You know the story of Holger Danske, so we won’t repeat it, but will ask you if you remember how “Holger Danske conquered the great land of India, eastward at the end of the world, to the tree called ‘the Tree of the Sun,’ ” as Christen Pedersen says. Do you know Christen Pedersen? It makes no difference if you don’t.
Continue reading →H. C. Andersen
The races
A prize, or rather two prizes, a great one and a small one, had been awarded for the greatest swiftness in running,– not in a single race, but for the whole year.
Continue reading →The marsh king’s daughter
The storks relate to their little ones a great many stories, and they are all about moors and reed banks, and suited to their age and capacity. The youngest of them are quite satisfied with “kribble, krabble,” or such nonsense, and think it very grand; but the elder ones want something with a deeper meaning, or at least something about their own family.
Continue reading →The A-B-C book
Once there was a man who had written some new rhymes for the A-B-C Book – two lines for each letter, just as in the old A-B-C Book. He believed the old rhymes were too antiquated, that something new was needed, and he thought well indeed of his own rhymes.
Continue reading →The bishop of Börglum and his men
We are up in Jutland, near the wild marsh. We can hear the North Sea, hear it tossing about, for it is quite close by. Before us there rises a great sand dune; we have been looking at it for a long while, and we’ve been, and still are, driving toward it, very slowly, through the deep sand. On the top of this sand dune is an old, rambling building, the Börglum Monastery, the largest wing of which is the church. We arrive there in the late evening, but the air is clear and the night is bright, so we can enjoy an expansive view over meadow and moor as far as the Aalborg Fiord, over field and heath, out over the dark-blue sea.
Continue reading →Twelve by the mail
It was very frosty, starry clear weather, quiet and calm.
Continue reading →The beetle
The Emperor’s horse was shod with gold – a golden shoe on each of its feet.
Continue reading →The teapot
There was a proud Teapot, proud of being made of porcelain, proud of its long spout and its broad handle. It had something in front of it and behind it; the spout was in front, and the handle behind, and that was what it talked about. But it didn’t mention its lid, for it was cracked and it was riveted and full of defects, and we don’t talk about our defects – other people do that. The cups, the cream pitcher, the sugar bowl – in fact, the whole tea service – thought much more about the defects in the lid and talked more about it than about the sound handle and the distinguished spout. The Teapot knew this.
Continue reading →The snowdrop
It was winter-time; the air was cold, the wind was sharp, but within the closed doors it was warm and comfortable, and within the closed door lay the flower; it lay in the bulb under the snow-covered earth.
Continue reading →The silent book
On the highroad in the forest there stood a lonely farmhouse; the road passed right through its courtyard.
Continue reading →