
and how straight it holds itself. It is my own child! On the whole it's
quite pretty, if one looks at it rightly. Quack! quack! come with me,
and I'll lead you out into the great world, and present you in the
duck-yard; but keep close to me, so that no one may tread on you, and
take care of the cats!"

And so they came into the duck-yard. There was a terrible riot going on
in there, for two families were quarrelling about an eel's head, and the
cat got it after all.

"See, that's how it goes in the world!" said the Mother-Duck; and she
whetted her beak, for she too wanted the eel's head. "Only use your
legs," she said. "See that you can bustle about, and bow your heads
before the old Duck yonder. She's the grandest of all here; she's of
Spanish blood--that's why she's so fat; and d'ye see? she has a red rag
round her leg; that's something particularly fine, and the greatest
distinction a duck can enjoy; it signifies that one does not want to
lose her, and that she's to be known by the animals and by men too.
Shake yourselves--don't turn in your toes; a well brought-up duck turns
its toes quite out, just like father and mother--so! Now bend your necks
and say 'Quack!'"

And they did so: but the other ducks round about looked at them, and
said quite boldly:

"Look there! now we're to have these hanging on, as if there were not
enough of us already! And--fie!--how that duckling yonder looks; we
won't stand that!" And one duck flew up at it, and bit it in the neck.

"Let it alone," said the mother; "it does no harm to any one."

"Yes, but it's too large and peculiar," said the Duck who had bitten it;
"and therefore it must be put down."

"Those are pretty children that the mother has there," said the old Duck
with the rag round her leg. "They're all pretty but that one; that was
rather unlucky. I wish she could bear it over again."

"That cannot be done, my lady," replied the Mother-Duck. "It is not
pretty, but it has a really good disposition, and swims as well as any
other; yes, I may even say it, swims better. I think it will grow up
pretty, and become smaller in time; it has lain too long in the egg, and
therefore is not properly shaped." And then she pinched it in the neck,
and smoothed its feathers. "Moreover, it is a drake," she said, "and
therefore it is not of so much consequence. I think he will be very
strong. He makes his way already."

"The other ducklings are graceful enough," said the old Duck. "Make
yourself at home; and if you find an eel's head, you may bring it me."

And now they were at home. But the poor Duckling which had crept last
out of the egg, and looked so ugly, was bitten and pushed and jeered, as
much by the ducks as by the chickens.

"It is too big!" they all said. And the turkey-cock, who had been born
with spurs, and therefore thought himself an emperor, blew himself up
like a ship in full sail, and bore straight down upon it; then he
gobbled and grew quite red in the face. The poor Duckling did not know
where it should stand or walk; it was quite melancholy because it looked
ugly, and was the butt of the whole duck-yard.

So it went on the first day; and afterwards it became worse and worse.
The poor Duckling was hunted about by every one; even its brothers and
sisters were quite angry with it, and said, "If the cat would only catch
you, you ugly creature!" And the mother said, "If you were only far
away!" And the ducks bit it, and the chickens beat it, and the girl who
had to feed the poultry kicked at it with her foot.

Then it ran and flew over the fence, and the little birds in the bushes
flew up in fear.

"That is because I am so ugly!" thought the Duckling; and it shut its
eyes, but flew on farther, and so it came out into the great moor, where
the wild ducks lived. Here it lay the whole night long; and it was weary
and downcast.

Towards morning the wild ducks flew up, and looked at their new
companion.

"What sort of a one are you?" they asked; and the Duckling turned in
every direction, and bowed as well as it could. "You are remarkably
ugly!" said the Wild Ducks. "But that is nothing to us, so long as you
do not marry into our family."

Poor thing! it certainly did not think of marrying, and only hoped to
obtain leave to lie among the reeds and drink some of the swamp water.

Thus it lay two whole days; then came thither two wild geese, or,
properly speaking, two wild ganders. It was not long since each had
crept out of an egg, and that's why they were so saucy.

"Listen, comrade," said one of them. "You're so ugly that I like you.
Will you go with us, and become a bird of passage? Near here, in another
moor, there are a few sweet lovely wild geese, all unmarried, and all
able to say 'Rap!' You've a chance of making your fortune, ugly as you
are."

