Ганс Андерсен - Fairy Tales

“Yes I have,” she said.

And the chimney sweep looked steadily at her, and then he said, “My way goes through the chimney. Do you really have the courage to crawl with me through the stove and through the flue and pipes? We’ll come into the chimney, and I know my way around there! We’ll climb so high that they won’t be able to reach us, and at the very top there’s a hole out to the wide world.”

And he led her over to the door of the wood-burning stove.

“It looks awfully dark in there,” she said, but she went with him, both through the flue and the pipes, where it was pitch black night.

“Now we’re in the chimney,” he said “And look! Look up there—the most beautiful star is shining!”

“Do you really have the courage to go out into the wide world with me?” asked the chimney sweep.

And it was a real star in the sky that shone right down to them, as if it wanted to show them the way. And they crawled and they crept—such a dreadful distance. Up, high up. But he hoisted and helped her and made it easier. He held her and showed her the best places to set her little porcelain feet, and they reached the top of the chimney and sat down on the edge because they were very tired and no wonder.

The sky with all its stars was above them and all the town roofs below. They looked all around, way out into the world. The poor shepherdess had not thought it would be like this. She put her little head on her chimney sweep’s shoulder and cried and cried until the gold washed off her belt.

“It’s just too much!” she said. “I can’t stand it! The world is much too big! I wish I were back on the little table under the mirror. I’ll never be happy until I’m back there again. Now I’ve followed you out into the wide world—you can certainly follow me home again, if you care about me at all!”

And the chimney sweep spoke reasonably to her, talked about old Chinamen and about the GeneralBillyGoatlegs-OverandUnderWarSergeantCommander, but she sobbed so terribly and kissed her little chimney sweep so he couldn’t do other than yield to her, even though he thought it was a mistake.

So then they crawled with great difficulty back down the chimney, and they crept through the damper and the pipe. It wasn’t at all pleasant. And then they were standing in the dark stove. They stood listening behind the door to hear what was happening in the living room. It was completely quiet. They peeked out—Oh! There in the middle of the floor lay the old Chinaman. He had fallen off the table when he had tried to chase them. He was broken into three pieces. His whole back had fallen off in one clump, while his head had rolled into a comer. GeneralBillyGoatlegs-OverandUnderWarSergeantCommander was standing where he always did, thinking things over.

“This is terrible!” said the little shepherdess. “Old grandfather is broken to pieces, and it’s our fault! I’ll never survive this!” and she wrung her tiny little hands.

“He can be mended,” said the chimney sweep. “He can certainly be mended. Don’t get so excited! After they glue his back and give him a good rivet in his neck, he’ll be as good as new and as unpleasant to us as ever.”

“Do you think so?” she said, and then they crept up on the table again where they had stood before.

“So that’s as far as we got,” said the chimney sweep. “We could have saved ourselves all that trouble!”

“If only old grandfather were mended!” said the shepherdess. “Will it be very expensive?”

And he was mended. The family had his back glued, and he got a good rivet in his neck. He was as good as new, but he couldn’t nod any longer.

“You have gotten stuck-up since you were smashed,” said GeneralBillyGoatlegs-OverandUnderWarSergeantCommander. “But I don’t think that is anything to be so proud of. Shall I have her or not?”

And the chimney sweep and the little shepherdess looked so pleadingly at the old Chinaman. They were so afraid he was going to nod, but he couldn’t, and it was unpleasant for him to tell a stranger that he always had a rivet in his neck. So the porcelain couple remained together. They blessed grandfather’s rivet and loved each other until they broke apart.

THE DARNING NEEDLE

ONCE UPON A TIME there was a darning needle that was so refined and stuck-up that she was under the illusion that she was a sewing needle.

“Just tend to what you are doing,” said the darning needle to the fingers who picked it up. “Don’t drop me! If I fall on the floor, I won’t be found again because I’m so fine.”

“Only moderately so,” said the fingers and squeezed her around the waist.

“Do you see that I’m coming with my retinue?” said the darning needle, and she pulled a long thread behind her, but there wasn’t a knot in it.

The fingers pointed the needle straight towards the cook’s slipper, where the leather upper had split and was now going to be sewed together again.

“This is lowly work!” said the darning needle. “I’ll never make it through. I’ll break! I’ll break!” And then she broke. “I told you so!” said the darning needle. “I’m too fine.”

Now she’s not good for anything, the fingers thought, but they held on to her, and the cook dripped sealing wax on her and stuck her in the front of her scarf.

“See, now I’m a brooch!” said the darning needle. “I guess I knew that I would come into my own. When you are something, you always become something.” And she laughed inwardly, because you can never tell from the outside that a darning needle is laughing. There she sat so proudly now as if she were riding in a coach and looking about in all directions.

“May I take the liberty of asking if you are made of gold?” she asked the pin who was stuck nearby. “You have a lovely appearance and your own head, even if it’s a pinhead. You must try to grow it out a bit, since not everyone can be waxed on the end.” And then the darning needle rose up so proudly in the air that she fell out of the scarf and into the wash, just as the cook was rinsing it out.

“Now we’re traveling!” said the darning needle. “Just so I don’t get lost,” but that’s what she did.

“I’m too fine for this world,” she said as she sat in the gutter. “But I’m still good and sharp, and I can take pleasure in that.” And the darning needle stayed straight as a pin and didn’t lose her good humor.

All kind of things went sailing over her: sticks, straw, and pieces of newspaper. “Look how they’re sailing!” said the darning needle. “They don’t know what’s stuck down here under them! I am sticking and I stick! See, there goes a twig. It doesn’t think about anything in the world except ‘twig’ and that’s what it is. There goes a straw floating by. Look how it’s swaying and promenading. Don’t think so much about yourself—you could bruise yourself on the cobblestones! There goes a newspaper! Everything written in it is forgotten and yet it spreads itself literally. I sit patiently and quietly. I know what I am and will continue to be.”

One day something shone so beautifully close by the darning needle, and she thought it was a diamond. Actually it was a glass shard from a broken bottle, and when the darning needle saw it shining she spoke to it and introduced herself as a brooch. “I presume you are a diamond?” “Well yes, I am something of the sort.” And they both believed that the other was very precious, and so they talked about how stuck up the world was.

“Well, I used to live in a box belonging to a young lady,” said the darning needle, “and that young lady was a cook. She had five fingers on each hand, but anything more conceited than those fingers I have never known in my life. And yet they only existed to hold me, take me out of the box, and put me back again!”