Hans Christian - The Complete Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen - 120+ Wonderful Stories for Children

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Musaicum Books presents to you this carefully created volume of «The Complete Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen – 120+ Wonderful Stories for Children in One Edition». This ebook has been designed and formatted to the highest digital standards and adjusted for readability on all devices.
Hans Christian Andersen (1805–1875) was a Danish writer, best remembered for his fairy tales.
Table of Contents:
BY THE ALMSHOUSE WINDOW
THE ANGEL
ANNE LISBETH
BEAUTY OF FORM AND BEAUTY OF MIND
THE BEETLE WHO WENT ON HIS TRAVELS
THE BELL-DEEP
THE BIRD OF POPULAR SONG
THE BISHOP OF BORGLUM AND HIS WARRIORS
THE BOTTLE NECK
THE BUCKWHEAT
THE BUTTERFLY
A CHEERFUL TEMPER
THE CHILD IN THE GRAVE
CHILDREN'S PRATTLE
THE FARM-YARD COCK AND THE WEATHER-COCK
THE DAISY
THE DARNING-NEEDLE
DELAYING IS NOT FORGETTING
THE DROP OF WATER
JACK THE DULLARD AN OLD STORY TOLD ANEW
THE DUMB BOOK
THE ELF OF THE ROSE
THE GIRL WHO TROD ON THE LOAF
THE GOBLIN AND THE HUCKSTER
THE GOLDEN TREASURE
GRANDMOTHER
A GREAT GRIEF
THE HAPPY FAMILY
A LEAF FROM HEAVEN
IB AND LITTLE CHRISTINA
THE ICE MAIDEN I. LITTLE RUDY
THE JEWISH MAIDEN
THE LAST DREAM OF THE OLD OAK
THE LAST PEARL
LITTLE CLAUS AND BIG CLAUS
THE LITTLE ELDER-TREE MOTHER
LITTLE IDA'S FLOWERS
THE LITTLE MATCH-SELLER
THE LITTLE MERMAID
LITTLE TINY OR THUMBELINA
THE LOVELIEST ROSE IN THE WORLD
THE MAIL-COACH PASSENGERS
THE MARSH KING'S DAUGHTER
THE METAL PIG
THE MONEY-BOX
WHAT THE MOON SAW INTRODUCTION
THE NEIGHBOURING FAMILIES
THE NIGHTINGALE
THERE IS NO DOUBT ABOUT IT
THE OLD BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP
THE OLD GRAVE-STONE
THE OLD HOUSE
WHAT THE OLD MAN DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT
THE OLD STREET LAMP
OLE-LUK-OIE, THE DREAM-GOD
OLE THE TOWER-KEEPER
OUR AUNT
THE GARDEN OF PARADISE
THE PEA BLOSSOM
THE PEN AND THE INKSTAND
THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE
THE PHOENIX BIRD
THE PORTUGUESE DUCK
THE PORTER'S SON
POULTRY MEG'S FAMILY
THE PRINCESS AND THE PEA
THE PUPPET-SHOW MAN
THE RED SHOES…

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The same evening, upon going to bed, the pastor noticed his wife sitting there quiet and pensive.

“What is the matter with you?” he asked her.

“Well, the matter with me is,” she said, “that I cannot collect my thoughts, and am unable to grasp the meaning of what you said to-day in church—that there are so many wicked people, and that they should burn eternally. Alas! eternally—how long! I am only a woman and a sinner before God, but I should not have the heart to let even the worst sinner burn for ever, and how could our Lord to do so, who is so infinitely good, and who knows how the wickedness comes from without and within? No, I am unable to imagine that, although you say so.”

It was autumn; the trees dropped their leaves, the earnest and severe pastor sat at the bedside of a dying person. A pious, faithful soul closed her eyes for ever; she was the pastor’s wife.

…“If any one shall find rest in the grave and mercy before our Lord you shall certainly do so,” said the pastor. He folded her hands and read a psalm over the dead woman.

She was buried; two large tears rolled over the cheeks of the earnest man, and in the parsonage it was empty and still, for its sun had set for ever. She had gone home.

It was night. A cold wind swept over the pastor’s head; he opened his eyes, and it seemed to him as if the moon was shining into his room. It was not so, however; there was a being standing before his bed, and looking like the ghost of his deceased wife. She fixed her eyes upon him with such a kind and sad expression, just as if she wished to say something to him. The pastor raised himself in bed and stretched his arms towards her, saying, “Not even you can find eternal rest! You suffer, you best and most pious woman?”

The dead woman nodded her head as if to say “Yes,” and put her hand on her breast.