"Piff! paff!" resounded through the air; and the two ganders fell down
dead in the swamp, and the water became blood red. "Piff! paff!" it
sounded again, and the whole flock of wild geese rose up from the reeds.
And then there was another report. A great hunt was going on. The
sportsmen were lying in wait all round the moor, and some were even
sitting up in the branches of the trees, which spread far over the
reeds. The blue smoke rose up like clouds among the dark trees, and was
wafted far away across the water; and the hunting dogs came--splash,
splash!--into the swamp, and the rushes and the reeds bent down on every
side. That was a fright for the poor Duckling! It turned its head, and
put it under its wing; but at that moment a frightful great dog stood
close by the Duckling. His tongue hung far out of his mouth, and his
eyes gleamed horrible and ugly; he thrust out his nose close against the
Duckling, showed his sharp teeth, and--splash, splash!--on he went,
without seizing it.

"Oh, Heaven be thanked!" sighed the Duckling. "I am so ugly that even
the dog does not like to bite me!"

And so it lay quite quiet, while the shots rattled through the reeds and
gun after gun was fired. At last, late in the day, all was still; but
the poor Duckling did not dare to rise up; it waited several hours
before it looked round, and then hastened away out of the moor as fast
as it could. It ran on over field and meadow; there was such a storm
raging that it was difficult to get from one place to another.

Towards evening the Duck came to a little miserable peasant's hut. This
hut was so dilapidated that it did not itself know on which side it
should fall; and that's why it remained standing. The storm whistled
round the Duckling in such a way that the poor creature was obliged to
sit down, to stand against it; and the wind blew worse and worse. Then
the Duckling noticed that one of the hinges of the door had given way,
and the door hung so slanting that the Duckling could slip through the
crack into the room; and that is what it did.

Here lived a woman, with her Cat and her Hen. And the Cat, whom she
called Sonnie, could arch his back and purr, he could even give out
sparks; but to make him do it one had to stroke his fur the wrong way.
The Hen had quite little, short legs, and therefore she was called
Chickabiddy Short-shanks. She laid good eggs, and the woman loved her
like her own child.

In the morning the strange Duckling was at once noticed, and the Cat
began to purr and the Hen to cluck.

"What's this?" said the woman, and looked all round; but she could not
see well, and therefore she thought the Duckling was a fat duck that had
strayed. "This is a rare prize!" she said. "Now I shall have duck's
eggs. I hope it is not a drake. We must try that."

And so the Duckling was admitted on trial for three weeks; but no eggs
came. And the Cat was master of the House, and the Hen was the lady, and
always said, "We and the world!" for she thought they were half the
world, and by far the better half.

The Duckling thought one might have a different opinion, but the Hen
would not allow it.

"Can you lay eggs?" she asked.

"No."

"Then will you hold your tongue!"

And the Cat said, "Can you curve your back, and purr, and give out
sparks?"

"No."

"Then you will please have no opinion of your own when sensible folks
are speaking."

And the Duckling sat in a corner and was melancholy; then the fresh air
and the sunshine streamed in; and it was seized with such a strange
longing to swim on the water, that it could not help telling the Hen of
it.

"What are you thinking of?" cried the Hen. "You have nothing to do,
that's why you have these fancies. Lay eggs, or purr, and they will pass
over."

"But it is so charming to swim on the water!" said the Duckling, "so
refreshing to let it close above one's head, and to dive down to the
bottom."

"Yes, that must be a mighty pleasure, truly," quoth the Hen, "I fancy
you must have gone crazy. Ask the Cat about it--he's the cleverest
animal I know--ask him if he likes to swim on the water, or to dive
down--I won't speak about myself. Ask our mistress, the old woman; no
one in the world is cleverer than she. Do you think she has any desire
to swim, and to let the water close above her head?"

"You don't understand me," said the Duckling.

"We don't understand you? Then pray who is to understand you? You surely
don't pretend to be cleverer than the Cat and the woman--I won't say
anything of myself. Don't be conceited, child, and thank your Maker for
all the kindness you have received. Did you not get into a warm room,
and have you not fallen into company from which you may learn something?
But you are a chatterer, and it is not pleasant to associate with you.
You may believe me, I speak for your good. I tell you disagreeable
things, and by that one may always know one's true friends! Only take
care that you learn to lay eggs, or to purr, and give out sparks!"

"I think I will go out into the wide world," said the Duckling.

"Yes, do go," replied the Hen.

And so the Duckling went away. It swam on the water, and dived, but it
was slighted by every creature because of its ugliness.

