Anderson

A NORTON CRITICAL EDITION
THE
CLASSIC FAIRY TALES
TEXTS
CRITICISM
Edited by
MARIA TATAR
HARVARD UNIVERSITY
W. W..NORTON & COMPANY. NewYork . London
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For Lauren and Daniel
Copyright
O
1999 by W. W. Norton
All rights
& Company,
Inc.
reserved.
Printed in the United States of America.
First Edition.
The text of this book is composed in Electra with the display set in Bernhard
Modern. Composition by PennSet, Inc. Book design by Antonina Krass.
Cover illustration:The Enchanted Pince, reproduced by permission of @ Maxfield
Parrish Family Trust/Licensed by ASAP and VAGA, NYC/Courtesy American
Illustrated Gallery, NYC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
The classic fairy taies : texts, crilicism / edited by Maria Tatar.
p. cm. (Norton critical edition)
-
Includes bibliographical references.
ISBN 0-393-97277-1 (pbk.)
1. Fairy tales-History and
cR5tO.c57
criticism. I. Tatar, Maria M., I945-
1998
98-13552
385.2- dcZl
W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 500 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10110
http,//www.wwnorton.com
W. W. Norton & Company Ltd., 10 Coptic Street, London WCIA IPU
234567890
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232
HaNs CsnrsrreN ANornsnN
lovely creatures-she could see right through them, see the white sails
of the shiprand the pink clouds in the sky. And their voice was the
voice of melody, yet so spirifual that no human ear could hear.it, just
as no earthly eye could see them. They had no wings, but their own
lightness bore them up as they floated through the air. The little mermaid saw that she had a body like theirs, raising itself freer and freer
from the foam.
' "To whom am I coming?" she asked, and her voice sounded like
that of the other beings, more spiritual than any earthly music can
record.
"To the daugl-rters of the air," answered the others. "A mermaid has
no immortal soul and can never have one unless she wins the love of
a mortal. Eternity, for her, depends on a power outside her. Neither
have the daughters of the air an everlasting soul, but by good deeds
they can shape one for themselves. We shall fly to the hot countries,
where the stifling air of pestilence means death to mankind; we shall
bring them cool breezes. We shall scatter the fragrance of flowers
through the air and send them comfort and healing. When for three
hundred years we have striven to do the good we can, then we shall
win an immortal soul and have a share in mankind's eternal happiness.
You, poor little mermaid, have striven for that with all your heart; you
have suffered and endured, and have raised yourself into the world of
the spirits of the air. Now, by three hundred years of good deeds, you
too can shape for yourself an immortal soul."
And the litde mermaid raised her crystal arms toward God's sun, and
for the first time she knew the feeling of tears.
On board the ship there was bustle and life once more. She saw the
Prince with his pretty bride looking about for her;^sorrowfully they
stared at the heaving foam, as if they knew she had thrown herself into
the waves. Unseen, she kissed the forehead of the bride, gave a smile
to the Prince, and then with the other children of the air she climbed
to a rose-red cloud that was sailing to the sky.
"So we shall float for three hundred years, till at iast we come into
the heavenly kingdom."
'And we may reach it even sooner," whispered one. "Unseen we
float into human homes where there are children and, for every day
we find a good child who makes father and mother happy and earns
their love, God shortens our time of trial. The child never knows when
we fly through the room and, if that makes us smile with joy, then a
year is taken away from the three hundred. But if we see a child who
is naughty or spiteful, then we have to weep tears of sorrow, and every
tear adds one more day to our time of trial."
Tns Lrr-rr,e Marcu Gtnr-
The Little Match Girlt
It was terribly cold. Snow was falling and soon it wouid be quite
it was the last day in the year-New Year's Eve. Along the
street, in that same cold and dark, went a poor little girl in bare feetdark; for
well, yes, it's true, she had slippers on when she Ieft l-rome; but what
was the good of that? They were great big slippers which her mother
used to wear, so you can imagine the size of them; and theyboth came
off when the little girl scurried across the road iust as two carts went
whizzing by at a fearful rate. One slipper was not to be found, and a
boy ran off with the other, saying it would do for a cradle one day when
he had children of his own.
So there was ihe little girl walking along in her bare feet that were
simply biue with cold. In an old apron sl-re was carrying a whole lot of
mafches, and she had one bunch of them in her hand. She hadn't sold
ani'thing all day, and no one had given her a single penny. Poor mite,
she looked so downcast as she trudged along hungry and shivering' The
snowflakes settled on her long flaxen hair, which hung in pretty curls
over her shoulder; but you may be sure she wasn't thinking about her
looks. Lights were shining in every window, and out into the street
came the lovely smell of roast goose. You see, it was New Year's Eve;
that's what she was thinking about.
Over in a little corner between two houses-one of them f utted out
rather more into the street than the other-there she crouched and
huddled with her legs tucked under her; but she only got colder and
colder. She didn't dare to go home, for she hadn't sold a match nor
earned a single penny. Her father would beat her, and besides it was
so cold at home. They had only the bare roof over their heads and the
wind whistled through that although the worst cracks had been stopped
up with rags and straw. Her hands were really quite numb with coldAh, but a little match-that would be a comfort. If only she dared pull
one out of the bunch, iust one, strike it on the wall and warm her
fingers! She pulled one out . . . ritchl . . . how it spirted and blazed!
