Classic Audiobook Collection - The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen ~ Full Audiobook [folklore]

Episode Date: January 23, 2023

The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen audiobook. Genre: folklore On a bitter New Year's Eve in a snowy city, a poor little girl wanders the streets with a bundle of matches to sell. Barefoot, hungry, and afraid to go home without money, she drifts from doorway to doorway as crowds hurry past, too busy to notice her. To keep her hands from freezing, she dares to strike a match, and in its small, wavering light she sees comforting visions: warmth, food, and the kind of tenderness she rarely receives in the waking world. Each flare of light offers a brief refuge from the cold and a glimpse of what she longs for most, even as the night deepens and her situation grows more desperate. Hans Christian Andersen's 'The Little Match Girl' is a stark, luminous tale about poverty and indifference, the fragile power of imagination, and the human need for mercy. Simple in language but profound in feeling, it invites listeners to look closely at those society overlooks and to consider what a single act of kindness might mean. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:07:40) Chapter 02 (00:18:40) Chapter 03 (00:22:03) Chapter 04 (00:26:56) Chapter 05 (00:47:39) Chapter 06 (01:00:58) Chapter 07 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Anderson. Most terribly cold it was. It snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening, the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded and with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true. But what was the good of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn. So large were they, and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street,

because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast. One slipper was nowhere to be found. The other had been laid hold of by an urchin, and off he ran with it. He thought it would do capitally for a cradle when he, some day or other, should have children himself. So the little maiden walked on with her tiny, naked feet that were quite red and blue from cold. She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the whole live-long day. No one had given her a single farthing.

She crept along, trembling with cold and hunger. A very picture of sorrow, the poor little thing. The flakes of snow covered her long, fair hair, which fell in beautiful curls around her neck, but of that, of course, she never once now thought. From all the windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt so deliciously of roast goose, for you know it was New Year's Eve, yes, of that she thought. In a corner formed by two houses, of which one advanced more than the other, she seated herself down and cowered together. Her little feet she had drawn close up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and to go home she did not venture, for she had not sold any matches, and could not bring a farthing of money.

From her father she would certainly get blows, and at home it was cold. old, too, for above her she had only the roof, through which the wind whistled, even though the largest cracks were stopped up with straw and rags. Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. Oh, a match might afford her a world of comfort. If she only dared take a single one out of the bundle, draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. She drew one out.

How it blazed! How it burnt! It was a warm, bright flame, like a candle, as she held her hands over it, and it was wonderfully light. It seemed really to the little maiden as though she were sitting before a large iron stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass ornament atop. The fire burned with such blessed influence. It warmed so delightfully.

The little girl had already stretched out her feet to warm them too, but the small flame went out. The stove vanished. She had only the remains of the burnt-out match in her hand. She rubbed another against the wall. It burned brightly. And where the light fell on the wall, there the wall became transparent like a veil,

so that she could see into the room, on the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth. Upon it was a splendid porcelain surface, and the roast goose was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and dried plums. And what was still more capital to behold was, the goose hopped down from the dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and fork in its breast,

till it came up to the poor little girl. when the match went out, and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was left behind. She lighted another match. Now there she was, sitting under the most magnificent Christmas tree. It was still larger, and more decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in the rich merchant's house. Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gaily colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop windows, looked down upon her.

The little maiden stretched out her hands toward them when the match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher. She saw them now as stars in heaven. One fell down and formed a long trail of fire. Someone is just dead, said the little girl. For her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now no more, had told her that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God. She drew another match against the wall. It was again light, and in the luster there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love.

Grandmother, cried the little one. Oh, take me with you. You go away when the match burns out. You vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree. And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her, and the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon day.

Never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy, so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold nor hunger nor anxiety. They were with God. But in the corner at the cold hour of dawn sat the poor girl with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall, frozen to death on the last, evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt.

She wanted to warm herself, people said. No one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen. No one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmother, she had entered on the joys of a new year. End of The Little Match Girl. The Swineherd by Hans Christian Anderson. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. The Swineherd

There was once a poor prince who had a kingdom. His kingdom was very small, but still quite large enough to marry upon, and he wished to marry. It was certainly rather cool of him to say to the emperor's daughter, will you have me? But so he did, for his name was renowned far and wide, and there were a hundred princesses who would have answered, Yes, and thank you kindly.

We shall see what this princess said. Listen. It happened that where the princess's father lay buried, there grew a rose-tree, a most beautiful rose-tree, which blossomed only once in every five years. and even then bore only one flower. But that was a rose. It smelled so sweet that all cares and sorrows were forgotten by him who inhaled its fragrance.

And furthermore the prince had a nightingale who could sing in such a manner that it seemed as though all sweet melodies dwelt in her little throat. So the princess was to have the rose and the nightingale, and they were accordingly put into large silver caskets and sent to her. The emperor had them brought into a large hall, where the princess was playing at visiting with the ladies of the court. And when she saw the caskets with the presents, she clapped her hands for joy.

Ah, if it were but a little pussycat, said she, but the rose tree with its beautiful rose came to view. Oh, how pretty little little. it is made, said all the court ladies. It is more than pretty, said the emperor. It is charming. But the princess touched it and was almost ready to cry. Fie, Papa, said she, it is not made at all.

It is natural. Let us see what is in the other casket before we get into a bad humor, said the emperor. So the nightingale came forth, and sang so delightful. delightfully, that at first no one could say anything ill-humored of her. Serperbe, Charmonde, exclaimed the ladies, for they all used to chatter French, each one worse than her neighbor. How much the bird reminds me of the musical box that belonged to our blessed empress,

said an old knight, Oh, yes, these are the same tones, the same execution. Yes, yes, said the emperor. and he wept like a child at the remembrance. "'I will still hope that it is not a real bird,' said the princess. "'Yes, it is a real bird,' said those who had brought it. "'Well, then, let the bird fly,' said the princess, and she positively refused to see the prince.

