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<title>Section IV: FAIRY STORIES—MODERN FANTASTIC TALES</title>
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<section id="pgepubid00492">
<div class="center"><span epub:type="pagebreak" title="169" id="Page_169">169</span></div>
<h2>SECTION IV <span class="subhd">FAIRY STORIES—MODERN FANTASTIC TALES</span></h2>
<section id="pgepubid00495" epub:type="bibliography">
<div class="center"><span epub:type="pagebreak" title="170" id="Page_170">170</span></div>
<h3>BIBLIOGRAPHY</h3>
<ol>
<li>Alden, Raymond Macdonald, <cite>Why the Chimes Rang, and Other
Stories</cite>.</li>
<li>Andersen, Hans Christian, <cite>Fairy Tales</cite>.</li>
<li>Barrie, Sir James Matthew, <cite>The Little White Bird</cite>. [Peter
Pan.]</li>
<li>Baum, L. Frank, <cite>The Wizard of Oz</cite>.</li>
<li>Benson, A. C., <cite>David Blaize and the Blue Door</cite>.</li>
<li>Beston, H. B., <cite>The Firelight Fairy Book</cite>.</li>
<li>Brown, Abbie Farwell, <cite>The Lonesomest Doll</cite>.</li>
<li>Browne, Frances, <cite>Granny's Wonderful Chair</cite>.</li>
<li>Carryl, Charles E., <cite>Davy and the Goblin</cite>.</li>
<li>"Carroll, Lewis," <cite>Alice's Adventures in Wonderland</cite>.</li>
<li>"Carroll, Lewis," <cite>Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found
There</cite>.</li>
<li>Chamisso, Adelbert von, <cite>The Wonderful History of Peter
Schlemihl</cite>.</li>
<li>"Collodi, C.," <cite>The Adventures of Pinocchio</cite>.</li>
<li>Cox, Palmer, <cite>The Brownies: Their Book</cite>.</li>
<li>Craik, Dinah Mulock, <cite>Adventures of a Brownie</cite>.</li>
<li>Craik, Dinah Mulock, <cite>The Little Lame Prince and His
Traveling-Cloak</cite>.</li>
<li>Crothers, Samuel McChord, <cite>Miss Muffet's Christmas Party</cite>.</li>
<li>Dickens, Charles, <cite>A Christmas Carol</cite>.</li>
<li>Ewald, Carl, <cite>Two-Legs, and Other Stories</cite>.</li>
<li>Grahame, Kenneth, <cite>The Wind in the Willows</cite>.</li>
<li>Harris, Joel Chandler, <cite>Nights with Uncle Remus</cite>.</li>
<li>Hawthorne, Nathaniel, "The Snow Image," "Little Daffydowndilly," "A Rill
from the Town Pump."</li>
<li>Ingelow, Jean, <cite>Mopsa the Fairy</cite>.</li>
<li>Ingelow, Jean, <cite>Stories Told to a Child</cite>. 2 vols.</li>
<li>Jordan, David Starr, <cite>The Book of Knight and Barbara</cite>.</li>
<li>Lagerlof, Selma, <cite>The Wonderful Adventures of Nils</cite>.</li>
<li>La Motte-Fouqué, F. de, <cite>Undine</cite>.</li>
<li>Lang, Andrew, <cite>Prince Prigio</cite>.</li>
<li>Kingsley, Charles, <cite>The Water Babies</cite>.</li>
<li>Maeterlinck, Maurice, <cite>The Blue Bird</cite>.</li>
<li>Macdonald, George, <cite>The Princess and the Goblin</cite>.</li>
<li>Macdonald, George, <cite>At the Back of the North Wind</cite>.</li>
<li>Pyle, Katherine, <cite>In the Green Forest</cite>.</li>
<li>Raspe, Rudolph Erich, <cite>Baron Munchausen's Narrative</cite>.</li>
<li>Richards, Laura E., <cite>The Story of Toto</cite>.</li>
<li>Richards, Laura E., <cite>The Pig Brother</cite>.</li>
<li>Ruskin, John, <cite>The King of the Golden River</cite>.</li>
<li>Stockton, Frank R., <cite>Fanciful Tales</cite>.</li>
<li>Swift, Jonathan, <cite>Gulliver's Travels</cite>.</li>
<li>Thackeray, William Makepeace, <cite>The Rose and the Ring</cite>.</li>
<li>Wilde, Oscar, <cite>The Happy Prince, and Other Stories</cite>.</li>
<li>Wilkins, Mary E., <cite>The Pot of Gold</cite>.</li>
</ol>
</section>
<section id="pgepubid00498">
<div class="center"><span epub:type="pagebreak" title="171" id="Page_171">171</span></div>
<h3>INTRODUCTORY</h3>
<p>The difficulties of classification are very apparent here, and once more it must
be noted that illustrative and practical purposes rather than logical ones are
served by the arrangement adopted. The modern fanciful story is here placed next
to the real folk story instead of after all the groups of folk products. The
Hebrew stories at the beginning belong quite as well, perhaps even better, in
Section V, while the stories at the end of Section VI shade off into the more
modern types of short tales. Then the fact that other groups of modern stories
are to follow later, illustrating more realistic studies of life and the very
recent and remarkably numerous writings centering around animal life, limits the
list here. Many of the animal stories might, with equal propriety, be placed
under the head of the fantastic.</p>
<p><span epub:type="bridgehead">The child's natural literature.</span> The world has lost certain secrets as the
price of an advancing civilization. It is a commonplace of observation that no
one can duplicate the success of Mother Goose, whether she be thought of as the
maker of jingles or the teller of tales. The conditions of modern life preclude
the generally naïve attitude that produced the folk rhymes, ballads, tales,
proverbs, fables, and myths. The folk saw things simply and directly. The
complex, analytic, questioning mind is not yet, either in or out of stories. The
motives from which people act are to them plain and not mixed. Characters are
good or bad. They feel no need of elaborately explaining their joys and sorrows.
