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_The Flying Trunk_ was written by Hans Christian
Andersen (1805-1875), and was translated from the Danish by
M. R. James (1862-1936) as part of his _Hans Andersen Forty-Two
Stories_ (1930).

Title: Hans Andersen Forty-Two Stories -- The Flying Trunk
Author: Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875)
Translator: M. R. James (1862-1936)
Date of first publication: 1930
Place and date of edition used as base for this ebook:
   London: Faber and Faber, 1953
Date first posted: 22 November 2008
Date last updated: 22 November 2008
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #202

This ebook was produced by: David T. Jones, Mark Akrigg
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net




The Flying Trunk

by

Hans Christian Andersen

(from _Hans Andersen Forty-Two Stories_ [1930],
translated by M. R. James)


There was once upon a time a merchant so rich that he could have paved
the whole street, and almost all of a little alley besides, with
silver money. But he didn't do that, for he knew of another use for
his money: if he paid a penny out, he got a dollar back: that's the
sort of merchant he was, and then he died.

His son got all this money, and he lived a merry life: he went to the
fancy ball every night, he made paper kites out of banknotes, and
played ducks and drakes in the lake with sovereigns instead of stones.
That was the way to make the money go, and go it did. At last he had
nothing left but fourpence, and no clothes but a pair of slippers and
an old dressing-gown. His friends didn't care about him any more, for
they couldn't walk about the streets with him; but one of them, who
was good-natured, sent him an old trunk and said, "Pack up". Well,
that was all very well, but he hadn't got anything to pack up; so he
got into the trunk himself.

It was a funny trunk, that. The moment you pressed on the lock of it,
it could fly. And so it did: whizz! It flew up with him through the
chimney, and high up above the clouds, far and far away. The bottom of
it gave a crack every now and then, and he was very much afraid it
would go to pieces, for then he would have made a pretty jump,
preserve us all! And at last he got to Turkey. He hid the trunk in a
wood under dead leaves and went into the town, which he could
perfectly well do, for all the Turks went about in dressing-gowns and
slippers like him. He met a nurse with a baby. "Look here, you Turkey
nurse," said he, "what's that great big palace close by the town with
the windows set so high up?"

"That's the King's daughter's," she said. "It's been foretold of her
that she will be unlucky in a lover, and therefore nobody is allowed
to visit her without the King and Queen are there." "Thanks," said
the merchant's son: and he went into the wood, got into his trunk, and
flew up on to the roof and crept in at the window to the Princess.

She was lying on the sofa asleep, and she was so pretty that the
merchant's son couldn't help kissing her. She woke up and was terribly
startled; but he explained that he was the Turkish God who had come
down to her through the sky; and that pleased her very much. So they
sat side by side, and he told her stories about her eyes. They were
the most lovely dark lakes, and her thoughts floated in them like
mermaids: and he told her about her forehead: it was a snow mountain
with the most splendid halls and images in it; and he told about the
Stork, how it brings the dear little babies. Ah, those were beautiful
stories! And thereupon he proposed to the Princess, and she said yes
at once.

"But you must come here on Saturday," she said, "the King and Queen
are coming to tea with me then. They will be very proud that I am
marrying the Turkish God: but be sure you have a really beautiful
story ready, for my parents are particularly fond of stories. My
mother likes them to be moral and genteel, and my father likes them
amusing, so that he can laugh."

"Yes, I shall bring no wedding gift but a story," said he, and they
parted; but the Princess gave him a sword set with gold coins, and for
these he had plenty of use.

He flew off and bought a new dressing-gown and then stayed out in the
wood and made up a story. It had to be ready by Saturday, which is not
so easy, I can tell you. At last he was ready, and it was Saturday.

The King, the Queen, and all the court were waiting at tea at the
Princess's. He was most kindly received.

"Now will you tell us a story?" said the Queen. "One that has a deep
meaning and is instructive?"

"But let there be something one can laugh at," said the King.

"Very well," said he and began; and now we must listen carefully.

"Once upon a time there was a bundle of matches which were extremely
proud of being of high degree. Their family tree, that is, the great
pine tree of which each of them was a chip, had been a large old tree
in the forest. The matches now lay on the dresser between a fire-box
and an old iron pot, and to them they told the ﻿story of their youth.
'Yes,' they said, 'when we were on the green bough we did indeed
flourish like the green bay tree. Every morning and evening we had
diamond tea (that was the dew), all day we had the sunshine (if the
sun shone) and all the little birds were obliged to tell us stories.
We could easily see, too, that we were rich, for the trees with leaves
were clad only in summer, while our family could afford green clothes
both in summer and winter. But then came the woodcutters; in other
words, the great Revolution--and our family was split in pieces. The
head of the house obtained a situation as mainmast on a magnificent
vessel which could sail the whole world round if it pleased, the other
branches went elsewhere, and we are now commissioned to kindle light
for the common people: that's why we distinguished folk are come here
to the kitchen.'

"'Yes, it has been otherwise with me,' said the iron pot beside which
the matches lay. 'From the moment I came out into the world I have
been scoured and set to boil many a time. I minister to solid needs,
and properly speaking am the first person in the house. My one
pleasure is, as it might be after dinner, to lie cleansed and neat on
the dresser, and carry on a reasonable conversation with my
colleagues: but with the exception of the water bucket, which every
now and then goes down to the yard, we live entirely indoors; our only
news bringer is the market basket, but it talks very unrestfully about
the government and the people; lately indeed, there was an elderly pot
which in its alarm at this fell down and broke itself to pieces. That
basket is of a turbulent disposition, I must say.'