However he was not to be discouraged. He daubed his face over brown and black, pulled his cap over his ears and knocked at the door. "'Good day to my lord, the emperor,' said he. "'Can I have employment at the palace?' "'Why, yes,' said the emperor. "'I want someone to take care of the pigs,

for we have a great many of them.' So the prince was appointed Imperial Swineherd. He had a dirty little room close by the pigstye, and there he sat the whole day and worked. By the evening he had made a pretty little kitchen-potting. Little bells were hung all round it, and when the pot was boiling, these bells tinkled in the most charming manner and played the old melody. Ah, dear Augustine, all is gone, gone, gone.

But what was still more curious, whoever held his finger in the smoke of the kitchen pot immediately smelt all the dishes that were cooking on every hearth in the city. This, you see, was something quite different from the rose. Now the princess happened to walk that way, and when she heard the tune, she stood quite still, and seemed pleased, for she could play Liber Augustine. It was the only piece she knew, and she played it with one finger. Why, there is my piece! said the princess.

That swineherd must certainly have been well-educated. Go in and ask him the price of the instrument. So one of the court ladies must run in. However, she drew on wooden slippers first. What will you take for the kitchen pot? said the lady. I will have ten kisses from the princess, said the swineherd. Yes, indeed, said the lady.

I cannot sell it for less, rejoined the swine. He is an impudent fellow, said the princess, and she walked on. But when she had gone a little way the bells tinkled so prettily. Ah, dear Augustine, all is gone, gone, gone. Stay, said the princess. Ask him if he will have ten kisses from the ladies of my court. No thank you, said the swineherd. Ten kisses from the princess are I keep the kitchen pot myself."

"'That must not be either,' said the princess. "'But do you all stand before me that no one may see us?' And the court ladies placed themselves in front of her and spread out their dresses. The swineherd got ten kisses, and the princess the kitchen pot. That was delightful. The pot was boiling the whole evening and the whole of the following day. They knew perfectly well what was cooking at every fire throughout the city, from the chamberlains to the cobblers.

The court ladies danced and clapped their hands. We know who has soup, and who has pancakes for dinner today, who has cutlets and who has eggs. How interesting! Yes, but keep my secret, for I am an emperor's daughter. the swineherd that is to say the prince for no one knew that he was other than an ill-favored swineherd let not a day pass without working at something he at last constructed a rattle which when it was swung round played all the waltzes and jig tunes which have ever been heard since the creation of the world ah that is superbay said the princess when she passed by I have never heard prettier compositions.

Go in and ask him the price of the instrument, but mind he shall have no more kisses. He will have a hundred kisses from the princess, said the lady who had been to ask. I think he is not in his right senses, said the princess, and walked on. But when she had gone a little way she stopped again. One must encourage art, said she. I am the emperor.

his daughter. Tell him he shall, as on yesterday, have ten kisses from me, and may take the rest from the ladies of the court. Oh, but we should not like that at all, said they. What are you muttering? asked the princess. If I can kiss him, surely you can. Remember that you owe everything to me. So the ladies were obliged to go to him again. A hundred kisses from the princess, said he, or else let everyone keep his own. Stand round, said she,

and all the ladies stood round her while the kissing was going on. What can be the reason for such a crowd close by the pigsty, said the emperor, who happened just then to step out on the balcony? He rubbed his eyes and put on his spectacles. there are the ladies of the court. I must go down and see what they are about. So he pulled up his slippers at the heel, for he had troddened them down.

As soon as he had got into the courtyard, he moved very softly, and the ladies were so much engrossed with counting the kisses that all might go fairly, that they did not perceive the emperor. He rose on his tiptoes. "'What is all this?' said he. he, when he saw what was going on, and he boxed the princess's ears with his slipper, just as

the swineherd was taking his eighty-sixth kiss. March out, said the emperor, for he was very angry, and both princess and swineherd were thrust out of the city. The princess now stood and wept. The swineherd scolded and the rain poured down. Alas, unhappy creature that I am, said the princess. If I had but married the handsome young prince, ah, how unfortunate I am. And the swineherd went behind a tree, washed the black and brown color from his face,

threw off his dirty clothes, and stepped forth in his princely robes. He looked so noble that the princess could not help bowing before him. I am come to despise thee, said he. Thou wouldst not have an honorable prince. Thou couldst not prize the rose and the nightingale. But thou wast ready to kiss the swineherd for the sake of a trumpery plaything. Thou art rightly served. He then went back to his own little kingdom, shut the door of his palace in her face.

Now she might well sing. Ah, dear Augustine, all is gone, gone, gone. End of The Swineherd. The Real Princess by Hans Christian Andersen. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. The Real Princess There was once a prince who wished to marry a princess, but then she must be a real princess.

He traveled all over the world in hopes of finding such a lady, but there was always something wrong. Princes he found in plenty, but whether they were real princesses it was impossible for him to decide. For now one thing, now another, seemed to him not quite right about the ladies. At last he returned to his palace quite cast down, because he wished so much to have a real princess for his wife. One evening a fearful tempest arose.

It thundered and lightened, and the rain poured down from the sky in torrents. Besides, it was as dark as pitch. All at once there was heard a violent knocking at the door, and the old king, the prince's father, went out himself to open it. It was a princess who was standing outside the door. What with the rain and the wind, she was in a sad condition. The water trickled down from her hair, and her clothes clung to her body. She said she was a real princess.

"'Ah, we shall soon see that,' thought the old queen-mother. However, she said not a word of what she was going to do, but went quietly into the bedroom, took all the bed-clothes off the bed-house, and put three little peas on the bedstead. She then laid twenty mattresses one upon another over the three peas, and put twenty feather beds over the mattresses. Upon this bed the princess was to pass the night. The next morning she was asked how she had slept.

Oh, very badly indeed, she replied. I have scarcely called her. I have scarcely closed my eyes the whole night through. I do not know what was in my bed, but I had something hard under me, and am all over black and blue. It has hurt me so much. Now it was plain that the lady must be a real princess, since she had been able to feel the three little peas through the twenty mattresses and twenty feather beds. None but a real princess could have had such a delicate sense of feeling.