Such experiences come with the day's work. "To-morrow to fresh woods, and
pastures new." The zest of life with them is emphatic. Their humor is fresh,
unbounded, sincere; there is no trace of cynicism. In folk literature we do not
feel the presence of a "writer" who is mightily concerned about maintaining his
reputation for wisdom, originality, or style. Hence the freedom from any note of
straining after effect, of artificiality. In the midst of a life limited to
fundamental needs, their literature deals with fundamentals. On the whole, it
was a literature for entertainment. A more learned upper class may have
concerned itself then about "problems" and "purposes," as the whole world does
now, but the literature of the folk had no such interests.</p>
<p>Without discussing the limits of the culture-epoch theory of human development as
a complete guide in education, it is clear that the young child passes through a
period when his mind looks out upon the world in a manner analogous to that of
the folk as expressed in their literature. Quarrel with the fact as we may, it
still remains a fact that his nature craves these old stories and will not be
satisfied with something "just as good."</p>
<p><span epub:type="bridgehead">The modern fairy story.</span> The advance of civilization has been accompanied
by a wistful longing for the simplicities left by the way. In some periods this
interest in the past has been more marked than in others. When the machinery of
life has weighed too heavily on the human spirit, men have turned for relief to
a contemplation of the "good old times" and have preached crusades of a "return
to nature." <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="172" id="Page_172">172</span> Many modern
writers have tried to recapture some of the power of the folk tale by imitating
its method. In many cases they have had a fair degree of success: in one case,
that of Hans Christian Andersen, the success is admittedly very complete. As a
rule, however, the sharpness of the sense of wonder has been blunted, and many
imitators of the old fairy tale succeed in keeping only the shell. Another class
of modern fantastic tale is that of the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">pourquoi</span> story, which has the
explanation of something as its object. Such tales grow out of the attempt to
use the charm of old stories as a means of conveying instruction, somewhat after
the method of those parents who covered up our bitter medicine with some of our
favorite jam. Even "Little Red Riding Hood," as we saw, has been turned into a
flower myth. So compelling is this pedagogical motive that so-called nature
myths have been invented or made from existing stories in great numbers. The
practical results please many teachers, but it may be questioned whether the
gain is sufficient to compensate children for the distorting results upon
masterpieces.</p>
<p><span epub:type="bridgehead">Wide range of the modern fairy tale.</span> The bibliography will suggest
something of the treasures in the field of the modern fanciful story. From the
delightful nonsense of <cite>Alice in Wonderland</cite> and the "travelers' tales" of
<cite>Baron Munchausen</cite> to the profound seriousness of <cite>The King of the
Golden River</cite> and <cite>Why the Chimes Rang</cite> is a far cry. There are the
rich fancies of Barrie and Maeterlinck, at the same time delicate as the
promises of spring and brilliant as the fruitions of summer. One may be blown
away to the land of Oz, he may lose his shadow with Peter Schlemihl, he may
outdo the magic carpet with his Traveling-Cloak, he may visit the courts of
kings with his Wonderful Chair; Miss Muffet will invite us to her Christmas
party, Lemuel Gulliver will lead us to lands not marked in the school atlas; on
every side is a world of wonder.</p>
<p><span epub:type="bridgehead">Some qualities of these modern tales.</span> Every age produces after its own
fashion, and we must expect to find the modern user of the fairy-story method
expressing through it the qualities of his own outlook upon the world. Interest
in the picturesque aspects of landscape will be emphasized, as in the early
portions of "The Story of Fairyfoot" and, with especial magnificence of style,
throughout <cite>The King of the Golden River</cite>. There will appear the saddened
mood of the modern in the face of the human miseries that make happiness a
mockery, as in "The Happy Prince." The destructive effects of the possessive
instinct upon all that is finest in human nature is reflected in "The Prince's
Dream." That the most valuable efforts are often those performed with least
spectacular settings may be discerned in "The Knights of the Silver Shield,"
while the lesson of kindly helpfulness is the burden of "Old Pipes and the
Dryad." In many modern stories the reader is too much aware of the conscious
efforts of style and structure. The thoughtful child will sometimes be too much
distressed by the more somber modern story, and should not hear too many of the
gloomy type.</p>
<p><span epub:type="bridgehead">Andersen the consummate master.</span> Hans Christian Andersen is the
acknowledged master of the modern story for children. What are the sources of
his success? Genius is always unexplainable except in terms of itself, but some
things are clear. To begin, he makes a mark—drives down a peg: "There came a
soldier marching along <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="173" id="Page_173">173</span>
the high road—<em>one, two! one, two!</em>" and you are off. No backing and
filling, no jockeying for position, no elaborate setting of the stage. The
story's the thing! Next, the language is the language of common oral speech,
free and unrestrained. The rigid forms of the grammar are eschewed. There is no
beating around the bush. Seeing through the eyes of the child, he uses the
language that is natural to such sight: "Aha! there sat the dog with eyes as big
as mill-wheels." In quick dramatic fashion the story unrolls before your vision:
"So the soldier cut the witch's head off. There she lay!" No agonizing over the
cruelty of it, the lack of sympathy. It is a joke after the child's own heart,
and with a hearty laugh at this end to an impostor, the listener is on with the
story. The logic is the logic of childhood: "And everyone could see she was a
real princess, for she was so lovely." When Andersen deals with some of the
deeper truths of existence, as in "The Nightingale" or "The Ugly Duckling," he
still manages to throw it all into the form that is natural and convincing and
simple to the child. He never mounts a pedestal and becomes a grown-up
philosopher. Perhaps Andersen's secret lay in the fact that some fairy godmother
invested him at birth with a power to see things so completely as a child sees
them that he never questioned the dignity of the method. In few of his stories
is there any evidence of a constraint due to a conscious attempt to write down
to the understandings of children.</p>
</section>
<section id="pgepubid00501">
<h3>SUGGESTIONS FOR READING</h3>
<p>The most valuable discussion of the difficulties to be mastered in writing
the literary fairy tale, and the story of the only very complete mastery yet
made, will be found in the account of Hans Christian Andersen in <cite>Eminent
Authors of the Nineteenth Century</cite>, by Georg Brandes. Now and then
hints of importance on such stories and their value for children may be
found in biographies of the more prominent writers represented in the
section and mentioned in the bibliography, and in magazine articles and
reviews. These latter may be located by use of the periodical indexes found
in most libraries. For the proper attitude which the schools should have
toward fiction and fanciful writing in general, nothing could be better than
two lectures on "Children's Reading," in <cite>On the Art of Reading</cite>, by
Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch.</p>
</section>
<section id="pgepubid00503">
<div class="center"><span epub:type="pagebreak" title="174" id="Page_174">174</span></div>
<h3>190</h3>
<p class="intro">The rabbis of old were good story-tellers. They were essentially
teachers and they understood that the best sermon is a story. "They were fond of
the parable, the anecdote, the apt illustration, and their legends that have
been transmitted to us, all aglow with the light and life of the Orient, possess
perennial charm." It is possible to find in rabbinical sources a large number of
brief stories that have the power of entertaining as well as of emphasizing some
qualities of character that are important in all ages. The plan of this book
does not include the wonderful stories of the Old Testament, which are easy of
access to any teacher and may be used as experience directs. The Hebrew stories
following correspond very nearly to the folk anecdote and are placed in this
section because of their literary form.</p>
<p class="intro">Dr. Abram S. Isaacs (1851—) is a professor in New York University
and is also a rabbi. The selection that follows is from his <cite>Stories from the
