Part 72

“Thank you!” said the Merchant’s Son; and he went out into the forest, seated himself in his trunk, flew on the roof, and crept through the window into the Princess’s room.

She was lying asleep on the sofa, and she was so beautiful that the Merchant’s Son was compelled to kiss her. Then she awoke, and was startled very much; but he said he was a Turkish angel who had come down to her through the air, and that pleased her.

They sat down side by side, and he told her stories about her eyes; and he told her they were the most glorious dark lakes, and that thoughts were swimming about in them like mermaids. And he told her about her forehead; that it was a snowy mountain with the most splendid halls and pictures. And he told her about the stork who brings the lovely little children.

Yes, those were fine histories! Then he asked the Princess if she would marry him, and she said, “Yes,” directly.

“But you must come here on Saturday,” said she. “Then the Sultan and Sultana will be here to tea. They will be very proud that I am to marry a Turkish angel. But take care that you know a very pretty story, for both my parents are very fond indeed of stories. My mother likes them high-flown and moral, but my father likes them merry, so that one can laugh.”

“Yes, I shall bring no marriage gift but a story,” said he; and so they parted. But the Princess gave him a saber, the sheath embroidered with gold pieces and that was very useful to him.

Now he flew away, bought a new dressing gown, and sat in the forest and made up a story; it was to be ready by Saturday, and that was not an easy thing.

By the time he had finished it Saturday had come. The Sultan and his wife and all the court were at the ‘Princess’s to tea. He was received very graciously.

“Will you relate us a story?” said the Sultana; “one that is deep and edifying.”

“Yes, but one that we can laugh at,” said the Sultan.

“Certainly,” he replied; and so began. And now listen well.

“There was once a bundle of Matches, and these Matches were particularly proud of their high descent. Their genealogical tree, that is to say, the great fir tree of which each of them was a little splinter, had been a great old tree out in the forest. The Matches now lay between a Tinder-box and an old Iron Pot; and they were telling about the days of their youth. ‘Yes, when we were upon the green boughs,’ they said, ‘then we really were upon the green boughs! Every morning and evening there was diamond tea for us—I mean dew; we had sunshine all day long whenever the sun shone, and all the little birds had to tell stories. We could see very well that we were rich, for the other trees were only dressed out in summer, while our family had the means to wear green dresses in the winter as well. But then the woodcutter came, like a great revolution, and our family was broken up. The head of the family got an appointment as mainmast in a first-rate ship, which could sail round the world if necessary; the other branches went to other places, and now we have the office of kindling a light for the vulgar herd. That’s how we grand people came to be in the kitchen.’

“‘My fate was of different kind,’ said the Iron Pot, which stood next to the Matches. ‘From the beginning, ever since I came into the world, there has been a great deal of scouring and cooking done in me. I look after the practical part, and am the first here in the house. My only pleasure is to sit in my place after dinner, very clean and neat, and to carry on a sensible conversation with my comrades. But except the Waterpot, which is sometimes taken down into the courtyard, we always live within our four walls. Our only newsmonger is the Market Basket; but he speaks very uneasily about the government and the people. Yes, the other day there was an old pot that fell down, from fright, and burst. He’s liberal, I can tell you!’—‘Now you’re talking too much,’ the Tinder-box interrupted, and the steel struck against the flint, so that sparks flew out. ‘Shall we not have a merry evening?’

“‘Yes, let us talk about who is the grandest,’ said the Matches.

“‘No, I don’t like to talk about myself,’ retorted the Pot. ‘Let us get up an evening entertainment. I will begin. I will tell a story from real life, something that everyone has experienced, so that we can easily imagine the situation, and take pleasure in it. On the Baltic, by the Danish shore—’

“‘That’s a pretty beginning!’ cried all the Plates. ‘That will be a story we shall like.’

“‘Yes, it happened to me in my youth, when I lived in a family where the furniture was polished, the floors scoured, and new curtains were put up every fortnight.’

“‘What an interesting way you have of telling a story!’ said the Carpet Broom. ‘One can tell directly that a man is speaking who has been in woman’s society. There’s something pure runs through it.’

“And the Pot went on telling the story, and the end was as good as the beginning.

“All the Plates rattled with joy, and the Carpet Broom brought some green parsley out of the dust hole, and put it like a wreath on the Pot, for he knew that it would vex the others. ‘If I crown him to-day,’ it thought, ‘he will crown me tomorrow.’

“‘Now I’ll dance,’ said the Fire Tongs; and they danced. Preserve us! how that implement could lift up one leg! The old chair-cushion burst to see it. ‘Shall I be crowned too?’ thought the Tongs; and indeed a wreath was awarded.

“‘They’re only common people, after all!’ thought the Matches.

“Now the Tea Urn was to sing; but she said she had taken cold and could not sing unless she felt boiling within. But that was only affectation: she did not want to sing, except when she was in the parlor with the grand people.

“In the window sat an old Quill Pen, with which the maid generally wrote: there was nothing remarkable about this pen, except that it had been dipped too deep into the ink, but she was proud of that. ‘If the Tea Urn won’t sing,’ she said, ‘she may leave it alone. Outside hangs a nightingale in a cage, and he can sing. He hasn’t had any education, but this evening we’ll say nothing about that.’

“‘I think it very wrong,’ said the Teakettle—he was the kitchen singer, and half brother to the Tea Urn—‘that that rich and foreign bird should be listened to. Is that patriotic? Let the Market Basket decide.’

“‘I am vexed,’ said the Market Basket. ‘No one can imagine how much I am secretly vexed. Is that a proper way of spending the evening? Would it not be more sensible to put the house in order? Let each one go to his own place, and I will arrange the whole game. That would be quite another thing.’

‘Yes, let us make a disturbance, cried they all. Then the door opened, and the maid came in, and they all stood still; not one stirred. But there was not one pot among them who did not know what he could do and how grand he was. ‘Yes, if I had liked,’ each one thought, ‘it might have been a very merry evening.’

“The servant girl took the Matches and lighted the fire with them. mercy! how they sputtered and burst out into flame! ‘Now everyone can see,’ thought they, ‘that we are the first. How we shine! what a light!’—and they burned out.”