Suih a clear warm flame, like a little candle, as she put her hand round
it-yes, and what a curious light it was! The little girl fancied she was
sitting in front of a big iron stove with shiny brass knobs and brass
facings, with such a warm friendly fire burning . . ' why, whatever was
that? She was just stretching out her toes, so as to warm them too,
when-out went the flame, and the stove vanished. There she sat with
a littie stub o[ burnt-out match in her hand.
She struck another one. It burned up so brightly, and where the
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From Eishh, Fairy Tales by Hans Christian Andersen, trans. R. P. Keigwin. Translation copyright @"1976 by Skandinivisk Bogforlag, Flensteds Forlag. Reprinted by permission ofPantheon Books, a division of Random House, Inc.
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234
Tns GtnL Wno Tnoo oN rHE
Heus CnnlsrtaN ANoBRssN
gleam fell on the wall this became transparent iike gauze. She could
right intoothe room, where the table r.vas laid with a glittering whiie
cloth and with delicate china; and there, steaming deliciously, was the
roast goose stuffed with prunes and apples. Then, what was even finer,
the goose jumped off the dish and waddled along the floor wiih the
cawing knife and fork in its back. Right up to the poor little girl it came
. , . but then the match went out, and nothing could be seen but the
massive cold wall.
She lighted another match. Now she was sitting under the loveliest
Christmas tree; it was even bigger and prettier than the one she had
seen through the glass-door at the rich merchant's at Christmas. Hundreds ofcandles were burning on the green branches, and gay-coloured
prints, like the ones they hang in the shop-windows, looked down at
her. The little girl reached up both her hands . . . then the match went
out; all the Christmas candles rose higher and higher, until now she
could see they were the shining stars. One of them rushed down the
sky with a long fiery streak.
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"That's somebody dying," said the little girl, for her dead Grannie,
who was the only one who had been kind to her, had told her that a
falling star shows that a soul is going up to God.
She struck yet another match on the wall. It gave a glow all around,
and there in the midst of it stood her old grandmother, looking so very
bright and gentle and loving. "Oh, Grannie", cried the little girl, "do
take me with youl I know you'll disappear as soon as the match goes
out-just as the warm stove did, and the lovely roast goose, and the
wonderful great Christmas-tree." And she quickly struck the rest of ihe
matches in the bunch, for she did so want to keep her Grannie there.
And the matches flared up so gloriously that it became brighter than
broad daylight. Never had Grannie looked so tall and beautiful. She
took the little girl into her arms, and together they flerv in ioy and
splendour, up, up, to where there was no cold, no hunger, no fear.
They were with God.
But in the cold early morning huddled between the t',.1'o houses, sat
the little girl u,ith rosy cheeks and a smile on her lips, frozen to death
on the last night of the old year. The New Year dawned on the little
dead body leaning there with the matches, one lot of them nearly all
used up. "She was trying to get warm," people said. Nobody knew what
lovely things she had seen and in what glory she had gone rvith her
old Grannie to the happiness of the New Year.
235
The Girl Who Trod on the Loaft
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LoAF
I expect you've heard of the girl who trod on the loaf so as not to
dirty her shoes, and of how she came to a bad end. The story's been
written, and printed ioo.
She was a poor child, proud and vain; there was a bad streak in her,
as the saying is. When quite a little child she enioyed catching flies
and pulling-off their wings, so making creeping things of them. She
*ould take a cockchafer and a beetle, stick each ofthem on a pin, and
then place a green leaf or a little bit of paper up against their feet. The
poor creature would hold on tight to it, turning and twisting it to try
and get off the pin.
"Now the cockchafer's reading," said littie Inger. "Look how it's iurning over the page."
As she grew older, she got worse rather than better; but she was very
pretty, and that was her misfortune, for otherwise she'd have been
slapped a good deal oftener than she was.
'lt'11 ,..id a desperate remedy to cure Toztr disease," said her own
mother. "Often, when you were little, you trod on my aPron; now
you're older, I'm afraid you'I1 end by treading on my heart."
And, sure enough, she did.
She now went out to service with a good family who lived in the
country. They treated her as if she was iheir own child and dressed her
in the same way; she was very goodlooking, and she grew vainer than
ever.
After she had been with them for a year, her mistress said to her.
"Don't you think you ought to go some time and see your parents,
Inger dear?"
So she went, though it was only to show herself offand let'them see
how fine she had become. But when she got to the outskirts of the
town and saw some girls and young fellows gossiping together by the
pond and her mother, too, resting on a stone with a bundle of faggots
rh" hrd gathered in the wood, she felt ashamed that she who was so
finely dressed should have a mother who went about in rag-s collecting
sticki. She wasn't in the least sorry at having to turn back; she was only
annoyed.
And now another sii months went bY.
"You really ought to go hon-re one day and see your old father and
mother, Inger deir," said her mistress. "Lool<-here's a big white loaf;
you can take that with you. They'll be so glad to see you."
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From Eiefth, Fain, Tales bv Hans christian Andersen, trans. R. P. Keigwin. Translation copyrieht o"lqi6 by'skandinivisk Bogforlag, Flensteds Forlag. Reprinted by permission ofPanthion Books. a division of Random House, Inc.