Rabbis</cite>. (Copyrighted. Used by special permission of The Bloch Publishing
Company, New York.) Taking advantage of the popular superstition that a
four-leaved clover is a sign of good luck, Dr. Isaacs has grouped together four
parable-like stories, each of which deals with wealth as a subject. The editors
are responsible for the special titles given. The messages of these stories
might be summarized as follows: If you would be lucky, (1) be honest because it
is right to be honest, (2) value good friends more highly than gold, (3) let
love accompany each gift of charity, and (4) use common sense in your business
ventures.</p>
<section id="pgepubid00504">
<h4>A FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER</h4>
<div epub:type="z3998:author">ABRAM S. ISAACS</div>
<section id="pgepubid99001">
<h5>1. The Rabbi and The Diadem</h5>
<p>Great was the alarm in the palace of Rome, which soon spread throughout the
entire city. The Empress had lost her costly diadem, and it could not be
found. They searched in every direction, but it was all in vain. Half
distracted, for the mishap boded no good to her or her house, the Empress
redoubled her exertions to regain her precious possession, but without
result. As a last resource it was proclaimed in the public streets:</p>
<p>"The Empress has lost a priceless diadem. Whoever restores it within thirty
days shall receive a princely reward. But he who delays, and brings it after
thirty days, shall lose his head."</p>
<p>In those times all nationalities flocked toward Rome; all classes and creeds
could be met in its stately halls and crowded thoroughfares. Among the rest
was a rabbi, a learnèd sage from the East, who loved goodness and lived a
righteous life, in the stir and turmoil of the Western world. It chanced one
night as he was strolling up and down, in busy meditation, beneath the
clear, moonlit sky, he saw the diadem sparkling at his feet. He seized it
quickly, brought it to his dwelling, where he guarded it carefully until the
thirty days had expired, when he resolved to return it to the owner.</p>
<p>He proceeded to the palace, and, undismayed at sight of long lines of
soldiery and officials, asked for an audience with the Empress.</p>
<p>"What dost thou mean by this?" she inquired, when he told her his story and
gave her the diadem. "Why didst thou delay until this hour? Dost thou know
the penalty? Thy head must be forfeited."</p>
<p>"I delayed until now," the rabbi answered calmly, "so that thou mightst know
that I return thy diadem, not for the sake of the reward, still less out of
fear of punishment; but solely to comply <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="175"
id="Page_175">175</span> with the Divine command not to withhold from another
the property which belongs to him."</p>
<p>"Blessed be thy God!" the Empress answered, and dismissed the rabbi without
further reproof; for had he not done right for right's sake?</p>
</section>
<section id="pgepubid99002">
<h5>2. Friendship</h5>
<p>A certain father was doubly blessed—he had reached a good old age, and had
ten sons. One day he called them to his side, and after repeated expressions
of affection, told them that he had acquired a fortune by industry and
economy, and would give them one hundred gold pieces each before his death,
so that they might begin business for themselves, and not be obliged to wait
until he had passed away. It happened, however, that, soon after, he lost a
portion of his property, much to his regret, and had only nine hundred and
fifty gold pieces left. So he gave one hundred to each of his nine sons.
When his youngest son, whom he loved most of all, asked naturally what was
to be his share, the father replied:</p>
<p>"My son, I promised to give each of thy brothers one hundred gold pieces. I
shall keep my word to them. I have fifty left. Thirty I shall reserve for my
funeral expenses, and twenty will be thy portion. But understand this—I
possess, in addition, ten friends, whom I give over to thee as compensation
for the loss of the eighty gold pieces. Believe me, they are worth more than
all the gold and silver."</p>
<p>The youth tenderly embraced his parent, and assured him that he was content,
such was his confidence and affection. In a few days the father died, and
the nine sons took their money, and without a thought of their youngest
brother and the small amount he had received, followed each his own fancy.
But the youngest son, although his portion was the least, resolved to heed
his father's words, and hold fast to the ten friends. When a short time had
elapsed he prepared a simple feast, went to the ten friends of his father,
and said to them: "My father, almost in his last words, asked me to keep
you, his friends, in honor. Before I leave this place to seek my fortune
elsewhere, will you not share with me a farewell meal, and aid me thus to
comply with his dying request?"</p>
<p>The ten friends, stirred by his earnestness and cordiality, accepted his
invitation with pleasure, and enjoyed the repast, although they were used to
richer fare. When the moment for parting arrived, however, one of them rose
and spoke: "My friends, it seems to me that of all the sons of our dear
friend that has gone, the youngest alone is mindful of his father's
friendship for us, and reverences his memory. Let us, then, be true friends
to him, for his own sake as well, and provide for him a generous sum, that
he may begin business here, and not be forced to live among strangers."</p>
<p>The proposal, so unexpected and yet so merited, was received with applause.
The youth, proud of their friendship, soon became a prosperous merchant, who
never forgot that faithful friends were more valuable than gold or silver,
and left an honored name to his descendants.</p>
</section>
<section id="pgepubid99003">
<h5>3. True Charity</h5>
<p>There lived once a very wealthy man, who cared little for money, except as <span
epub:type="pagebreak" title="176" id="Page_176">176</span> a means for helping
others. He used to adopt a peculiar plan in his method of charitable relief.
He had three boxes made for the three different classes of people whom he
desired to assist. In one box he put gold pieces, which he distributed among
artists and scholars, for he honored knowledge and learning as the highest
possession. In the second box he placed silver pieces for widows and
orphans, for whom his sympathies were readily awakened. In the third were
copper coins for the general poor and beggars—no one was turned away from
his dwelling without some gift, however small.</p>
<p>That the man was beloved by all, need hardly be said. He rejoiced that he was
enabled to do so much good, retained his modest bearing, and continued to
regard his wealth as only an incentive to promote the happiness of mankind,
without distinction of creed or nationality. Unhappily, his wife was just
the opposite. She rarely gave food or raiment to the poor, and felt angry at
her husband's liberality, which she considered shameless extravagance.</p>
<p>The day came when in the pressure of various duties he had to leave his
house, and could not return until the morrow. Unaware of his sudden
departure, the poor knocked at the door as usual for his kind gifts; but
when they found him absent, they were about to go away or remain in the
street, being terrified at the thought of asking his wife for alms. Vexed at
their conduct, she exclaimed impetuously: "I will give to the poor according
to my husband's method."</p>
<p>She seized the keys of the boxes, and first opened the box of gold. But how
great was her terror when she gazed at its contents—frogs jumping here and
there. Then she went to the silver box, and it was full of ants. With
troubled heart, she opened the copper box, and it was crowded with creeping
bugs. Loud then were her complaints, and bitter her tears, at the deception,
and she kept her room until her husband returned.</p>
<p>No sooner did the man enter the room, annoyed that so many poor people were
kept waiting outside, than she asked him: "Why did you give me keys to boxes
of frogs, ants, and bugs, instead of gold, silver, and copper? Was it right
thus to deceive your wife, and disappoint the poor?"</p>
<p>"Not so," rejoined her husband. "The mistake must be yours, not mine. I have
given you the right keys. I do not know what you have done with them. Come,
let me have them. I am guiltless of any deception." He took the keys,
quickly opened the boxes, and found the coins as he had left them. "Ah, dear
wife," said he, when she had regained her composure, "your heart, I fear,
was not in the gift, when you wished to give to the poor. It is the feeling
that prompts us to aid, not the mere money, which is the chief thing after
all."</p>
<p>And ever after, her heart was changed. Her gifts blessed the poor of the
land, and aroused their love and reverence.</p>
</section>
<section id="pgepubid99004">
<h5>4. An Eastern Garden</h5>
<p>In an Eastern city a lovely garden flourished, whose beauty and luxuriance
awakened much admiration. It was the owner's greatest pleasure to watch its
growth, as leaf, flower, and tree seemed daily to unfold to brighter bloom.