The prince accordingly made her his wife, being now convinced that he had found a real princess. The three peas were, however, put into the cabinet of curiosities, where they are still to be seen, provided they are not lost. Wasn't this a lady of real delicacy? End of The Real Princess The Leapfrog by Hans Christian Anderson This Libravox recording is in the public domain The Leapfrog A flea, a grasshopper, and a leapfrog

Once wanted to see which could jump highest And they invited the whole world And everybody else besides who chose to come to see the festival Three famous jumpers were they, as everybody would say, when they all met together in the room. "'I will give my daughter to him who jumps highest,' exclaimed the king, "'for it is not so amusing where there is no prize to jump for.' The flea was the first to step forward. He had exquisite manners, and bowed to the company on all sides,

for he had noble blood and was, moreover, accustomed to—' to the society of man alone, and that makes a great difference. Then came the grasshopper. He was considerably heavier, but he was well-mannered, and wore a green uniform, which he had by right of birth. He said, moreover, that he belonged to a very ancient Egyptian family, and that in the house where he then was he was thought much of. The fact was he had been just brought out of the fields and put

in a pasteboard box three stories high, all made of court cards, with the colored sides inwards, and doors and windows cut out of the body of the queen of hearts. "'I sing so well,' said he, that sixteen native grasshoppers who have chirped from infancy and yet got no house-built of cards to live in grew thinner than they were before for sheer vexation when they heard me. It was thus that the flea and the grasshopper gave an account of themselves and thought they were quite good enough to marry a princess. The leapfrog said nothing, but people gave it as their opinion

that he therefore thought the more, and when the house-dog snuffed at him with his nose, he confessed the leap-frog was of good family. The old counselor, who had had three orders given him to make him hold his tongue, asserted that the leapfrog was a prophet, for that one could see on his back if there would be a severe or mild winter, and that was what one could not see even on the back of the man who writes the almanac. "'I say nothing, it is true,' exclaimed the king, "'but I have my own opinion, notwithstanding. Now the trial was to take place.

The flea jumped so high that nobody could see where he was. he went to. So they all asserted he had not jumped at all, and that was dishonorable. The grasshopper jumped only half as high, but he leaped into the king's face. Who said that was ill-mannered? The leapfrog stood still for a long time lost in thought. It was believed at last he would not jump at all. "'I only hope he is not unwell,' said the house-dog. when pop, he made a jump, all on one side into the lap of the princess, who was sitting on a little golden stool close by.

Hereupon the king said, there is nothing above my daughter, therefore to bound up to her is the highest jump that can be made. But for this one must possess understanding, and the leap-frog has shown that he has understanding. He is brave and intellectual. And so he won the princess. It's all the same to me, said the flea. She may have the old leap-frog for all I care. I jump the highest, but in this world merit seldom meets its reward. A fine exterior is what people look at nowadays. The flea went into foreign service where it is said he was killed. The grasshopper sat without on a green bank and reflected on worldly things, and he said, too,

Yes, a fine exterior is everything. A fine exterior is what people care about. And then he began chirping his peculiar melancholy song, from which we have taken this history, and which may very possibly be all untrue, although it does stand here printed in black and white. End of The Leapfrog The Elder Bush by Hans Christian Anderson This Libravox recording is in the public domain The Elder Bush

Once upon a time There was a little boy who had taken cold He had gone out and got his feet wet Though nobody could imagine how it had happened For it was quite dry weather So his mother undressed him, put him to bed, and had a teapot brought in to make him a good cup of elder flower tea. Just at that moment the merry old man came in who lived up the top of the house all alone,

for he had neither wife nor children, but he liked children very much, and knew so many fairy tales that it was quite delightful. "'Now drink your tea,' said the boy's mother. then perhaps you may hear a fairy tale. "'If I but had something new to tell,' said the old man, "'but how did the child get his feet wet? "'That is the very thing that nobody can make out,' said his mother. "'Am I to hear a fairy tale?' asked the little boy.

"'Yes, if you can tell me exactly, for I must know that first, how deep the gutter is in the little street opposite that you pass through and going to school. Just up to the middle of my boot, said the child, but then I must go into the deep hole. Aha, that's where the wet feet came from, said the old man. I ought now to tell you a story, but I don't know anymore. You can make one in a moment, said the little boy. My mother says that all you look at can be turned into a fairy tale and that you can find a story in everything.

Yes, but such tales and stories are good for nothing. The right sort come of themselves. They tap at my forehead and say, Here we are. Won't there be a tap soon? asked the little boy. And his mother laughed, put some elder flowers in the teapot, and poured boiling water upon them. Do tell me something.

Pray do. Yes, if a fairy tale would come of its own accord, but they are proud and haughty, and come only when they choose. Stop, said he, all on a sudden. I have it. Pay attention. There is one in the teapot.

And the little boy looked at the teapot. The cover round. rose more and more. And the elder flowers came forth so fresh and white, and shot up long branches. Out of the spout even did they spread themselves on all sides, and grew larger and larger. It was a splendid elder bush, a whole tree, and it reached into the very bed and pushed the curtains aside. How it bloomed! And what an odor! In the middle of the bush sat a friendly-looking old woman in a most strange dress. It was quite green like the leaves of the elder, and was trimmed with large white elder

flowers, so that at first one could not tell whether it was a stuff or a natural green and real flowers. "'What's that woman's name?' asked the little boy. "'The Greeks and Romans,' said the old man, called her a dryad, but that we do not understand. The people who live in the new booths have a much better name for her. They call her Old Granny, and she it is to whom you are to pay attention.

Now listen and look at the beautiful elder bush. Just such another large blooming elder tree stands near the new booths. It grew there in the corner of a little miserable courtyard, and under it sat of an afternoon, in the most splendid sunshine, two old people, an old, old, seaman, and his old, old wife. They had great grandchildren, and were soon to celebrate the 50th anniversary of their marriage. But they could not exactly recall the date, and old granny sat in the tree and looked as pleased as now.

"'I know the date,' said she, but those below did not hear her, for they were talking about old times. Yes, can't you remember when we were very little? said the old seaman, and ran and played about. It was the very same courtyard where we are now, and we stuck slips in the ground and made a garden. I remember it well, said the old woman. I remember it quite well.