Now came the autumn. The leaves in the forest turned yellow and brown;
the wind caught them so that they danced about, and up in the air it was
very cold. The clouds hung low, heavy with hail and snow-flakes, and on
the fence stood the raven, crying, "Croak! croak!" for mere cold; yes,
it was enough to make one feel cold to think of this. The poor little
Duckling certainly had not a good time. One evening--the sun was just
setting in his beauty--there came a whole flock of great, handsome birds
out of the bushes. They were dazzlingly white, with long, flexible
necks--they were swans. They uttered a very peculiar cry, spread forth
their glorious great wings, and flew away from that cold region to
warmer lands, to fair open lakes. They mounted so high, so high! and the
ugly Duckling felt quite strangely as it watched them. It turned round
and round in the water like a wheel, stretched out its neck towards
them, and uttered such a strange loud cry as frightened itself. Oh! it
could not forget those beautiful, happy birds; and so soon as it could
see them no longer, it dived down to the very bottom, and when it came
up again it was quite beside itself. It knew not the name of those
birds, and knew not whither they were flying; but it loved them more
than it had ever loved any one. It was not at all envious of them. How
could it think of wishing to possess such loveliness as they had? It
would have been glad if only the ducks would have endured its
company--the poor, ugly creature!

And the winter grew cold, very cold! The Duckling was forced to swim
about in the water, to prevent the surface from freezing entirely; but
every night the hole in which it swam about became smaller and smaller.
It froze so hard that the icy covering crackled again; and the Duckling
was obliged to use its legs continually to prevent the hole from
freezing up. At last it became exhausted, and lay quite still, and thus
froze fast into the ice.

Early in the morning a peasant came by, and when he saw what had
happened, he took his wooden shoe, broke the ice-crust to pieces, and
carried the Duckling home to his wife. Then it came to itself again. The
children wanted to play with it; but the Duckling thought they wanted to
hurt it, and in its terror fluttered up into the milk-pan, so that the
milk spurted down into the room. The woman clasped her hands, at which
the Duckling flew down into the butter-tub, and then into the
meal-barrel and out again. How it looked then! The woman screamed, and
struck at it with the fire-tongs; the children tumbled over one another
in their efforts to catch the Duckling; and they laughed and they
screamed!--well it was that the door stood open, and the poor creature
was able to slip out between the shrubs into the newly-fallen
snow--there it lay quite exhausted.

But it would be too melancholy if I were to tell all the misery and care
which the Duckling had to endure in the hard winter. It lay out on the
moor among the reeds, when the sun began to shine again and the larks to
sing. It was a beautiful spring.

Then all at once the Duckling could flap its wings. They beat the air
more strongly than before, and bore it strongly away; and before it well
knew how all this happened, it found itself in a great garden, where the
elder-trees smelt sweet, and bent their long green branches down to the
canal that wound through the region. Oh, here it was so beautiful, such
a gladness of spring! and from the thicket came three glorious white
swans; they rustled their wings, and swam lightly on the water. The
Duckling knew the splendid creatures, and felt oppressed by a peculiar
sadness.

"I will fly away to them, to the royal birds, and they will beat me,
because I, that am so ugly, dare to come near them. But it is all the
same. Better to be killed by _them_ than to be pursued by ducks, and
beaten by fowls, and pushed about by the girl who takes care of the
poultry yard, and to suffer hunger in winter!" And it flew out into the
water, and swam towards the beautiful swans; these looked at it, and
came sailing down upon it with outspread wings. "Kill me!" said the poor
creature, and bent its head down upon the water, expecting nothing but
death. But what was this that it saw in the clear water? It beheld its
own image; and, lo! it was no longer a clumsy dark-gray bird, ugly and
hateful to look at, but a--swan!

It matters nothing if one is born in a duck-yard if one has only lain in
a swan's egg.

It felt quite glad at all the need and misfortune it had suffered, now
it realised its happiness in all the splendour that surrounded it. And
the great swans swam round it, and stroked it with their beaks.

Into the garden came little children, who threw bread and corn into the
water; and the youngest cried, "There is a new one!" and the other
children shouted joyously, "Yes, a new one has arrived!" And they
clapped their hands and danced about, and ran to their father and
mother; and bread and cake were thrown into the water; and they all
said, "The new one is the most beautiful of all! so young and handsome!"
and the old swans bowed their heads before him. Then he felt quite
ashamed, and hid his head under his wings, for he did not know what to
do; he was so happy, and yet not at all proud. He thought how he had
been persecuted and despised; and now he heard them saying that he was
the most beautiful of all birds. Even the elder-tree bent its branches
straight down into the water before him, and the sun shone warm and
mild. Then his wings rustled, he lifted his slender neck, and cried
rejoicingly from the depths of his heart:

"I never dreamed of so much happiness when I was the Ugly Duckling!"

