Stories and fairy tales by Hans Christian Andersen - Page 6

Stories and fairy tales by Hans Christian Andersen

The emperor's new suitH.C. Andersen →

The princess and the peaH.C. Andersen →

The ugly ducklingH.C. Andersen →

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The complete fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm

Snow-White and Rose-RedThe brothers Grimm →

The devil with the three golden hairsThe brothers Grimm →

The golden gooseThe brothers Grimm →

Fairy tales and stories by H.C. Andersen

List of fairy tales (Page 6)

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The beetle

The beetle

The Emperor's horse was shod with gold - a golden shoe on each of its feet. And why was he getting golden shoes? He was a magnificent-looking animal, with slender legs, intelligent eyes, and a mane that hung down his neck like a soft veil of silk. He had carried his master through the smoke and flame of battle and heard the bullets sing and whistle around him; he had kicked and bitten those about him and done his share of the fighting whenever the enemy advanced; he had leaped, carrying his mastRead the story →

What the old man does is always right

What the old man does is always right

I will tell you a story that was told me when I was a little boy. Every time I thought of this story, it seemed to me more and more charming; for it is with stories as it is with many people– they become better as they grow older. I have no doubt that you have been in the country, and seen a very old farmhouse, with a thatched roof, and mosses and small plants growing wild upon it. There is a stork's nest on the ridge of the gable, for we cannot do without the stork. The walls of the house are sRead the story →

The snowman

The snowman

It is so delightfully cold, said the Snow Man, that it makes my whole body crackle. This is just the kind of wind to blow life into one. How that great red thing up there is staring at me! He meant the sun, who was just setting. It shall not make me wink. I shall manage to keep the pieces. He had two triangular pieces of tile in his head, instead of eyes; his mouth was made of an old broken rake, and was, of course, furnished with teeth. He had been brought into existence amidst the joyous shoutRead the story →

In the duck yard

In the duck yard

A duck arrived from Portugal. Some people said she came from Spain, but that doesn't really matter. She was called the Portuguese; she laid eggs, and was killed and dressed and cooked; that's the story of her life. But all the ducklings that were hatched from her eggs were also called Portuguese, and there's some distinction in that. At last there was only one left of her whole family in the duck yard - a yard to which the hens also had access, and where the cock strutted about with endless arroRead the story →

The new century's Goddess

The new century's Goddess

The New Century' s Goddess - whom our great-grandchildren or perhaps a still later generation will know, but we shall not - when and how does she reveal herself? What does she look like? What is the theme of her song? Whose heartstrings will she touch? To what heights will she lift her century? Why so many questions, in a busy day like ours, when poetry is very nearly superfluous, when it is agreed that the many immortal productions of today' s poets will, in the future, perhaps exist only in thRead the story →

The ice maiden

The ice maiden

Let us visit Switzerland. Let us take a look at that magnificent land of mountains, where the forests creep up the sides of the steep rocky walls; let us climb to the dazzling snow-fields above, and descend again to the green valleys below, where the rivers and streams rush along as if afraid they will be too late to reach the ocean and disappear. The burning rays of the sun shine in the deep dales and also on the heavy masses of snow above, so that the ice blocks which have been piling for yearRead the story →

The psyche

The psyche

In the fresh morning dawn, in the rosy air gleams a great Star, the brightest Star of the morning. His rays tremble on the white wall, as if he wished to write down on it what he can tell, what he has seen there and elsewhere during thousands of years in our rolling world. Let us hear one of his stories. A short time ago– the Star's short time ago is called among men centuries ago– my rays followed a young artist. It was in the city of the Popes, in the world-city, Rome. Much has been changed thRead the story →

The snail and the rosebush

The snail and the rosebush

Around the garden ran a hedge of hazelnut bushes, and beyond it lay fields and meadows with cows and sheep; but in the middle of the garden stood a blooming Rosebush, and under it sat a Snail, who had a lot inside his shell - namely, himself. Wait till my time comes, it said. I'll do a great deal more than grow roses; more than bear nuts; or give milk, like cows and the sheep! I expect a great deal from you, said the Rosebush. May I dare ask when this is going to happen? I'll take my time, saidRead the story →