One morning, while taking his usual stroll through the well-kept paths, <span
epub:type="pagebreak" title="177" id="Page_177">177</span> he was surprised to
find that some blossoms were picked to pieces. The next day he noticed more
signs of mischief, and rendered thus more observant he gave himself no rest
until he had discovered the culprit. It was a little trembling bird, whom he
managed to capture, and was about to kill in his anger, when it exclaimed:
"Do not kill me, I beg you, kind sir. I am only a wee, tiny bird. My flesh
is too little to satisfy you. I would not furnish one-hundredth of a meal to
a man of your size. Let me free without any hesitation, and I shall teach
you something that will be of much use to you and your friends."</p>
<p>"I would dearly like to put an end to you," replied the man, "for you were
rapidly putting an end to my garden. It is a good thing to rid the world of
such annoyances. But as I am not revengeful, and am always glad to learn
something useful, I shall set you free this time." And he opened his hand to
give the bird more air.</p>
<p>"Attention!" cried the bird. "Here are three rules which should guide you
through life, and if you observe them you will find your path made easier:
Do not cry over spilt milk; do not desire what is unattainable, and do not
believe what is impossible."</p>
<p>The man was satisfied with the advice, and let the bird escape; but it had
scarcely regained its liberty, when, from a high tree opposite, it
exclaimed:</p>
<p>"What a silly man! The idea of letting me escape! If you only knew what you
have lost! But it is too late now."</p>
<p>"What have I lost?" the man asked, angrily.</p>
<p>"Why, if you had killed me, as you intended, you would have found inside of
me a huge pearl, as large as a goose's egg, and you would have been a
wealthy man forever."</p>
<p>"Dear little bird," the man said in his blandest tones; "sweet little bird, I
will not harm you. Only come down to me, and I will treat you as if you were
my own child, and give you fruit and flowers all day. I assure you of this
most sacredly."</p>
<p>But the bird shook its head sagely, and replied: "What a silly man, to forget
so soon the advice which was given him in all seriousness. I told you not to
cry over spilt milk, and here you are, worrying over what has happened. I
urged you not to desire the unattainable, and now you wish to capture me
again. And, finally, I asked you not to believe what is impossible, and you
are rashly imagining that I have a huge pearl inside of me, when a goose's
egg is larger than my whole body. You ought to learn your lessons better in
the future, if you would become wise," added the bird, as with another twist
of its head it flew away, and was lost in the distance.</p>
</section>
</section>
</section>
<section id="pgepubid00508">
<h3>191</h3>
<p class="intro">A classic collection of short stories from the ancient Hebrew
sages is the little book, <cite>Hebrew Tales</cite>, published in London in 1826 by
the noted Jewish scholar Hyman Hurwitz (1770-1844). A modern handy edition of
this book (about sixty tales) is published as Vol. II of the Library of Jewish
Classics. Of special interest is the fact that it contained three stories by the
poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who had published them first in his periodical,
<cite>The Friend</cite>. Coleridge was much interested in Hebrew literature, and
especially fond of speaking in parables, as those who know "The Ancient Mariner"
will readily recall. The <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="178" id="Page_178">178</span>
following is one of the three stories referred to, and it had prefixed to it the
significant text, "The Lord helpeth man and beast." (Psalm XXXVI, 6.)</p>
<section id="pgepubid00510">
<h4>THE LORD HELPETH MAN AND BEAST</h4>
<div epub:type="z3998:author">SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE</div>
<p>During his march to conquer the world, Alexander, the Macedonian, came to a
people in Africa who dwelt in a remote and secluded corner, in peaceful
huts, and knew neither war nor conqueror. They led him to the hut of their
chief, who received him hospitably, and placed before him golden dates,
golden figs, and bread of gold.</p>
<p>"Do you eat gold in this country?" said Alexander.</p>
<p>"I take it for granted," replied the chief, "that thou wert able to find
eatable food in thine own country. For what reason, then, art thou come
amongst us?"</p>
<p>"Your gold has not tempted me hither," said Alexander, "but I would become
acquainted with your manners and customs."</p>
<p>"So be it," rejoined the other: "sojourn among us as long as it pleaseth
thee."</p>
<p>At the close of this conversation, two citizens entered, as into their court
of justice. The plaintiff said, "I bought of this man a piece of land, and
as I was making a deep drain through it, I found a treasure. This is not
mine, for I only bargained for the land, and not for any treasure that might
be concealed beneath it; and yet the former owner of the land will not
receive it." The defendant answered, "I hope I have a conscience, as well as
my fellow citizen. I sold him the land with all its contingent, as well as
existing advantages, and consequently, the treasure inclusively."</p>
<p>The chief, who was at the same time their supreme judge, recapitulated their
words, in order that the parties might see whether or not he understood them
aright. Then, after some reflection, said: "Thou hast a son, friend, I
believe?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"And thou," addressing the other, "a daughter?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"Well, then, let thy son marry <em>thy</em> daughter, and bestow the treasure
on the young couple for a marriage portion." Alexander seemed surprised and
perplexed. "Think you my sentence unjust?" the chief asked him.</p>
<p>"Oh, no!" replied Alexander; "but it astonishes me."</p>
<p>"And how, then," rejoined the chief, "would the case have been decided in
your country?"</p>
<p>"To confess the truth," said Alexander, "we should have taken both parties
into custody, and have seized the treasure for the king's use."</p>
<p>"For the king's use!" exclaimed the chief; "does the sun shine on that
country?"</p>
<p>"Oh, yes!"</p>
<p>"Does it rain there?"</p>
<p>"Assuredly."</p>
<p>"Wonderful! But are there tame animals in the country, that live on the grass
and green herbs?"</p>
<p>"Very many, and of many kinds."</p>
<p>"Ay, that must, then, be the cause," said the chief: "for the sake of those
innocent animals the All-gracious Being continues to let the sun shine, and
the rain drop down on your country; since its inhabitants are unworthy of
such blessings." <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="179" id="Page_179">179</span></p>
</section>
</section>
<section id="pgepubid00512">
<h3>192</h3>
<p class="intro">By almost common consent Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875), the
Danish author, is the acknowledged master of all modern writers of fairy tales.
