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"No, certainly not!" exclaimed the elder. "I am too old for that." "I
presume you have never heard of what is called 'European necessity?'" observed
the honest Measuring Tape. "One must be able to adapt one's self to time and
circumstances, and if there is a law that the 'maiden' is to be called
'hand-rammer,' why, she must be called 'hand-rammer,' and no pouting will avail,
for everything has its measure." "No; if there must be a change," said the
younger, "I should prefer to be called 'Missy,' for that reminds one a little of
maidens."
"One must be able to adapt one's self to time and
circumstances, and if there is a law that the 'maiden' is to be called
'hand-rammer,' why, she must be called 'hand-rammer,' and no pouting will avail,
for everything has its measure." "No; if there must be a change," said the
younger, "I should prefer to be called 'Missy,' for that reminds one a little of
maidens." "But I would rather be chopped to chips," said the elder. At last they
all went to work. The Maidens rode- that is, they were put in a wheelbarrow, and
that was a distinction; but still they were called "hand-rammers."
The
Maidens rode- that is, they were put in a wheelbarrow, and that was a
distinction; but still they were called "hand-rammers." "Mai-!" they said, as
they were bumped upon the pavement. "Mai-!" and they were very nearly
pronouncing the whole word "maiden;" but they broke off short, and swallowed the
last syllable; for after mature deliberation they considered it beneath their
dignity to protest. But they always called each other "maiden," and praised the
good old days in which everything had been called by its right name, and those
who were maidens were called maidens.
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The sun
shone and warmed me, and the air refreshed me; I drank the clear dew and the
invigorating rain. I breathed and I lived! Out of the earth there arose a power
within me, whilst from above I also received strength; I felt an ever-renewed
and ever-increasing happiness, and therefore I was obliged to go on blooming.
That was my life; I could not do otherwise." "You have led a very easy life,"
remarked the snail. "Certainly. Everything was given me," said the rose-tree.
"But still more was given to you.
"But still more was given to you. Yours
is one of those deep-thinking natures, one of those highly gifted minds that
astonishes the world." "I have not the slightest intention of doing so," said
the snail. "The world is nothing to me. What have I to do with the world? I have
enough to do with myself, and enough in myself" "But must we not all here on
earth give up our best parts to others, and offer as much as lies in our power?
It is true, I have only given roses. But you- you who are so richly endowed-
what have you given to the world? What will you give it?" "What have I given?
What am I going to give? I spit at it; it's good for nothing, and does not
concern me.
But you- you who are so richly endowed- what have you given
to the world? What will you give it?" "What have I given? What am I going to
give? I spit at it; it's good for nothing, and does not concern me. For my part,
you may go on bearing roses; you cannot do anything else. Let the hazel bush
bear nuts, and the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public. I have
mine in myself. I retire within myself and there I stop. The world is nothing to
me." With this the snail withdrew into his house and blocked up the entrance.
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And there
she sat as proudly as if she were in a state coach, and looked all around her.
"May I be allowed to ask if you are made of gold?" she inquired of her neighbor,
a pin; "you have a very pretty appearance, and a curious head, although you are
rather small. You must take pains to grow, for it is not every one who has
sealing-wax dropped upon him;" and as she spoke, the darning-needle drew herself
up so proudly that she fell out of the handkerchief right into the sink, which
the cook was cleaning.
"Now I am going on a journey," said the needle, as
she floated away with the dirty water, "I do hope I shall not be lost." But she
really was lost in a gutter. "I am too fine for this world," said the
darning-needle, as she lay in the gutter; "but I know who I am, and that is
always some comfort." So the darning-needle kept up her proud behavior, and did
not lose her good humor. Then there floated over her all sorts of things,- chips
and straws, and pieces of old newspaper. "See how they sail," said the
darning-needle; "they do not know what is under them.
Then there floated
over her all sorts of things,- chips and straws, and pieces of old newspaper.
"See how they sail," said the darning-needle; "they do not know what is under
them. I am here, and here I shall stick. See, there goes a chip, thinking of
nothing in the world but himself- only a chip. There's a straw going by now; how
he turns and twists about! Don't be thinking too much of yourself, or you may
chance to run against a stone. There swims a piece of newspaper; what is written
upon it has been forgotten long ago, and yet it gives itself airs.