We watered the slips and we watered the slips and we. one of them was an elder bush. It took root, put forth green shoots, and grew up to be the large tree under which we old folks are now sitting. "'To be sure,' said he, "'and there in the corner stood a water-pail "'where I used to swim my boats.'

"'True, but first we went to school to learn something,' said she, "'and then we were confirmed. "'We both cried, but in the afternoon we went up to round tower and looked down on Copenhagen, and far, far away over the water, then we went to Fredericksburg, where the king and the queen were sailing about in their splendid barges. But I had a different sort of sailing to that later, and that too for many a year, a long way off on great voyages. Yes, many a time have I wept for your sake, said she.

I thought you were dead and gone, and lying down in the deep waters. Many a night have I got up to see if the wind had not changed, and changed it had, sure enough, but you never came. I remember so well one day when the rain was pouring down in torrents. The scavengers were before the house where I was in service, and I had come up with the dust and remained standing at the door. It was dreadful weather. When, just as I was there, the postman came and gave me a letter.

It was from you. What a tour that letter had made. I opened it instantly and read. I laughed and wept. I was so happy. In it I read that you were in warm lands where the coffee tree grows. What a blessed land that must be. You related some.

much, and I saw it all while the rain was pouring down, and I standing there with the dust-box. At the same moment came someone who embraced me. Yes, but you gave him a good box on his ear that made it tingle. But I did not know it was you. You arrived as soon as your letter, and you were so handsome that you still are, and had a long yellow silk handkerchief round your neck and a brand new hat on. Oh, you were so dashing. Good heavens!

What weather it was, and what a state the street was in. And then we were married, said he. Don't you remember? And then we had our first little boy, and then Mary and Nicholas and Peter and Christian. Yes, and how they all grew up to be honest people. and were beloved by everybody. "'And their children also have children,' said the old sailor.

"'Yes, those are our grandchildren, full of strength and vigor. It was, methinks, about this season that we had our wedding.' "'Yes, this very day is the 50th anniversary of the marriage,' said old granny, sticking her head between the two old people, who thought it was their neighbor who nodded to them. They looked at each other and held one another by the hand. Soon after came their children and their grandchildren, for they knew well enough that it was the day of the 50th anniversary,

and had come with their congratulations that very morning. But the old people had forgotten it, although they were able to remember all that had happened many years ago. And then the elder bush sent forth a strong odor in the sun that was just about to set, and shone right in the old people's faces. They both looked so rosy-cheeked, and the youngest of the grandchildren danced around them, and called out quite delightedly that there was to be something very splendid that evening. They were all to have hot potatoes.

An old nanny nodded in the bush and shouted, Hooray! with the rest. But that is no fairy tale. said the little boy who was listening to the story. "'The thing is, you must understand it,' said the narrator. "'Let us ask Old Nanny. That was no fairy tale tis true,' said Old Nanny. But now it's coming.

The most wonderful fairy tales grow out of that which is reality. Were that not the case, you know, my magnificent elder bush could not have grown out of the teapot. And then she took the little boy out of bed, laid him on her bosom, and the branches of the elder tree full of flowers closed around her. They sat in an aerial dwelling, and it flew with them through the air. Oh, it was wondrous, beautiful. Old nanny had grown all of a sudden a young, pretty maiden, but her robe was still the same

green stuff with white flowers which she had worn before. On her bosom she had a real elder flower, and in her yellow waving hair a wreath of the flowers. Her eyes were so large and blue that it was a pleasure to look at them. She kissed the boy, and now they were of the same age and felt alike. Hand in hand they went out of the bower, and they were standing in the beautiful garden of their home. Near the green lawn Papa's walking stick was tied, and for the little ones it seemed to be endowed with life, for as soon as they got astride it,

the round-polished knob was turned into a magnificent, neighing head. A long black mane fluttered in the breeze, and four slender yet strong legs shot out. The animal was strong and handsome, and away they went at full gallop round the lawn. Hussah! Now we are riding miles off, said the boy. We are riding away to the castle where we were last year.

And on they rode round the grass-plot, and the little maiden, who we know was no one else but old nanny, kept on crying out, Now we are in the country. Don't you see the farmhouse yonder? And there is an elder tree standing beside it, and the cock is scraping away the earth for the hens. Look how he struts.

And now we are close to the church. It lies high upon the hill between the large oak trees, one of which is half decayed. And now we are by the smithy where the fire is blazing, and where the half-naked men are banging with their hammers till the sparks fly about. Away, away, away, to the beautiful country seat. And all that, the little maiden who sat behind on the stick, spoke of and flew by in reality. The boy saw it all, and yet they were only going round the grass-plot.

Then they played in a side avenue, and marked out a little garden on the earth, and they took elder blossoms from their hair, planted them, and they grew just like those the old people planted when they were children as related before. They went hand in hand, as the old people had done when they were children. But not to the round tower, or to Friedrichsburg, no. The little damsel wound her arms around the boy, and then they flew far away through all Denmark. And spring came and summer, and then it was autumn, and then winter,

and a thousand pictures were reflected in the eye and in the heart of the boy, and the little girl always sang to him, This you will never forget. And during their whole flight, the elder-tree smelt so sweet and odorous. He remarked the roses and the fresh beaches, but the elder-tree had a more wondrous fragrance, for its flowers hung on the breast of the little maiden, and there too did he often lay his head during the flight. "'It is lovely here in spring,' said the young maiden,

and they stood in a beech-wood that had just put on its first first place-wood. green, where the wood-roof at their feet sent forth its fragrance, and the pale red anemone looked so pretty among the verdure. Oh, would it were always spring in the sweetly-smelling Danish beach forests? It is lovely here in summer, said she, and she flew past old castles of bygone days of chivalry, where the red walls and the embattled gables were mirrored in the canal, where the swirled swans were swimming and peered up into the old cool avenues. In the fields the corn was waving like the sea.

In the ditches red and yellow flowers were growing, wild-dron flowers and blooming convolvuluses were creeping in the hedges, and towards evening the moon rose round and large, and the haycocks in the meadows smelt so sweetly. This one never forgets. It is lovely here in autumn, said the little maiden, and suddenly the atmosphere grew as blue again as before. The forest grew red and green and yellow-colored.