CHAPTER XXIII

THE LIGHT PRINCESS

I

_What! No Children?_

Once upon a time, so long ago that I have quite forgotten the date,
there lived a king and queen who had no children.

And the king said to himself, "All the queens of my acquaintance have
children, some three, some seven, and some as many as twelve; and my
queen has not one. I feel ill-used." So he made up his mind to be cross
with his wife about it. But she bore it all like a good patient queen as
she was. Then the king grew very cross indeed. But the queen pretended
to take it all as a joke, and a very good one too.

"Why don't you have any daughters, at least?" said he. "I don't say
_sons_; that might be too much to expect."

"I am sure, dear king, I am very sorry," said the queen.

"So you ought to be," retorted the king; "you are not going to make a
virtue of _that_, surely."

But he was not an ill-tempered king, and in any matter of less moment
would have let the queen have her own way with all his heart. This,
however, was an affair of State.

The queen smiled.

"You must have patience with a lady, you know, dear king," said she.

She was, indeed, a very nice queen, and heartily sorry that she could
not oblige the king immediately.

The king tried to have patience, but he succeeded very badly. It was
more than he deserved, therefore, when, at last, the queen gave him a
daughter--as lovely a little princess as ever cried.

II

_Won't I, Just?_

The day drew near when the infant must be christened. The king wrote all
the invitations with his own hand. Of course somebody was forgotten.

Now it does not generally matter if somebody _is_ forgotten, only you
must mind who. Unfortunately, the king forgot without intending to
forget; and so the chance fell upon the Princess Makemnoit, which was
awkward. For the princess was the king's own sister; and he ought not to
have forgotten her. But she had made herself so disagreeable to the old
king, their father, that he had forgotten her in making his will; and so
it was no wonder that her brother forgot her in writing his invitations.
But poor relations don't do anything to keep you in mind of them. Why
don't they? The king could not see into the garret she lived in, could
he?

She was a sour, spiteful creature. The wrinkles of contempt crossed the
wrinkles of peevishness, and made her face as full of wrinkles as a pat
of butter. If ever a king could be justified in forgetting anybody, this
king was justified in forgetting his sister, even at a christening. She
looked very odd, too. Her forehead was as large as all the rest of her
face, and projected over it like a precipice. When she was angry, her
little eyes flashed blue. When she hated anybody, they shone yellow and
green. What they looked like when she loved anybody, I do not know; for
I never heard of her loving anybody but herself, and I do not think she
could have managed that if she had not somehow got used to herself. But
what made it highly imprudent in the king to forget her was--that she
was awfully clever. In fact, she was a witch; and when she bewitched
anybody, he very soon had enough of it; for she beat all the wicked
fairies in wickedness, and all the clever ones in cleverness. She
despised all the modes we read of in history, in which offended fairies
and witches have taken their revenges; and therefore, after waiting and
waiting in vain for an invitation, she made up her mind at last to go
without one, and make the whole family miserable, like a princess as she
was.

So she put on her best gown, went to the palace, was kindly received by
the happy monarch, who forgot that he had forgotten her, and took her
place in the procession to the royal chapel. When they were all gathered
about the font, she contrived to get next to it, and throw something
into the water; after which she maintained a very respectful demeanour
till the water was applied to the child's face. But at that moment she
turned round in her place three times, and muttered the following words,
loud enough for those beside her to hear:

"Light of spirit, by my charms,
Light of body, every part,
Never weary human arms--
Only crush thy parents' heart!"

They all thought she had lost her wits, and was repeating some foolish
nursery rhyme; but a shudder went through the whole of them
notwithstanding. The baby, on the contrary, began to laugh and crow;
while the nurse gave a start and a smothered cry, for, she thought she
was struck with paralysis: she could not feel the baby in her arms. But
she clasped it tight and said nothing.

The mischief was done.

III

_She Can't Be Ours!_

Her atrocious aunt had deprived the child of all her gravity. If you ask
me how this was effected, I answer, "In the easiest way in the world.
She had only to destroy gravitation." For the princess was a
philosopher, and knew all the ins and outs of the laws of gravitation as
well as the ins and outs of her boot-lace. And being a witch as well,
she could abrogate those laws in a moment; or at least so clog their
wheels and rust their bearings that they would not work at all. But we
have more to do with what followed than with how it was done.

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