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"Are you still
cold," she asked, as she kissed him on the forehead. The kiss was colder than
ice; it went quite through to his heart, which was already almost a lump of ice;
he felt as if he were going to die, but only for a moment; he soon seemed quite
well again, and did not notice the cold around him. "My sledge! don't forget my
sledge," was his first thought, and then he looked and saw that it was bound
fast to one of the white chickens, which flew behind him with the sledge at its
back.
The Snow Queen kissed little Kay again, and by this time he had
forgotten little Gerda, his grandmother, and all at home. "Now you must have no
more kisses," she said, "or I should kiss you to death." Kay looked at her, and
saw that she was so beautiful, he could not imagine a more lovely and
intelligent face; she did not now seem to be made of ice, as when he had seen
her through his window, and she had nodded to him. In his eyes she was perfect,
and she did not feel at all afraid.
In his eyes she was perfect, and she
did not feel at all afraid. He told her he could do mental arithmetic, as far as
fractions, and that he knew the number of square miles and the number of
inhabitants in the country. And she always smiled so that he thought he did not
know enough yet, and she looked round the vast expanse as she flew higher and
higher with him upon a black cloud, while the storm blew and howled as if it
were singing old songs. They flew over woods and lakes, over sea and land; below
them roared the wild wind; the wolves howled and the snow crackled; over them
flew the black screaming crows, and above all shone the moon, clear and bright,-
and so Kay passed through the long winter's night, and by day he slept at the
feet of the Snow Queen.
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"The word
was so easy, the deed so small," she said, "the joy it afforded me was
infinitely great and sweet!" And therefore she does many a good deed, thinks of
all in the humble cottages and in the rich mansions, where there are also
afflicted ones. It is concealed and hidden, but God does not forget it. Delayed
is not forgotten! An old house stood there; it was in the large town with its
busy traffic. There are rooms and halls in it, but we do not enter them, we
remain in the kitchen, where it is warm and light, clean and tidy; the copper
utensils are shining, the table as if polished with beeswax; the sink looks like
a freshly scoured meatboard.
There are rooms and halls in it, but we do
not enter them, we remain in the kitchen, where it is warm and light, clean and
tidy; the copper utensils are shining, the table as if polished with beeswax;
the sink looks like a freshly scoured meatboard. All this a single servant has
done, and yet she has time to spare as if she wished to go to church; she wears
a bow on her cap, a black bow, that signifies mourning. But she has no one to
mourn, neither father nor mother, neither relations nor sweetheart.
But
she has no one to mourn, neither father nor mother, neither relations nor
sweetheart. She is a poor girl. One day she was engaged to a poor fellow; they
loved each other dearly. One day he came to her and said: "We both have nothing!
The rich widow over the way in the basement has made advances to me; she will
make me rich, but you are in my heart; what do you advise me to do?" "I advise
you to do what you think will turn out to your happiness," said the girl. "Be
kind and good to her, but remember this; from the hour we part we shall never
see each other again."
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What the Bell
tells? To repeat it all would require years and days; for year by year it is
telling the old stories, sometimes short ones, sometimes long ones, according to
its whim; it tells of old times, of the dark hard times, thus: "In the church of
St. Alban, the monk had mounted up into the tower. He was young and handsome,
but thoughtful exceedingly. He looked through the loophole out upon the
Odense-Au, when the bed of the water was yet broad, and the monks' meadow was
still a lake.
He looked through the loophole out upon the Odense-Au, when
the bed of the water was yet broad, and the monks' meadow was still a lake. He
looked out over it, and over the rampart, and over the nuns' hill opposite,
where the convent lay, and the light gleamed forth from the nun's cell. He had
known the nun right well, and he thought of her, and his heart beat quicker as
he thought. Ding-dong! ding-dong!" Yes, this was the story the Bell told. "Into
the tower came also the dapper man-servant of the bishop; and when I, the Bell,
who am made of metal, rang hard and loud, and swung to and fro, I might have
beaten out his brains.
He sat down close under me, and played with two
little sticks as if they had been a stringed instrument; and he sang to it. 'Now
I may sing it out aloud, though at other times I may not whisper it. I may sing
of everything that is kept concealed behind lock and bars. Yonder it is cold and
wet. The rats are eating her up alive! Nobody knows of it! Nobody hears of it!
Not even now, for the bell is ringing and singing its loud Ding-dong,
ding-dong!' "There was a King in those days.
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