The dogs came leaping along, and whole flocks of wild-fowl flew over the corn, where blackberry bushes were hanging round the old stones. The sea was dark blue, covered with ships full of white sails, and in the middle of the barn, old women, maidens, and children were sitting picking hops into a large cask. The young sang songs, but the old-told fairy tales of mountain sprites and soothsayers. Nothing could be more charming. "'It is delightful here in winter,' said the little maiden, and all the trees were covered with hoar-frost.

They looked like white corals. The snow crackled underfoot, as if one had to be a little maiden. as if one had new boots on, and one falling star after the other was seen in the sky. The Christmas tree was lighted in the room. Presents were there, and good humor reigned. In the country the violins sounded in the room of the peasant, the newly-baked cakes were attacked, even the poorest child said, It is really delightful here in winter.

Yes, it was delightful. and the little maiden showed the boy everything, and the elder tree still was fragrant, and the red flag with the white cross was still waving, the flag under which the old seaman in the new booths had sailed. And the boy grew up to be a lad, and was to go forth in the wide world far, far away to warm lands where the coffee tree grows. But at his departure, the little maiden took an elder blossom from her bosom and gave it to him to keep. And it was placed between the leaves of his prayer-book.

And when in foreign lands he opened the book, it was always at the place where the keepsake flower lay, and the more he looked at it, the fresher it became. He felt as if it were the fragrance of the Danish groves, and from among the leaves of the flowers he could distinctly see the little maiden peeping forth with her bright blue eyes, and then she whispered,

"'It is delightful here in spring, summer, autumn, and winter.' And a hundred visions collided before his mind. Thus passed many years, and he was now an old man, and sat with his old wife under the blooming tree. They held each other by the hand, as the old grandfather and grandmother yonder in the new booths did, and they talked exactly like them of old times and of the 50th anniversary of their wedding. The little maiden with the blue eyes and the elder blossoms in her hair sat in the tree,

nodded to both of them, and said, Today is the 50th anniversary. And then she took two flowers out of her hair and kissed them. First they shone like silver, then like gold. and when they laid them on the heads of the old people, each flower became a golden crown. So there they both sat, like a king and a queen under the fragrant tree

that looked exactly like an elder. The old man told his wife the story of old nanny, as it had been told him when a boy. And it seemed to both of them it contained much that resembled their own history, and those parts that were like it please them, best. Thus it is, said the little maiden in the tree. Some call me old nanny, others a dryad.

But in reality my name is remembrance. Tis I who sit in the tree that grows and grows. I can remember. I can tell things. Let me see if you have my flower still. And the old man opened his prayer book. There lay the elder blossom. as fresh as if it had been placed there but a short time before.

And remembrance nodded, and the old people, decked with crowns of gold, sat in the flush of the evening sun. They closed their eyes, and—and—yes, that's the end of the story. The little boy lay in his bed. He did not know if he had dreamed or not, or if he had been listening while someone told him the story. The teapot was standing on the table,

but no elder tree was growing out of it and the old man who had been talking was just on the point of going out at the door and he did go how splendid that was said the little boy mother i have been to warm countries so i should think said his mother when one has drunk two good cupfuls of elder flower tea tis likely enough one goes into warm climates and she tucked him up nicely, least he should take hold. You have had a good sleep while I have been sitting here and arguing with him whether it was a story or a fairy tale. And where is old nanny? asked the little boy. In the teapot, said his mother, and there she may remain. End of the Elder Bush.

The Bell by Hans Christian Anderson. This Libre-Vox recording is in the public domain. the bell people said the evening bell is sounding the sun is setting for a strange wondrous tone was heard in the narrow streets of a large town it was like the sound of a church bell but it was only heard for a moment for the rolling of the carriages and the voices of the multitude made too great a noise those people who were walking outside the town where the houses were farther apart with gardens or little fields between them, could see the evening sky still better, and heard the sound of the bell much more distinctly. It was as if the tones came from a church in the still forest. People looked thitherward, and felt their minds attuned most solemnly.

A long time passed, and people said to each other, I wonder if there is a church out in the wood. The bell has a tone that is wondrous sweet. Let us stroll thither and examine the matter nearer. And the rich people drove out, and the poor walked, but the way seemed strangely long to them. And when they came to a clump of willows which grew on the skirts of the forest, they sat down, and looked up at the long branches, and fancied they were now in the depth of the green wood.

The confectioner of the town came out and set up his booth there, and soon after came another confectioner, who, hung a bell over his stand as a sign or ornament, but it had no clapper, and it was tared over to preserve it from the rain. When all the people returned home, they said it had been very romantic, and that it was quite a different sort of thing to a picnic or tea-party. There were three persons who asserted they had penetrated to the end of the forest, and that they had always heard the wonderful sounds of the bell.

it had seemed to them as if it had come from the town. One wrote a whole poem about it, and said the bell sounded like the voice of a mother to a good dear child, and that no melody was sweeter than the tones of the bell. The king of the country was also observant of it, and vowed that he who could discover whence the sounds proceeded should have the title of Universal Bell-ringer, even if it were not really a bell. Many persons now went to the wood, for the sake of getting the place, but one only returned with a sort of explanation, for nobody went far enough, that one not further than the others.

However, he said that the sound proceeded from a very large owl in a hollow tree, a sort of learned owl that continually knocked its head against the branches. but whether the sound came from his head or from the hollow tree that no one could say with certainty. So now he got the place of Universal Bell-ringer and wrote yearly a short treatise on the owl, but everybody was just as wise as before. It was the day of confirmation. The clergyman had spoken so touchingly. The children who were confirmed had been greatly moved.