“And can I not obtain rest in the grave for you?”

“Yes,” was the answer.

“And how?”

“Give me one hair—only one single hair—from the head of the sinner for whom the fire shall never be extinguished, of the sinner whom God will condemn to eternal punishment in hell.”

“Yes, one ought to be able to redeem you so easily, you pure, pious woman,” he said.

“Follow me,” said the dead woman. “It is thus granted to us. By my side you will be able to fly wherever your thoughts wish to go. Invisible to men, we shall penetrate into their most secret chambers; but with sure hand you must find out him who is destined to eternal torture, and before the cock crows he must be found!” As quickly as if carried by the winged thoughts they were in the great city, and from the walls the names of the deadly sins shone in flaming letters: pride, avarice, drunkenness, wantonness—in short, the whole seven-coloured bow of sin.

“Yes, therein, as I believed, as I knew it,” said the pastor, “are living those who are abandoned to the eternal fire.” And they were standing before the magnificently illuminated gate; the broad steps were adorned with carpets and flowers, and dance music was sounding through the festive halls. A footman dressed in silk and velvet stood with a large silver-mounted rod near the entrance.

“Our ball can compare favourably with the king’s,” he said, and turned with contempt towards the gazing crowd in the street. What he thought was sufficiently expressed in his features and movements: “Miserable beggars, who are looking in, you are nothing in comparison to me.”

“Pride,” said the dead woman; “do you see him?”

“The footman?” asked the pastor. “He is but a poor fool, and not doomed to be tortured eternally by fire!”

“Only a fool!” It sounded through the whole house of pride: they were all fools there.

Then they flew within the four naked walls of the miser. Lean as a skeleton, trembling with cold, and hunger, the old man was clinging with all his thoughts to his money. They saw him jump up feverishly from his miserable couch and take a loose stone out of the wall; there lay gold coins in an old stocking. They saw him anxiously feeling over an old ragged coat in which pieces of gold were sewn, and his clammy fingers trembled.

“He is ill! That is madness—a joyless madness—besieged by fear and dreadful dreams!”

They quickly went away and came before the beds of the criminals; these unfortunate people slept side by side, in long rows. Like a ferocious animal, one of them rose out of his sleep and uttered a horrible cry, and gave his comrade a violent dig in the ribs with his pointed elbow, and this one turned round in his sleep: “Be quiet, monster—sleep! This happens every night!”

“Every night!” repeated the other. “Yes, every night he comes and tortures me! In my violence I have done this and that. I was born with an evil mind, which has brought me hither for the second time; but if I have done wrong I suffer punishment for it. One thing, however, I have not yet confessed. When I came out a little while ago, and passed by the yard of my former master, evil thoughts rose within me when I remembered this and that. I struck a match a little bit on the wall; probably it came a little too close to the thatched roof. All burnt down—a great heat rose, such as sometimes overcomes me. I myself helped to rescue cattle and things, nothing alive burnt, except a flight of pigeons, which flew into the fire, and the yard dog, of which I had not thought; one could hear him howl out of the fire, and this howling I still hear when I wish to sleep; and when I have fallen asleep, the great rough dog comes and places himself upon me, and howls, presses, and tortures me. Now listen to what I tell you! You can snore; you are snoring the whole night, and I hardly a quarter of an hour!” And the blood rose to the head of the excited criminal; he threw himself upon his comrade, and beat him with his clenched fist in the face.

“Wicked Matz has become mad again!” they said amongst themselves. The other criminals seized him, wrestled with him, and bent him double, so that his head rested between his knees, and they tied him, so that the blood almost came out of his eyes and out of all his pores.

“You are killing the unfortunate man,” said the pastor, and as he stretched out his hand to protect him who already suffered too much, the scene changed. They flew through rich halls and wretched hovels; wantonness and envy, all the deadly sins, passed before them. An angel of justice read their crimes and their defence; the latter was not a brilliant one, but it was read before God, Who reads the heart, Who knows everything, the wickedness that comes from within and from without, Who is mercy and love personified. The pastor’s hand trembled; he dared not stretch it out, he did not venture to pull a hair out of the sinner’s head. And tears gushed from his eyes like a stream of mercy and love, the cooling waters of which extinguished the eternal fire of hell.

Just then the cock crowed.

“Father of all mercy, grant Thou to her the peace that I was unable to procure for her!”

“I have it now!” said the dead woman. “It was your hard words, your despair of mankind, your gloomy belief in God and His creation, which drove me to you. Learn to know mankind! Even in the wicked one lives a part of God—and this extinguishes and conquers the flame of hell!”

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