He was born in poverty, the son of a poor shoemaker. With a naturally keen
dramatic sense, his imagination was stirred by stories from the <cite>Arabian
Nights</cite> and La Fontaine's <cite>Fables</cite>, by French and Spanish soldiers
marching through his native city, and by listening to the wonderful folk tales
of his country. On a toy stage and with toy actors, these vivid impressions took
actual form. The world continued a dramatic spectacle to him throughout his
existence. His consuming ambition was for the stage, but he had none of the
personal graces so necessary for success. He was ungainly and awkward, like his
"ugly duckling." But when at last he began to write, he had the power to
transfer to the page the vivid dramas in his mind, and this power culminated in
the creation of fairy stories for children which he began to publish in 1835. It
is usual to say that Andersen, like Peter Pan, "never grew up," and it is
certain that he never lost the power of seeing things as children see them. Like
many great writers whose fame now rests on the suffrages of child readers,
Andersen seems at first to have felt that the <cite>Tales</cite> were slight and
beneath his dignity. They are not all of the same high quality. Occasionally one
of them becomes "too sentimental and sickly sweet," but the best of them have a
sturdiness that is thoroughly refreshing.</p>
<p class="intro">The most acute analysis of the elements of Andersen's greatness
as the ideal writer for children is that made by his fellow-countryman Georg
Brandes in <cite>Eminent Authors of the Nineteenth Century</cite>. A briefer account
on similar lines will be found in H. J. Boyesen's <cite>Scandinavian
Literature</cite>. A still briefer account, eminently satisfactory for an
introduction to Andersen, by Benjamin W. Wells, is in Warner's <cite>Library of the
World's Best Literature</cite>. The interested student cannot, of course,
afford to neglect Andersen's own <cite>The Story of My Life</cite>. Among the more
elaborate biographies the <cite>Life of Hans Christian Andersen</cite> by R. Nisbet
Bain is probably the best. The first translation of the <cite>Tales</cite> into
English was made by Mary Howitt in 1846 and, as far as it goes, is still
regarded as one of the finest. However, Andersen has been very fortunate in his
many translators. The version by H. W. Dulcken has been published in many cheap
forms and perhaps more widely read than any other. In addition to the stories in
the following pages, some of those most suitable for use are "The Little Match
Girl," "The Silver Shilling," "Five Peas in the Pod," "Hans Clodhopper," and
"The Snow Queen." The latter is one of the longest and an undoubted
masterpiece.</p>
<p class="intro">The first two stories following are taken from Mrs. Henderson's
<cite>Andersen's Best Fairy Tales</cite>. (Copyright. Rand McNally & Co.) This
little book contains thirteen stories in a very simple translation and also an
excellent story of Andersen's life in a form most attractive to children. "The
Princess and the Pea" is a story for the story's sake. The humor, perhaps
slightly satirical, is based upon the notion so common in the old folk tales
that royal personages are decidedly more delicate than the person of low degree.
However, the tendency to think oneself of more consequence than another is not
confined to any one class.</p>
<section id="pgepubid00513">
<h4>THE REAL PRINCESS</h4>
<div epub:type="z3998:author">HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
<br />(Version by Alice Corbin Henderson)</div>
<p>There was once a Prince who wanted to marry a Princess. But it was only a
<em>real</em> Princess that he wanted to marry.</p>
<p>He traveled all over the world to find a real one. But, although there were <span
epub:type="pagebreak" title="180" id="Page_180">180</span> plenty of
princesses, whether they were <em>real</em> princesses he could never
discover. There was always something that did not seem quite right about
them.</p>
<p>At last he had to come home again. But he was very sad, because he wanted to
marry a <em>real</em> Princess.</p>
<p>One night there was a terrible storm. It thundered and lightened and the rain
poured down in torrents. In the middle of the storm there came a knocking,
knocking, knocking at the castle gate. The kind old King himself went down
to open the castle gate.</p>
<p>It was a young Princess that stood outside the gate. The wind and the rain
had almost blown her to pieces. Water streamed out of her hair and out of
her clothes. Water ran in at the points of her shoes and out again at the
heels. Yet she said that she was a <em>real</em> Princess.</p>
<p>"Well, we will soon find out about that!" thought the Queen.</p>
<p>She said nothing, but went into the bedroom, took off all the bedding, and
put a small dried pea on the bottom of the bedstead. Then she piled twenty
mattresses on top of the pea, and on top of these she put twenty feather
beds. This was where the Princess had to sleep that night.</p>
<p>In the morning they asked her how she had slept through the night.</p>
<p>"Oh, miserably!" said the Princess. "I hardly closed my eyes the whole night
long! Goodness only knows what was in my bed! I slept upon something so hard
that I am black and blue all over. It was dreadful!"</p>
<p>So then they knew that she was a <em>real</em> Princess. For, through the
twenty mattresses and the twenty feather beds, she had still felt the pea.
No one but a <em>real</em> Princess could have had such a tender skin.</p>
<p>So the Prince took her for his wife. He knew now that he had a <em>real</em>
Princess.</p>
<p>As for the pea, it was put in a museum where it may still be seen if no one
has carried it away.</p>
<p>Now this is a true story!</p>
</section>
</section>
<section id="pgepubid00515">
<h3>193</h3>
<p class="intro">With some dozen exceptions, all of Andersen's <cite>Tales</cite> are
based upon older stories, either upon some old folk tale or upon something that
he ran across in his reading. Dr. Brandes, in his <cite>Eminent Authors</cite>, shows
in detail how "The <a href="#s04-a01" epub:type="annoref">Emperor's</a> New Clothes"
came into being. "One day in turning over the
leaves of Don Manuel's <cite>Count Lucanor</cite>, Andersen became charmed by the
homely wisdom of the old Spanish story, with the delicate flavor of the Middle
Ages pervading it, and he lingered over chapter vii, which treats of how a king
was served by three rogues." But Andersen's story is a very different one in
many ways from his Spanish original. For one thing, the meaning is so universal
that no one can miss it. Most of us have, in all likelihood, at some time
pretended to know what we do not know or to be what we are not in order to save
our face, to avoid the censure or ridicule of others. "There is much concerning
which people dare not speak the truth, through cowardice, through fear of acting
otherwise than 'all the world,' through anxiety lest they should appear stupid.
And the story is eternally new and it never ends. It has its grave side, but
just because of its endlessness it has also its humorous side." When the absurd
bubble of the grand procession is punctured by the child, whose mental honesty
has not yet been spoiled by the pressure of convention, the Emperor "held
himself stiffer than ever, and the chamberlains carried the invisible train."
For it would never do to hold up the procession!</p>
<aside epub:type="annotation" id="s04-a01">
<p>Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Emporer's'</p>
</aside>
<section id="pgepubid00517">
<div class="center"><span epub:type="pagebreak" title="181" id="Page_181">181</span></div>
<h4>THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES</h4>
<div epub:type="z3998:author">HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN<br />
(Version by Alice Corbin Henderson)</div>
<p>Many years ago there lived an Emperor who thought so much of new clothes that
he spent all his money on them. He did not care for his soldiers; he did not
care to go to the theater. He liked to drive out in the park only that he
might show off his new clothes. He had a coat for every hour of the day.
They usually say of a king, "He is in the council chamber." But of the
Emperor they said, "He is in the clothes closet!"</p>
<p>It was a gay city in which the Emperor lived. And many strangers came to
visit it every day. Among these, one day, there came two rogues who set
themselves up as weavers. They said they knew how to weave the most
beautiful cloths imaginable. And not only were the colors and patterns used
remarkably beautiful, but clothes made from this cloth could not be seen by
any one who was unfit for the office he held or was too stupid for any
use.</p>
<p>"Those would be fine clothes!" thought the Emperor. "If I wore those I could
find out what men in my empire were not fit for the places they held. I
could tell the clever men from the dunces! I must have some clothes woven
for me at once!"</p>
<p>So he gave the two rogues a great deal of money that they might begin their
work at once.</p>
<p>The rogues immediately put up two looms and pretended to be working. But
there was nothing at all on their looms. They called for the finest silks
and the brightest gold, but this they put into their pockets. At the empty
looms they worked steadily until late into the night.</p>
<p>"I should like to know how the weavers are getting on with my clothes,"
thought the Emperor.</p>
<p>But he felt a little uneasy when he thought that any one who was stupid or
was not fit for his office would be unable to see the cloth. Of course he
had no fears for himself; but still he thought he would send some one else
first, just to see how matters stood.</p>
<p>"I will send my faithful old Minister to the weavers," thought the Emperor.