It was an eventful day for them. from children they became all at once grown-up persons. It was as if their infant souls were now to fly all at once into persons with more understanding. The sun was shining gloriously. The children that had been confirmed went out of the town, and from the wood was born towards them the sounds of the unknown bell with wonderful distinctness. They had all immediately felt a wish to go thither, all except three. One of them had to go home to try on a ball-dress, for it was just the dress and the ball which

had caused her to be confirmed this time, for otherwise she would not have come. The other was a poor boy who had borrowed his coat and boots to be confirmed in from the innkeeper's son, and he was to give them back by a certain hour. The third said that he never went to a strange place if his parents were not with him, that he had always been a good boy hitherto, and would still be so. now that he was confirmed, and that no one ought to laugh at him for it. The others, however, did make fun of him after all. There were three, therefore, that did not go.

The others hastened on. The sun shone, the birds sang, and the children sang too, and each held the other by the hand, for as yet they had none of them any high office, and were all of equal rank in the eye of God. But two of the youngest soon grew tired, and both returned to town. Two little girls sat down and twined garlands, so they did not go on either. And when the others reached the willow tree where the confectioner was, they said, Now we are there.

In reality the bell does not exist. It is only a fancy that people have taken into their heads. At the same moment the bell sounded deep in the wood, so clear and solemnly that five or six determined to penetrate somewhat further. It was so thick, and the foliage so dense, that it was quite fatiguing to proceed. Woodroof and anemones grew almost too high. Blooming convolvilluses and blackberry bushes hung in long garlands from tree to tree, where the nightingale sang and the sunbeams were playing.

It was very beautiful. But it was no place for girls to go. Their clothes would get so torn. Large blocks of stone laid there, overgrown with moss of every color. The fresh spring bubbled forth and made a strange gurgling sound. "'That surely cannot be the bell,' said one of the children, lying down and listening. "'This must be looked to, so he remained and let the others go on without him.' They afterwards came to a little house made of branches and the bark of trees.

A large wild apple tree bent over it as if it would shower down all its blessings on the roof where roses were blooming. The long stems twined round the gable on which there hung a small bell. Was it that which people had heard? Yes, everybody was unanimous on the subject, except one, who said that the bell was too small. and too fine to be heard at so great a distance. And besides, it was very different tones to those that could move a human heart in such manner. It was a king's son who spoke, whereon the other said, such people always want to be wiser

than everybody else. They now let him go on alone, and as he went his breast was filled more and more with the forest solitude. But he still heard the little bell, with which the others were so satisfied. And now and then, when the wind blew, he could also hear the people singing who were sitting at tea where the confectioner had his tent. But the deep sound of the bell rose louder. It was almost as if an organ were accompanying it, and the tones came from the left hand,

the side where the heart is placed. A rustling was heard in the bushes, and a little boy started. before the king's son, a boy in wooden shoes, and was so short a jacket that one could see what long wrists he had. Both knew each other. The boy was that one among the children who could not come because he had to go home and return his jacket and boots to the innkeeper's son. This he had done, and was now going on in wooden shoes and in his humble dress, for the bell

sounded with so deep a tone, and with such strange power, that proceed he must. Why then we can go on together, said the king's son. But the poor child that had been confirmed was quite ashamed. He looked at his wooden shoes, pulled at the short sleeves of his jacket, and said that he was afraid he could not walk so fast. Besides, he thought that the bell must be looked for to the right, for that was the place where all sorts of beautiful things were to be found. But there we shall not meet, said the king's son, nodding at the same time to the poor boy, who went into the darkest, thickest part of the wood, where thorns tore his humble dress

and scratched his face and hands and feet till they bled. The king's son got some scratches too, but the sun shone on his path, and it is him that we will follow, for he was an excellent and resolute youth. I must and will find the bell, said he, even if I am obliged to go to the end of the world. The ugly apes sat upon the trees and grinned. Shall we thrash him? said they. Shall we thrash him?

He is the son of the king. But he went on without being disheartened, deeper and deeper into the wood, where the most wonderful flowers were growing. There stood white lilies with blood-red stamina, sky-blue tulips, which shone as they waved in the winds, and apple trees, the apples of which looked exactly like large soap bubbles. So only think how the trees must have sparkled in the sunshine. Around the nicest green meads, where the deer were playing in the grass, grew magnificent oaks and beaches,

and if the bark of one of the trees was cracked, their grass and long creeping plants grew in the crevices. And there were large, calm lakes thereto, in which white swans were swimming and beat the air with their wings. The king's son often stood still and listened. He thought the bell sounded from the depths of these still lakes, but then he remarked again that the tone proceeded not from there,

but farther off, from out the depths of the forest. The sun now set. The atmospheric glowed like fire. It was still in the woods, so very still, and he fell on his knees, sung his evening him, and said, I cannot find what I seek.

The sun is going down, and night is coming, the dark, dark night. Yet perhaps I may be able once more to see the round red sun before he entirely. disappears. I will climb up yonder rock. And he seized hold of the creeping plants and the roots of trees, climbed up the moist stones where the water-snakes were writhing, and the toads were croaking, and he gained the summit before the sun had quite gone down. How magnificent was the sight from this height! The sea, the great, the glorious sea that dashed its long waves against the coast,

was stretched out before him. And yonder, where sea and sky meet, stood the sun, like a large, shining altar, all melted together in the most glowing colors. And the wood and the sea sang a song of rejoicing, and his heart sang with the rest. All nature was a vast holy church, in which the trees and the buoyant clouds were the pillars,

flowers and grass the velvet carpeting, and heaven itself the large cupola the red colors above faded away as the sun vanished but a million stars were lighted a million lamps shone and the king's sun spread out his arms toward the heaven and wood and sea when at the same moment coming by a path to the right appeared in his wooden shoes and jacket the poor boy who had been confirmed with him he had followed his own path to his own path to the right appeared in his wooden shoes and jacket the poor boy who had been confirmed with him He had followed his own path, and had reached the spot just as soon as the son of the king had done. They ran towards each other and stood together, hand in hand, in the vast Church of Nature and of poetry, while over them sounded the invisible holy bell. Blessed spirits floated around them, and lifted up their voices in a rejoicing hallelujah. End of the bell.