"'Now you're talking too much,' said the fire-box, and the steel
knocked on the flint till the sparks came: 'Ought we not to have a gay
evening?' 'Yes, let us speak of who is most distinguished,' said the
matches. 'No, I don't care for talking about myself,' said the cooking
pot, 'let us have an evening conversazione. I will begin. I will tell
of things that everyone has experienced; there is opportunity for all
to imagine it, and that is pleasant.'

"'Near the eastern sea, among the beech woods of Denmark.'--'That is a
delightful commencement,' said all the plates; 'it will, I am sure, be
a story I shall enjoy.' 'Yes, there it was that I passed my early
years in a quiet family. The furniture was polished, the floor was
washed, clean curtains were put up once a fortnight.' 'Now, how
interesting you make your story,' said the broom. 'One can tell at
once that it is a lady speaking: something so maidenly runs through it
all.'

"'Indeed, yes, one does feel that,' said the water bucket, and out of
pure pleasure it gave a little hop, and "plop" sounded on the floor.

"The pot went on with its story, and the end was every bit as good as
the beginning. All the plates rattled with pleasure, and the broom got
some green parsley out of the dust-hole and crowned the pot with it,
for it knew this would annoy the rest, and, it reflected, 'if I crown
her to-day, she will crown me to-morrow'.

"'I shall now dance,' said the tongs, and dance it did. Yes, heaven be
good to us, how it did kick up in the air with its leg! The old chair
cushion away in the corner split with looking at it. 'Can I be
crowned?' said the tongs, and crowned it was.

"'Mere rabble, after all, these people,' thought the matches.

"The tea urn was now asked to sing; but it had a cold, it said; it
could only sing when on the boil. But this was merely standoffishness;
it wouldn't sing unless it was set on the table and the family were
there.

"Over in the window lay an old quill pen which the maid used to write
with; there was nothing remarkable about it except that it had been
dipped too deep in the inkstand, but of this it was quite proud. 'If
the tea urn won't sing,' it said, 'it can let it alone. Outside,
there's a nightingale hung up in a cage; it can sing. It hasn't to be
sure been trained at all, but we won't say anything unkind about that
to-night.'

"'I think it extremely improper', said the tea kettle, which was the
kitchen singer-in-chief and half-sister to the tea urn, 'that a
foreign bird like that should be listened to. Is it patriotic? I leave
it to the market basket.'

"'I', said the market basket, 'am merely annoyed. I am more intensely
annoyed than can be imagined. Is this a fitting manner of spending the
evening? Would it not be far better to set the house to rights?
Everyone would then fall into his right place, and I should lead the
whole dance. We should then have a very different state of things.'
'Yes, let's make a real row,' they all cried out together. At that
moment the door opened. It was the maid. They all stopped; no one made
a sound; but there wasn't a single pot that wasn't ﻿conscious of what
it could do and how distinguished it was. 'If only I had chosen,' they
thought, 'it would have been a gay evening indeed.'

"The maid picked up the matches and struck them. Gracious! How they
did sputter and burst into flame! 'Now,' thought they, 'everybody can
see we are the quality: what a flash we make! What a light!' And with
that they burnt out."

"That was a beautiful story," said the Queen. "I seemed to be really
in the kitchen with the matches. Yes, now thou shalt have our
daughter."

"Certainly," said the King, "thou shalt marry our daughter on Monday."
(They said "thou" to him now, since he was to be one of the family.)

So the wedding was fixed, and on the evening before the whole town was
illuminated. Buns and tarts were thrown to be scrambled for. The
street-boys stood on tiptoe and shouted "Hurrah!" and whistled on
their fingers. It was a most brilliant affair.

"Well, I must see about doing something too," thought the merchant's
son: so he bought rockets and throw-downs and every imaginable kind of
firework, and put it all in his trunk and flew up in the air with it.

Whizz, how they all went off and how they popped! It made all the
Turks jump in the air till their slippers flew about their ears; never
before had they seen such sights in the heavens. They could see now
that it really was the Turkish God who was to marry the Princess.

As soon as the merchant's son was back in the wood with his trunk he
thought: "I'll go into the town and try to hear how the thing went,"
and very natural too that he should want to hear.

Well, well, what stories the people did tell! Every single one he
asked had seen it his own way, but all of them had found it charming.

"I saw the Turkish God himself," said one. "He had eyes like bright
stars and a beard like foaming water." "He was flying in a mantle of
fire," said another, "and lovely little angels were peeping out from
the folds of it." Indeed, he heard a number of charming things said,
and the next day he was to be married.

He went back to the wood to get into his trunk--but where was it? The
trunk was burnt. A spark from the fireworks had remained in it, had
set it alight, and the trunk was in ashes. Never again could he fly,
never again visit his bride. She stayed on the roof the whole day,
waiting. She's waiting still. He is wandering the world over, telling
stories. But they aren't so gay now as the one he told about the
matches.

Transcriber's Notes:

1. page 141: added single quote mark at beginning of paragraph
commencing "Near the eastern sea, among the...

2. page 143: corrected typo, substituting double quote for single
quote, at beginning of paragraph commencing 'The maid picked up the...


[End of _The Flying Trunk_ by Hans Christian Andersen, from _Hans
Andersen Forty-Two Stories_, translated by M. R. James]