"He can see how the stuff looks, for he is a clever man, and no one is so
careful in fulfilling duties as he is!"</p>
<p>So the good old Minister went into the room where the two rogues sat working
at the empty looms.</p>
<p>"Mercy on us!" thought the old Minister, opening his eyes wide, "I can't see
a thing!" But he didn't care to say so.</p>
<p>Both the rascals begged him to be good enough to step a little nearer. They
pointed to the empty looms and asked him if he did not think the pattern and
the coloring wonderful. The poor old Minister stared and stared as hard as
he could, but he could not see anything, for, of course, there was nothing
to see!</p>
<p>"Mercy!" he said to himself. "Is it possible that I am a dunce? I never
thought so! Certainly no one must know it. Am I unfit for office? It will
never do to say that I cannot see the stuff!"</p>
<p>"Well, sir, why do you say nothing of it?" asked the rogue who was pretending
to weave.</p>
<p>"Oh, it is beautiful—charming!" said the old Minister, peering through his
spectacles. "What a fine pattern, and what wonderful colors! I shall tell
the Emperor that I am very much pleased with it." <span epub:type="pagebreak"
title="182" id="Page_182">182</span></p>
<p>"Well, we are glad to hear you say so," answered the two swindlers.</p>
<p>Then they named all the colors of the invisible cloth upon the looms, and
described the peculiar pattern. The old Minister listened intently, so that
he could repeat all that was said of it to the Emperor.</p>
<p>The rogues now began to demand more money, more silk, and more gold thread in
order to proceed with the weaving. All of this, of course, went into their
pockets. Not a single strand was ever put on the empty looms at which they
went on working.</p>
<p>The Emperor soon sent another faithful friend to see how soon the new clothes
would be ready. But he fared no better than the Minister. He looked and
looked and looked, but still saw nothing but the empty looms.</p>
<p>"Isn't that a pretty piece of stuff?" asked both rogues, showing and
explaining the handsome pattern which was not there at all.</p>
<p>"I am not stupid!" thought the man. "It must be that I am not worthy of my
good position. That is, indeed, strange. But I must not let it be
known!"</p>
<p>So he praised the cloth he did not see, and expressed his approval of the
color and the design that were not there. To the Emperor he said, "It is
charming!"</p>
<p>Soon everybody in town was talking about the wonderful cloth that the two
rogues were weaving.</p>
<p>The Emperor began to think now that he himself would like to see the
wonderful cloth while it was still on the looms. Accompanied by a number of
his friends, among whom were the two faithful officers who had already
beheld the imaginary stuff, he went to visit the two men who were weaving,
might and main, without any fiber and without any thread.</p>
<p>"Isn't it splendid!" cried the two statesmen who had already been there, and
who thought the others would see something upon the empty looms. "Look, your
Majesty! What colors! And what a design!"</p>
<p>"What's this?" thought the Emperor. "I see nothing at all! Am I a dunce? Am I
not fit to be Emperor? That would be the worst thing that could happen to
me, if it were true."</p>
<p>"Oh, it is very pretty!" said the Emperor aloud. "It has my highest
approval!"</p>
<p>He nodded his head happily, and stared at the empty looms. Never would he say
that he could see nothing!</p>
<p>His friends, too, gazed and gazed, but saw no more than had the others. Yet
they all cried out, "It is beautiful!" and advised the Emperor to wear a
suit made of this cloth in a great procession that was soon to take
place.</p>
<p>"It is magnificent, gorgeous!" was the cry that went from mouth to mouth. The
Emperor gave each of the rogues a royal ribbon to wear in his buttonhole,
and called them the Imperial Court Weavers.</p>
<p>The rogues were up the whole night before the morning of the procession. They
kept more than sixteen candles burning. The people could see them hard at
work, completing the new clothes of the Emperor. They took yards of stuff
down from the empty looms; they made cuts in the air with big scissors; they
sewed with needles without thread; and, at last, they said, "The clothes are
ready!"</p>
<p>The Emperor himself, with his grandest courtiers, went to put on his new
suit. <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="183" id="Page_183">183</span></p>
<p>"See!" said the rogues, lifting their arms as if holding something. "Here are
the trousers! Here is the coat! Here is the cape!" and so on. "It is as
light as a spider's web. One might think one had nothing on. But that is
just the beauty of it!"</p>
<p>"Very nice," said the courtiers. But they could see nothing; for there
<em>was</em> nothing!</p>
<p>"Will your Imperial Majesty be graciously pleased to take off your clothes,"
asked the rogues, "so that we may put on the new ones before this long
mirror?"</p>
<p>The Emperor took off all his own clothes, and the two rogues pretended to put
on each new garment as it was ready. They wrapped him about, and they tied
and they buttoned. The Emperor turned round and round before the mirror.</p>
<p>"How well his Majesty looks in his new clothes!" said the people. "How
becoming they are! What a pattern! What colors! It is a beautiful
dress!"</p>
<p>"They are waiting outside with the canopy which is to be carried over your
Majesty in the procession," said the master of ceremonies.</p>
<p>"I am ready," said the Emperor. "Don't the clothes fit well?" he asked,
giving a last glance into the mirror as though he were looking at all his
new finery.</p>
<p>The men who were to carry the train of the Emperor's cloak stooped down to
the floor as if picking up the train, and then held it high in the air. They
did not dare let it be known that they could see nothing.</p>
<p>So the Emperor marched along under the bright canopy. Everybody in the
streets and at the windows cried out: "How beautiful the Emperor's new
clothes are! What a fine train! And they fit to perfection!"</p>
<p>No one would let it be known that he could see nothing, for that would have
proved that he was unfit for office or that he was very, very stupid. None
of the Emperor's clothes had ever been as successful as these.</p>
<p>"But he has nothing on!" said a little child.</p>
<p>"Just listen to the innocent!" said its father.</p>
<p>But one person whispered to another what the child had said. "He has nothing
on! A child says he has nothing on!"</p>
<p>"But he has nothing on!" at last cried all the people.</p>
<p>The Emperor writhed, for he knew that this was true. But he realized that it
would never do to stop the procession. So he held himself stiffer than ever,
and the chamberlains carried the invisible train.</p>
</section>
</section>
<section id="pgepubid00520">
<h3>194</h3>
<p class="intro">In his story "The Nightingale," Andersen suggests that the
so-called upper class of society may become so conventionalized as to be unable
to appreciate true beauty. Poor fishermen and the little kitchen girl in the
story recognize the beauty of the exquisite song of the nightingale, and
Andersen shows his regard for royalty by having the emperor appreciate it twice.