The Old House by Hans Christian Anderson. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. The Old House In the street up there was an old, a very old house. It was almost 300 years old, for that might be known by reading the great beam on which the date of the year was carved. Together with tulips and hop-bines, there were whole verses spelled as in former times.

and over every window was a distorted face cut out in the beam. The one story stood forward a great way over the other, and directly under the eaves was a leaden spout with a dragon's head. The rainwater should have run out of the mouth, but it ran out of the belly for there was a hole in the spout. All the other houses in the street were so new and so neat, with large window panes and smooth walls, One could easily see that they would have nothing to do with the old house.

They certainly thought, How long is that old decayed thing to stand there as a spectacle in the street? And then the projecting windows stands so far out that no one can see from our windows what happens in that direction. The steps are as broad as those of a palace and as high as a church tower. The iron railings look just like the door to an old family vault. And then they have brass tops.

That's so stupid. On the other side of the street were also new and neat houses, and they thought, just as the others did, but at the window opposite the old house, there sat a little boy with fresh rosy cheeks and bright beaming eyes. He certainly liked the old house best,

and that, both in sunshine and moonshine, And when he looked across at the wall where the mortar had fallen out, he could sit and find out there the strangest creatures imaginable, exactly as the street had appeared before, with steps projecting windows and pointed gables. He could see soldiers with halberts and spouts where the water ran like dragons and serpents. That was a house to look at, and there lived an old man, who wore plush breeches, and he had a coat with large brass buttons, and a wig that one could see was a real wig. Every morning there came an old fellow to him who put his rooms in order and went on errands.

Otherwise the old man in the plush breeches was quite alone in the old house. Now and then he came to the window and looked out, and the little boy nodded to him, and the old man nodded again, and so they became acquaintances. And then they were friends, although they had never spoken to each other, but that made no difference. The little boy heard his parents say, "'The old man opposite is very well off, but he is so very, very lonely.' The Sunday following the little boy took something and wrapped it up in a piece of paper, went downstairs and stood in the doorway, and when the man who went on errands came past,

he said to him, I say, Master, will you give this to the old man over the way from me? I have two pewter soldiers, this is one of them, and he shall have it, for I know he is so very, very lonely. And the old Aaron man looked quite pleased, nodded, and took the pewter soldier over to the old house. Afterwards there came a message. It was to ask if the little boy himself had not a wish to come over and pay a visit.

and so he got permission of his parents and then went over to the old house and the brass balls on the iron railings shone much brighter than ever one would have thought they were polished on account of the visit And it was as if the carved-out trumpeters, for there were trumpeters, who stood in tulips carved out on the door, blew with all their might. Their cheeks appeared so much rounder than before. Yes, they blew. Tar-a-to-tra-ta-ta-ra! The little boy comes, tar-ta-ta-ta-tura! And then the door opened. The whole passage was hung with portraits of knights in armor and ladies in silken gowns.

And the armor rattled, and the silken gowns rustled. And then there was a flight of stairs, which went a good way upwards, and a little way downwards. And then one came on a balcony, which was in a very dilapidated state, sure enough, with large holes and long crevices, but grass grew there and leaves out of them altogether, for the whole balcony outside, the yard, and the walls, were overgrown with so much green stuff that it looked like a garden, only a balcony. Here stood old flower-pots with faces and asses' ears,

and the flowers grew just as they liked. One of the pots was quite overrun on all sides with pinks, that is to say, with the green part, shoot stood by shoot, and it said quite distinctly, The air has cherished me, The sun has kissed me, and promised me a little flower on sunday a little flower on sunday and then they entered a chamber where the walls were covered with hogs leather and printed with gold flowers the gildening decays but hogs leather stays said the walls

and there stood easy-chairs with such high backs and so carved out and with arms on both sides sit down sit down said they Ugh, how I creak. Now I shall certainly get the gout, like the old clothes-press. Oh! And then the little boy came into the room where the projecting windows were, and where the old man sat. I thank you for the pewter soldier, my little friend, said the old man, and I thank you because you come over to me.

Thanky, thanky, or cranky, cranky, cranky, sounded from all the furniture. there was so much of it that each article stood in the other's way to get a look at the little boy. In the middle of the wall hung a picture representing a beautiful lady, so young, so glad, but dressed quite as in former times, with clothes that stood quite stiff, and with powder in her hair. She neither said thanky, thanky, nor cranky, craaky, quakey, but looked with her mild eyes at the little boy, who directly asked her, the old man.

Where did you get her? "'Yonder at the brokers,' said the old man, where there are so many pictures hanging. No one knows or cares about them, for they are all of them buried. But I knew her in bygone days, and now she has been dead and gone these fifty years.' Under the picture, in a glazed frame,

there hung a bouquet of withered flowers. They were almost fifty years old. They looked so very old. The pendulum of the great clock went to and fro, and the hands turned, and everything in the room became still older, but they did not observe it. "'They say at home,' said the little boy, "'that you are so very, very lonely.' "'Oh,' said he,

"'the old thoughts with what they may bring with them, come and visit me, and now you also come. I am very well off. Then he took a book with pictures in it down from the shelf. There were whole long processions and pageants with the strangest characters, which one never sees nowadays. Soldiers like the nave of clubs,

and citizens with waving flags. The tailors had theirs, with a pair of shears held by two lines, and the shoemakers theirs, without boots, but with an eagle that had two heads, for the shoemakers must have everything so that they can say it is a pair. Yes, that was a picture-book. The old man now went into the other room to fetch preserves, apples, and nuts. Yes, it was delightful over there in the old house. I cannot bear it any longer, said the pewter soldier,

who sat on the drawers. It is so lonely and melancholy. here. But when one has been in a family circle, one cannot accustom oneself to this life. I cannot bear it any longer. The whole day is so long, and the evenings are still longer. Here it is not at all as it is over the way at your house, where your father and mother spoke so pleasantly, and where you and all your sweet children made such delightful noise. Nay, how long. lonely the old man is. Do you think that he gets kisses? Do you think he gets mild eyes, or a Christmas tree? He will get nothing but a grave. I can bear it no longer.

