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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Kaela’s beauty had a firm hold on Alfred; it filled his soul, and held a mastery over him. Beauty beamed from Kaela’s every feature, glittered in her eyes, lurked in the corners of her mouth, and pervaded every movement of her agile fingers. Alfred, the sculptor, saw this. He spoke only to her, thought only of her, and the two became one; and so it may be said she spoke much, for he was always talking to her; and he and she were one. Such was the betrothal, and then came the wedding, with bride’s-maids and wedding presents, all duly mentioned in the wedding speech. Mamma-in-law had set up Thorwalsden’s bust at the end of the table, attired in a dressing-gown; it was her fancy that he should be a guest. Songs were sung, and cheers given; for it was a gay wedding, and they were a handsome pair. “Pygmalion loved his Galatea,” said one of the songs.

“Ah, that is some of your mythologies,” said mamma-in-law.

Next day the youthful pair started for Copenhagen, where they were to live; mamma-in-law accompanied them, to attend to the “coarse work,” as she always called the domestic arrangements. Kaela looked like a doll in a doll’s house, for everything was bright and new, and so fine. There they sat, all three; and as for Alfred, a proverb may describe his position—he looked like a swan amongst the geese. The magic of form had enchanted him; he had looked at the casket without caring to inquire what it contained, and that omission often brings the greatest unhappiness into married life. The casket may be injured, the gilding may fall off, and then the purchaser regrets his bargain.

In a large party it is very disagreeable to find a button giving way, with no studs at hand to fall back upon; but it is worse still in a large company to be conscious that your wife and mother-in-law are talking nonsense, and that you cannot depend upon yourself to produce a little ready wit to carry off the stupidity of the whole affair.

The young married pair often sat together hand in hand; he would talk, but she could only now and then let fall a word in the same melodious voice, the same bell-like tones. It was a mental relief when Sophy, one of her friends, came to pay them a visit. Sophy was not, pretty. She was, however, quite free from any physical deformity, although Kaela used to say she was a little crooked; but no eye, save an intimate acquaintance, would have noticed it. She was a very sensible girl, yet it never occurred to her that she might be a dangerous person in such a house. Her appearance created a new atmosphere in the doll’s house, and air was really required, they all owned that. They felt the want of a change of air, and consequently the young couple and their mother travelled to Italy.

“Thank heaven we are at home again within our own four walls,” said mamma-in-law and daughter both, on their return after a year’s absence.

“There is no real pleasure in travelling,” said mamma; “to tell the truth, it’s very wearisome; I beg pardon for saying so. I was soon very tired of it, although I had my children with me; and, besides, it’s very expensive work travelling, very expensive. And all those galleries one is expected to see, and the quantity of things you are obliged to run after! It must be done, for very shame; you are sure to be asked when you come back if you have seen everything, and will most likely be told that you’ve omitted to see what was best worth seeing of all. I got tired at last of those endless Madonnas; I began to think I was turning into a Madonna myself.”

“And then the living, mamma,” said Kaela.

“Yes, indeed,” she replied, “no such a thing as a respectable meat soup—their cookery is miserable stuff.”

The journey had also tired Kaela; but she was always fatigued, that was the worst of it. So they sent for Sophy, and she was taken into the house to reside with them, and her presence there was a great advantage. Mamma-in-law acknowledged that Sophy was not only a clever housewife, but well-informed and accomplished, though that could hardly be expected in a person of her limited means. She was also a generous-hearted, faithful girl; she showed that thoroughly while Kaela lay sick, fading away. When the casket is everything, the casket should be strong, or else all is over. And all was over with the casket, for Kaela died.

“She was beautiful,” said her mother; “she was quite different from the beauties they call ‘antiques,’ for they are so damaged. A beauty ought to be perfect, and Kaela was a perfect beauty.”

Alfred wept, and mamma wept, and they both wore mourning. The black dress suited mamma very well, and she wore mourning the longest. She had also to experience another grief in seeing Alfred marry again, marry Sophy, who was nothing at all to look at. “He’s gone to the very extreme,” said mamma-in-law; “he has gone from the most beautiful to the ugliest, and he has forgotten his first wife. Men have no constancy. My husband was a very different man,—but then he died before me.”

“‘Pygmalion loved his Galatea,’ was in the song they sung at my first wedding,” said Alfred; “I once fell in love with a beautiful statue, which awoke to life in my arms; but the kindred soul, which is a gift from heaven, the angel who can feel and sympathize with and elevate us, I have not found and won till now. You came, Sophy, not in the glory of outward beauty, though you are even fairer than is necessary. The chief thing still remains. You came to teach the sculptor that his work is but dust and clay only, an outward form made of a material that decays, and that what we should seek to obtain is the ethereal essence of mind and spirit. Poor Kaela! our life was but as a meeting by the way-side; in yonder world, where we shall know each other from a union of mind, we shall be but mere acquaintances.”

“That was not a loving speech,” said Sophy, “nor spoken like a Christian. In a future state, where there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage, but where, as you say, souls are attracted to each other by sympathy; there everything beautiful develops itself, and is raised to a higher state of existence: her soul will acquire such completeness that it may harmonize with yours, even more than mine, and you will then once more utter your first rapturous exclamation of your love, ‘Beautiful, most beautiful!’”

THE BEETLE WHO WENT ON HIS TRAVELS

Table of Contents

There was once an Emperor who had a horse shod with gold. He had a golden shoe on each foot, and why was this? He was a beautiful creature, with slender legs, bright, intelligent eyes, and a mane that hung down over his neck like a veil. He had carried his master through fire and smoke in the battle-field, with the bullets whistling round him; he had kicked and bitten, and taken part in the fight, when the enemy advanced; and, with his master on his back, he had dashed over the fallen foe, and saved the golden crown and the Emperor’s life, which was of more value than the brightest gold. This is the reason of the Emperor’s horse wearing golden shoes.

A beetle came creeping forth from the stable, where the farrier had been shoeing the horse. “Great ones, first, of course,” said he, “and then the little ones; but size is not always a proof of greatness.” He stretched out his thin leg as he spoke.

“And pray what do you want?” asked the farrier.

“Golden shoes,” replied the beetle.

“Why, you must be out of your senses,” cried the farrier. “Golden shoes for you, indeed!”

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