The last part of the story is especially impressive. When Death approached the
emperor and took from him the symbols that had made him rank above his fellows,
the emperor saw the realities of life and again perceived the beauty of the
nightingale's song. This contact with real life made Death shrink away. Then the
emperor learned Andersen's message to artificial society: If you would behold
true beauty, you must have it in your own heart.</p>
<section id="pgepubid00522">
<div class="center"><span epub:type="pagebreak" title="184" id="Page_184">184</span></div>
<h4>THE NIGHTINGALE</h4>
<div epub:type="z3998:author">HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN</div>
<p>In China, you must know, the Emperor is a Chinaman, and all whom he has about
him are Chinamen too. It happened a good many years ago, but that's just why
it's worth while to hear the story before it is forgotten. The Emperor's
palace was the most splendid in the world; it was made entirely of
porcelain, very costly, but so delicate and brittle that one had to take
care how one touched it. In the garden were to be seen the most wonderful
flowers, and to the costliest of them silver bells were tied, which sounded,
so that nobody should pass by without noticing the flowers. Yes, everything
in the Emperor's garden was admirably arranged. And it extended so far that
the gardener himself did not know where the end was. If a man went on and
on, he came into a glorious forest with high trees and deep lakes. The wood
extended straight down to the sea, which was blue and deep; great ships
could sail, too, beneath the branches of the trees; and in the trees lived a
Nightingale, which sang so splendidly that even the poor fisherman, who had
many other things to do, stopped still and listened, when he had gone out at
night to throw out his nets, and heard the Nightingale.</p>
<p>"How beautiful that is!" he said; but he was obliged to attend to his
property, and thus forgot the bird. But when the next night the bird sang
again, and the fisherman heard it, he exclaimed again, "How beautiful that
is!"</p>
<p>From all the countries of the world travelers came to the city of the
Emperor, and admired it, and the palace and the garden, but when they heard
the Nightingale, they said, "That is the best of all!"</p>
<p>And the travelers told of it when they came home; and the learnèd men wrote
many books about the town, the palace, and the garden. But they did not
forget the Nightingale; that was placed highest of all; and those who were
poets wrote most magnificent poems about the Nightingale in the wood by the
deep lake.</p>
<p>The books went through all the world, and a few of them once came to the
Emperor. He sat in his golden chair, and read, and read: every moment he
nodded his head, for it pleased him to peruse the masterly descriptions of
the city, the palace, and the garden. "But the Nightingale is the best of
all," it stood written there.</p>
<p>"What's that?" exclaimed the Emperor. "I don't know the Nightingale at all!
Is there such a bird in my empire, and even in my garden? I've never heard
of that. To think that I should have to learn such a thing for the first
time from books!"</p>
<p>And hereupon he called his cavalier. This cavalier was so grand that if
anyone lower in rank than himself dared to speak to him, or to ask him any
question, he answered nothing but "P!"—and that meant nothing.</p>
<p>"There is said to be a wonderful bird here called a Nightingale," said the
Emperor. "They say it is the best thing in all my great empire. Why have I
never heard anything about it?"</p>
<p>"I have never heard him named," replied the cavalier. "He has never been
introduced at Court."</p>
<p>"I command that he shall appear this evening, and sing before me," said the
Emperor. "All the world knows what I possess, and I do not know it
myself!" <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="185" id="Page_185"
/></p>
<p>"I have never heard him mentioned," said the cavalier. "I will seek for him.
I will find him."</p>
<p>But where was he to be found? The cavalier ran up and down all the
staircases, through halls and passages, but no one among all those whom he
met had heard talk of the Nightingale. And the cavalier ran back to the
Emperor, and said that it must be a fable invented by the writers of
books.</p>
<p>"Your Imperial Majesty cannot believe how much is written that is fiction,
besides something that they call the black art."</p>
<p>"But the book in which I read this," said the Emperor, "was sent to me by the
high and mighty Emperor of Japan and therefore it cannot be a falsehood. I
<em>will</em> hear the Nightingale! It must be here this evening! It has
my imperial favor; and if it does not come, all the Court shall be trampled
upon after the Court has supped!"</p>
<p>"Tsing-pe!" said the cavalier; and again he ran up and down all the
staircases, and through all the halls and corridors; and half the Court ran
with him, for the courtiers did not like being trampled upon.</p>
<p>Then there was a great inquiry after the wonderful Nightingale, which all the
world knew excepting the people at Court.</p>
<p>At last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said:</p>
<p>"The Nightingale? I know it well; yes, it can sing gloriously. Every evening
I get leave to carry my poor sick mother the scraps from the table. She
lives down by the strand; and when I get back and am tired, and rest in the
wood, then I hear the Nightingale sing. And then the water comes into my
eyes, and it is just as if my mother kissed me."</p>
<p>"Little kitchen girl," said the cavalier, "I will get you a place in the
Court kitchen, with permission to see the Emperor dine, if you will but lead
us to the Nightingale, for it is announced for this evening."</p>
<p>So they all went out into the wood where the Nightingale was accustomed to
sing; half the Court went forth. When they were in the midst of their
journey a cow began to low.</p>
<p>"Oh!" cried the Court pages, "now we have it! That shows a wonderful power in
so small a creature! I have certainly heard it before."</p>
<p>"No, those are cows lowing," said the little kitchen girl. "We are a long way
from the place yet."</p>
<p>Now the frogs began to croak in the marsh.</p>
<p>"Glorious!" said the Chinese Court preacher. "Now I hear it—it sounds just
like little church bells."</p>
<p>"No, those are frogs," said the little kitchen maid. "But now I think we
shall soon hear it."</p>
<p>And then the Nightingale began to sing.</p>
<p>"That is it!" exclaimed the little girl. "Listen, listen! and yonder it
sits."</p>
<p>And she pointed to a little gray bird up in the boughs.</p>
<p>"Is it possible?" cried the cavalier. "I should never have thought it looked
like that! How simple it looks! It must certainly have lost its color at
seeing such grand people around."</p>
<p>"Little Nightingale!" called the little kitchen maid, quite loudly, "our
gracious Emperor wishes you to sing before him."</p>
<p>"With the greatest pleasure!" replied the Nightingale, and began to sing most
delightfully. <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="186" id="Page_186"
/></p>
<p>"It sounds just like glass bells!" said the cavalier. "And look at its little
throat, how it's working! It's wonderful that we should never have heard it
before. That bird will be a great success at Court."</p>
<p>"Shall I sing once more before the Emperor?" inquired the Nightingale, for it
thought the Emperor was present.</p>
<p>"My excellent little Nightingale," said the cavalier, "I have great pleasure
in inviting you to a Court festival this evening, when you shall charm his
Imperial Majesty with your beautiful singing."</p>
<p>"My song sounds best in the green wood," replied the Nightingale; still it
came willingly when it heard what the Emperor wished.</p>
<p>The palace was festively adorned. The walls and the flooring, which were of
porcelain, gleamed in the rays of thousands of golden lamps. The most
glorious flowers, which could ring clearly, had been placed in the passages.