You must not let it grieve you so much, said the little boy. I find it so very delightful here, and then all the old thoughts with what they may bring with them they come and visit here. Yes, it's all very well, but I see nothing of them and I don't know them," said the pewter soldier. I cannot bear it. But you must, said the little boy. Then in came the old man with the most pleased and happy face, the most delicious preserves,

apples and nuts, and so the little boy thought no more about the pewter soldier. The little boy returned home happy and pleased, and weeks and days passed away, and nods were made to the old house and from the old house, and then the little boy went over there again. The carved trumpeters blew, tar-ta-t-da-da-ta-ta-da. There was the little boy, tar-da-ta-ta-ta. And the swords and armor on the night's portraits rattled, and the silk gowns rustled. The hogs leather spoke, and the old chairs had the gullible. in their legs and rheumatism in their backs.

Oh! It was exactly like the first time, for over there one day and hour was just like another. I cannot bear it, said the pewter soldier. I have shed pewter tears. It is too melancholy. Rather let me go to the wars

and lose arms and legs. It would at least be a change. I cannot bear it longer. Now I know what it is to have a visit from one's old thoughts, with what they may bring with them. I have had a visit from mine, and you may be sure it is no pleasant thing in the end. I was at last about to jump down from the drawers. I saw you all over there at home so distinctly, as if you really were here.

It was again that Sunday morning. All you children stood before the table and sung your psalms as you do every morning. You stood devoutly with folded hands, and father and mother were just as pious, and when the door was opened, and little sister Mary, who was not two years old yet, and who always dances when she hears music or singing of whatever kind it may be, was put into the room, though she ought not to have been there, and then she began to dance, but could not keep time because the tones were so long, and then she stood first on one leg and bent her head forwards,

and then on the other leg and bent her head forwards, but all would not do. You stood very seriously altogether, although it was difficult enough, but I laughed to myself, and then I fell off the table and got a bump, which I still have, for it was not right of me to laugh. but the whole now passes before me again in thought, and everything that I have lived to see,

and these are the old thoughts with what they may bring with them. Tell me if you still sing on Sundays, tell me something about little Mary, and how my comrade the other pewter soldier lives. Yes, he is happy enough, that sure. I cannot bear it any longer. You are given away as a present, said the little boy.

you must remain. Can you not understand that?' The old man now came with a drawer in which there was much to be seen, both tin boxes and balsam boxes, old cards so large and so gilded, such as one never sees them now. And several drawers were opened, and the piano was opened. It had landscapes on the inside of the lid, and it was so hoarse when the old man played on it, and then he hummed a song. Yes, she could sing that, said he, and nodded to the portrait, which he had bought at the

brokers, and the old man's eyes shone so bright. I will go to the wars, I will go to the wars, shouted the pewter soldier as loud as he could, and threw himself off the drawers right down on the floor. What became of him? The old man sought, and the little boy sought. He was away, and he stayed away. I shall find him, said the old man, but he never found him. The floor was too open.

The pewter soldier had fallen through a crevice, and there he lay as in an open tomb. That day passed, and the little boy went home, and that week passed, and several weeks too. The windows were quite frozen. The little boy was obliged to sit and breathe on them to get a peephole over to the old house, and there the snow had been blown into all the carved work and inscriptions.

It lay quite up over the steps, just as if there was no one at home, nor was there anyone at home. The old man was dead. In the evening there was a hearse seen before the door, and he was born into it in his coffin. He was now to go out into the country, to lie in his grave. He was driven out there, but no one followed. All his friends were dead, and the little boy kissed his hand to the coffin as it was driven away. Some days afterwards there was an auction at the old house,

and the little boy saw from his window how they carried the old. old knights and the old ladies away, the flower-pots with the long ears, the old chairs, and the old clothes presses. Something came here and something came there. The portrait of her who had been found at the brokers came to the brokers again, and there it hung, for no one knew her more. No one cared about the old picture. In the spring they pulled the house down, for, as people said, it was a ruin. One could see from the street right into the room with the hog's leather hanging,

which was slashed and torn, and the green grass and leaves about the balcony hung quite wild about the falling beams, and then it was put to rights. That was a relief, said the neighboring houses. A fine house was built there with large windows and smooth white walls, But before it, where the old house had in fact stood, was a little garden laid out, and a wild grapevine ran up the wall of the neighboring house.

Before the garden there was a large iron railing with an iron door. It looked quite splendid, and people stood still and peeped in, and the sparrows hung by scores in the vine and chattered away at each other as well as they could. but it was not about the old house, for they could not remember it, so many years had passed. So many that the little boy had grown up to a whole man, yes, a clever man, and a pleasure to his parents. And he had just been married, and together with his little wife had come to live in the house here, where the garden was, and he stood by her there whilst she planted a field-flower that she found so pretty. She planted it with her little hand, and pressed the earth around it with her fingers. Oh, what was that?

She had stuck herself. There sat something pointed straight out of the soft mold. It was—yes, yes, yes. It was the pewter soldier, he that was lost up at the old man's, and had tumbled and turned about amidst the timber and the rubbish, and had at last laid for years in the ground. The young wife wiped the dirt off the soldier, first with a green leaf and then with her fine handkerchief.

It was such a delightful smell that it was to the pewter soldier just as if he had awakened from a trance. Let me see him, said the young man. He laughed and then shook his head. Nay, it cannot be he. But he reminds me of a story about a pewter soldier which I had when I was a little boy. And then he told his wife about the old house and the old man,

and about the pewter soldier that he sent over to him because he was so very, very lonely, and he told it as correctly as it had really been, so that the tears came into the eyes of his young wife on account of the old house and the old man. It may possibly be, however, that it is the same thing, same pewter soldier, said she. I will take care of it, and remember all that you have told me, but you must show me the old

man's grave. But I do not know it, said he, and no one knows it. All his friends were dead. No one took care of it, and then I was a little boy. How very, very lonely he must have been, said she. Very, very lonely, said the pewter soldier. but it is delightful not to be forgotten. Delightful, shouted something close by.

But no one except the pewter soldier saw that it was a piece of the hog's leather hangings. It had lost all its gilding. It looked like a piece of wet clay, but it had an opinion, and it gave it. The gilding decays, but hog's leather stays. This the putre soldier did not believe. End of The Old House.

End of The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Anderson.