Part 73

“That was a capital story,” said the Sultana. “I feel myself quite carried away to the kitchen, to the Matches. Yes, now thou shalt marry our daughter.”

“Yes, certainly,” said the Sultan, “thou shalt marry our daughter on Monday.”

And they called him thou, because he was to belong to the family.

The wedding was decided on, and on the evening before it the whole city was illuminated. Biscuits and cakes were thrown among the people, the street boys stood on their toes, called out “Hurrah!” and whistled on their fingers. It was uncommonly splendid.

“Yes, I shall have to give something as a treat,” thought the Merchant’s Son. So he bought rockets and crackers, and every imaginable sort of fire-work, put them all into his trunk, and flew up into the air.

“Crack!” how they went, and how they went off! All the Turks hopped up with such a start that their slippers flew about their ears; such a meteor they had never yet seen. Now they could understand that it must be a Turkish angel who was going to marry the Princess.

What stories people tell! Everyone whom he asked about it had seen it in a separate way; but one and all thought it fine.

“I saw the Turkish angel himself,” said one. “He had eyes like glowing stars, and a beard like foaming water.”

“He flew up in a fiery mantle,” said another; “the most lovely little cherub peeped forth from among the folds.”

Yes, they were wonderful things that he heard; and on the following day he was to be married.

Now he went back to the forest to rest himself in his trunk. But what had become of that? A spark from the fireworks had set fire to it, and the trunk was burned to ashes. He could not fly any more, and could not get to his bride.

She stood all day on the roof waiting; and most likely she is waiting still. But he wanders through the world, telling fairy tales; but they are not so merry as that one he told about the Matches.

THE DARNING NEEDLE

By Hans Christian Andersen

There was once a darning needle, who thought herself so fine, she imagined she was an embroidery needle.

“Take care, and mind you hold me tight!” she said to the Fingers that took her out. “Don’t let me fall! If I fall on the ground I shall certainly never be found again, for I am so fine!”

“That’s as it may be,” said the Fingers; and they grasped her round the body.

“See, I’m coming with a train!” said the Darning Needle, and she drew a long thread after her, but there was no knot in the thread.

The Fingers pointed the needle just at the cook’s slipper, in which the upper leather had burst, and was to be sewn together.

“That’s vulgar work,” said the Darning Needle. “I shall never get through. I’m breaking! I’m breaking!” And she really broke. “Did I not say so?” said the Darning Needle; “I’m too fine!”

“Now it’s quite useless,” said the Fingers; but they were obliged to hold her fast, all the same; for the cook dropped some sealing wax upon the needle, and pinned her handkerchief together with it in front.

“So, now I’m a breastpin!” said the Darning Needle. “I knew very well that I should come to honor: when one is something, one comes to something!”

And she laughed quietly to herself—and one can never see when a darning needle laughs. There she sat, as proud as if she was in a state coach, and looked all about her.

“May I be permitted to ask if you are of gold?” she inquired of the pin, her neighbor. “You have a very pretty appearance, and a peculiar head, but it is only little. You must take pains to grow, for it’s not everyone that has sealing wax dropped upon him.”

And the Darning Needle drew herself up so proudly that she fell out of the handkerchief right into the sink, which the cook was rinsing out.

“Now we’re going on a journey,” said the Darning Needle. “If I only don’t get lost!”

But she really was lost.

“I’m too fine for this world,” she observed, as she lay in the gutter. “But I know who I am, and there’s always something in that!”