There was a running to and fro, and a thorough draught, and all the bells
rang so loudly that one could not hear one's self speak.</p>
<p>In the midst of the great hall, where the Emperor sat, a golden perch had
been placed, on which the Nightingale was to sit. The whole Court was there,
and the little cook-maid had got leave to stand behind the door, as she had
now received the title of a real Court cook. All were in full dress, and all
looked at the little gray bird, to which the Emperor nodded.</p>
<p>And the Nightingale sang so gloriously that the tears came into the Emperor's
eyes, and the tears ran down over his cheeks; then the Nightingale sang
still more sweetly, that went straight to the heart. The Emperor was so much
pleased that he said the Nightingale should have his golden slipper to wear
round its neck. But the Nightingale declined this with thanks, saying it had
already received a sufficient reward.</p>
<p>"I have seen tears in the Emperor's eyes—that is the real treasure to me. An
Emperor's tears have a peculiar power. I am rewarded enough!" And then it
sang again with a sweet, glorious voice.</p>
<p>"That's the most amiable coquetry I ever saw!" said the ladies who stood
round about, and then they took water in their mouths to gurgle when anyone
spoke to them. They thought they should be nightingales too. And the lackeys
and chambermaids reported that they were satisfied also; and that was saying
a good deal, for they are the most difficult to please. In short, the
Nightingale achieved a real success.</p>
<p>It was now to remain at Court, to have its own cage, with liberty to go out
twice every day and once at night. Twelve servants were appointed when the
Nightingale went out, each of whom had a silken string fastened to the
bird's legs, which they held very tight. There was really no pleasure in an
excursion of that kind.</p>
<p>The whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and whenever two people met, one
said nothing but "Nightin," and the other said "gale"; and then they both
sighed, and understood one another. Eleven pedlars' children were named
after the bird, but not one of them could sing a note.</p>
<p>One day the Emperor received a large parcel, on which was written, "The
Nightingale."</p>
<p>"There we have a new book about this celebrated bird," said the Emperor. <span
epub:type="pagebreak" title="187" id="Page_187">187</span></p>
<p>But it was not a book, but a little work of art, contained in a box—an
artificial nightingale, which was to sing like a natural one, and was
brilliantly ornamented with diamonds, sapphires, and rubies. So soon as the
artificial bird was wound up, he could sing one of the pieces that he really
sang, and then his tail moved up and down, and shone with silver and gold.
Round his neck hung a little ribbon, and on that was written, "The Emperor
of China's nightingale is poor compared to that of the Emperor of
Japan."</p>
<p>"That is capital!" said they all, and he who had brought the artificial bird
immediately received the title, Imperial Head-Nightingale-Bringer.</p>
<p>"Now they must sing together; what a duet that will be!" cried the
courtiers.</p>
<p>And so they had to sing together; but it did not sound very well, for the
real Nightingale sang its own way, and the artificial bird sang waltzes.</p>
<p>"That's not his fault," said the playmaster; "he's quite perfect, and very
much in my style."</p>
<p>Now the artificial bird was to sing alone. It had just as much success as the
real one, and then it was much handsomer to look at—it shone like bracelets
and breastpins.</p>
<p>Three and thirty times over did it sing the same piece, and yet was not
tired. The people would gladly have heard it again, but the Emperor said
that the living Nightingale ought to sing something now. But where was it?
No one had noticed that it had flown away out of the open window, back to
the green wood.</p>
<p>"But what has become of that?" asked the Emperor.</p>
<p>And all the courtiers abused the Nightingale, and declared that it was a very
ungrateful creature.</p>
<p>"We have the best bird after all," said they.</p>
<p>And so the artificial bird had to sing again, and that was the thirty-fourth
time that they listened to the same piece. For all that they did not know it
quite by heart, for it was so very difficult. And the playmaster praised the
bird particularly; yes, he declared that it was better than a nightingale,
not only with regard to its plumage and the many beautiful diamonds, but
inside as well.</p>
<p>"For you see, ladies and gentlemen, and above all, your Imperial Majesty,
with a real nightingale one can never calculate what is coming, but in this
artificial bird, everything is settled. One can explain it; one can open it
and make people understand where the waltzes come from, how they go, and how
one follows up another."</p>
<p>"Those are quite our own ideas," they all said.</p>
<p>And the speaker received permission to show the bird to the people on the
next Sunday. The people were to hear it sing too, the Emperor commanded: and
they did hear it, and were as much pleased as if they had all got tipsy upon
tea, for that's quite the Chinese fashion, and they all said, "Oh!" and held
up their forefingers and nodded. But the poor fisherman, who had heard the
real Nightingale, said:</p>
<p>"It sounds pretty enough, and the melodies resemble each other, but there's
something wanting, though I know not what!"</p>
<p>The real Nightingale was banished from the country and empire. The artificial
bird had its place on a silken <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="188"
id="Page_188">188</span> cushion close to the Emperor's bed; all the presents
it had received, gold and precious stones, were ranged about it; in title it
had advanced to be the High Imperial After-Dinner-Singer, and in rank to
Number One on the left hand; for the Emperor considered that side the most
important on which the heart is placed, and even in an Emperor the heart is
on the left side; and the playmaster wrote a work of five and twenty volumes
about the artificial bird; it was very learnèd and very long, full of the
most difficult Chinese words; but yet all the people declared that they had
read it and understood it, for fear of being considered stupid, and having
their bodies trampled on.</p>
<p>So a whole year went by. The Emperor, the Court, and all the other Chinese
knew every little twitter in the artificial bird's song by heart. But just
for that reason it pleased them best—they could sing with it themselves, and
they did so. The street boys sang, "Tsi-tsi-tsi-glug-glug!" and the Emperor
himself sang it too. Yes, that was certainly famous.</p>
<p>But one evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the
Emperor lay in bed listening to it, something inside the bird said, "Whizz!"
Something cracked. "Whir-r-r!" All the wheels ran round, and then the music
stopped.</p>
<p>The Emperor immediately sprang out of bed, and caused his body physician to
be called; but what could <em>he</em> do? Then they sent for a watchmaker, and
after a good deal of talking and investigation, the bird was put into
something like order, but the watchmaker said that the bird must be
carefully treated, for the barrels were worn, and it would be impossible to
put new ones in in such a manner that the music would go. There was a great
lamentation; only once in the year was it permitted to let the bird sing,
and that was almost too much. But then the playmaster made a little speech
full of heavy words, and said this was just as good as before—and so of
course it was as good as before.</p>
<p>Now five years had gone by, and a real grief came upon the whole nation. The
Chinese were really fond of their Emperor, and now he was ill, and could
not, it was said, live much longer. Already a new Emperor had been chosen,
and the people stood out in the street and asked the cavalier how the
Emperor did.</p>
<p>"P!" said he, and shook his head.</p>
<p>Cold and pale lay the Emperor in his great, gorgeous bed; the whole Court
thought him dead, and each one ran to pay homage to the new ruler. The
chamberlains ran out to talk it over, and the ladies' maids had a great
coffee party. All about, in all the halls and passages, cloth had been laid
down so that no footstep could be heard, and therefore it was quiet there,
quite quiet. But the Emperor was not dead yet; stiff and pale he lay on the