They were surrounded by the smells of myrtle and mint, and beautiful children ran on the lanes playing with huge gay butterflies. But the swallow flew even further, and everything became more and more beautiful. Under lovely green trees beside the blue ocean there was a shining white marble castle that was from the old days, and which had grapevines climbing up the high pillars. At the very top there were many swallow nests, and one was the home of the swallow who carried Thumbelina.
“Here’s my home,” the swallow said. “But if you’ll pick one of those splendid flowers growing down there, I’ll set you there, and it’ll be as nice as you could wish.”
“Wonderful!” she said and clapped her small hands.
One of the big white marble pillars had fallen and was lying on the ground broken in three pieces, and around these grew the most lovely big, white flowers. The swallow flew down and set Thumbelina on one of the wide leaves, but what a surprise she had! There was a little man sitting in the middle of the flower—so white and transparent as if he were made of glass. He had the most beautiful gold crown on his head, and the loveliest clear wings on his shoulders, and altogether he was no bigger than Thumbelina. He was the angel of the flowers. Such a little man or woman lives in all the flowers, but he was the king of them all.
“God, how adorable he is,” Thumbelina whispered to the swallow. The little prince was frightened of the swallow since it was a monstrous bird while he was so little and delicate, but when he saw Thumbelina, he became very happy because she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. So he took the gold crown from his head and placed it on hers, asked her name, and asked her to marry him and become the queen of all the flowers. This would be a different husband than the toad’s son or the mole with his black velvet coat! So she accepted the charming prince at once, and out of every flower came a lovely young man or woman—a joy to see. Each of them brought Thumbelina a gift, but the best of all was a pair of beautiful wings from a large white fly. They were fastened to Thumbelina’s back so she could fly from flower to flower. Everyone was very happy, and the little swallow sat and sang for them as best he could up in his nest, but in his heart he was sad because he was so fond of Thumbelina and never wanted to be parted from her.
“Your name won’t be Thumbelina any more,” the flowers’ angel told her. “That’s an ugly name, and you’re so beautiful. We’ll call you Maja!”
“Good bye, good bye,” called the little swallow and flew away from the warm countries again, far away back to Denmark. There he had a little nest over the window of a man who can tell fairy tales, and for him he sang, “tweet, tweet.” That’s how we know the whole story.
THE NAUGHTY BOY
ONCE UPON A TIME there was an old poet—a really kind old poet. One evening when he was sitting at home, a terrible storm arose. The rain poured down, but the old poet sat cozy and warm by his wood burning stove, where the fire was crackling, and the apples cooking on the stove were sizzling.
“There won’t be a dry thread on the poor people who are out in this weather,” he said because he was such a kind poet.
“Oh, let me in! I’m freezing, and I’m so wet,” called a little child standing outside. The child cried and knocked on the door, while the rain poured down and the wind rattled all the windows.
“Oh, poor little thing!” said the old poet and went over to open the door. There was a little boy standing there. He was completely naked, and the water was dripping off his long, yellow hair. He was shivering from the cold, and if he couldn’t come inside, he would surely die in that terrible weather.
“Oh, you poor thing,” said the old poet and took his hand. “Come in here, and I’ll get you warmed up! You shall have wine and an apple, for you’re a sweet little fellow.”
And he was, too. His eyes looked like two clear stars, and even if water was running from his yellow hair, it curled beautifully. He looked like a little angel, but was pale from the cold, and his body was trembling all over. In his hand he held a lovely bow, but the rain had ruined it, and all the colors on the fine arrows were running into each other from the wet weather.
The old poet sat down by the stove and took the little boy in his lap, wrung the water out of his hair, warmed the little hands in his, heated wine for him, and then the little boy felt better. His cheeks turned pink, and he hopped down on the floor and danced around the old poet.
“You’re a cheerful fellow,” said the old man. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Cupid,” he said. “Don’t you recognize me? There’s my bow, and I can shoot with it, let me tell you! Look, it’s nice out now. The moon is shining.”
“But your bow is ruined,” said the old poet.
“That’s too bad,” said the little boy, and picked up the bow and looked at it. “But it’s dry already, and it’s not ruined! The string is completely taut. Now I’ll try it!” So he drew the bow, inserted an arrow, aimed, and shot the kindly old poet right in the heart. “You can see that my bow isn’t ruined,” he said and laughed loudly and ran off. That naughty boy—to think that he shot the old poet who had let him into the warm room, been kind to him, and had given him good wine and the best apple!
The old poet lay on the floor crying. He really had been shot right in the heart. Then he said, “Oh, what a bad boy that Cupid is! I’m going to tell all the children this so they can watch out and never play with him, for he’ll only hurt them.”
And all the good children he told about Cupid, both girls and boys, watched out for him, but Cupid fooled them anyway because he’s so cunning. When the students leave their lectures, he runs along side them with a book under his arm and dressed in a black cloak. They don’t recognize him then, and take him by the arm, and think that he’s also a student, but then he shoots the arrow into their chests. When the girls have been studying with the minister, and when they go for Confirmation, he’s after them there, too. He’s always after people! He sits in the big chandelier in the theater among the flames so people think it’s a lamp, but afterwards they notice something else! He runs around in the king’s garden and on the embankment. Indeed, at one time he shot your father and mother right in their hearts! Just ask them, and you’ll hear what they say. Yes, that Cupid is a naughty boy, and you must never have anything to do with him! He’s out to get all people. Just think, once he even shot an arrow at old grandmother, but that was long ago, so it’s worn off. But something like that she’ll never forget. Oh, how naughty Cupid is! But now you know him. You know what a bad boy he is.