The old church bell

The old church bell

In the country of Wurtemburg, in Germany, where the acacias grow by the public road, where the apple-trees and the pear-trees in autumn bend to the earth with the weight of the precious fruit, lies the little town of Marbach. As is often the case with many of these towns, it is charmingly situated on the banks of the river Neckar, which rushes rapidly by, passing villages, old knights' castles, and green vineyards, till its waters mingle with those of the stately Rhine. It was late in the autumnRead the story →

The silver shilling

The silver shilling

There was once a shilling, which came forth from the mint springing and shouting, Hurrah! now I am going out into the wide world. And truly it did go out into the wide world. The children held it with warm hands, the miser with a cold and convulsive grasp, and the old people turned it about, goodness knows how many times, while the young people soon allowed it to roll away from them. The shilling was made of silver, it contained very little copper, and considered itself quite out in the world whRead the story →

The metal pig

The metal pig

In the city of Florence, not far from the Piazza del Granduca, runs a little street called Porta Rosa. In this street, just in front of the market-place where vegetables are sold, stands a pig, made of brass and curiously formed. The bright color has been changed by age to dark green; but clear, fresh water pours from the snout, which shines as if it had been polished, and so indeed it has, for hundreds of poor people and children seize it in their hands as they place their mouths close to the mRead the story →

The bond of friendship

The bond of friendship

We've recently made a little journey, and already we want to make a longer one. Where? To Sparta, or Mycenae, or Delphi? There are hundreds of places whose names make the heart pound with the love of travel. On horseback we climb mountain paths, through shrubs and brush. A single traveler looks like a whole caravan. He rides in front with his guide; a pack horse carries luggage, tent, and provisions; a couple of soldiers guard the rear for his protection. No inn with soft beds awaits him at theRead the story →

A rose from Homer's grave

A rose from Homer's grave

All the songs of the east speak of the love of the nightingale for the rose in the silent starlight night. The winged songster serenades the fragrant flowers. Not far from Smyrna, where the merchant drives his loaded camels, proudly arching their long necks as they journey beneath the lofty pines over holy ground, I saw a hedge of roses. The turtle-dove flew among the branches of the tall trees, and as the sunbeams fell upon her wings, they glistened as if they were mother-of-pearl. On the rose-Read the story →

A story

A story

In the garden all the apple-trees were in blossom. They had hastened to bring forth flowers before they got green leaves, and in the yard all the ducklings walked up and down, and the cat too: it basked in the sun and licked the sunshine from its own paws. And when one looked at the fields, how beautifully the corn stood and how green it shone, without comparison! and there was a twittering and a fluttering of all the little birds, as if the day were a great festival; and so it was, for it was SRead the story →

The silent book

The silent book

On the highroad in the forest there stood a lonely farmhouse; the road passed right through its courtyard. All the windows were open to the warm sun; within the house there was bustling life, but out in the yard, under an arbor of blooming lilacs, there rested an open coffin. The dead man had been carried to it, and this morning he was to be buried. There was no one to stand by the coffin and look down in sorrow at the dead, no one to shed a tear over him. A white cloth covered his face, and undRead the story →

The snowdrop

The snowdrop

It was winter-time; the air was cold, the wind was sharp, but within the closed doors it was warm and comfortable, and within the closed door lay the flower; it lay in the bulb under the snow-covered earth. One day rain fell. The drops penetrated through the snowy covering down into the earth, and touched the flower-bulb, and talked of the bright world above. Soon the Sunbeam pierced its way through the snow to the root, and within the root there was a stirring. Come in, said the flower. I cannoRead the story →

The teapot

The teapot

There was a proud Teapot, proud of being made of porcelain, proud of its long spout and its broad handle. It had something in front of it and behind it; the spout was in front, and the handle behind, and that was what it talked about. But it didn't mention its lid, for it was cracked and it was riveted and full of defects, and we don't talk about our defects - other people do that. The cups, the cream pitcher, the sugar bowl - in fact, the whole tea service - thought much more about the defectsRead the story →

The bird of folklore

The bird of folklore

It is wintertime, and the earth is covered with a layer of snow, as smooth as if it were marble cut from a mountain. The sky is high and clear, and the wind as sharp as an elfin-forged sword; the trees stand like white coral, or resemble blooming almond branches, and the air is as fresh as it is in the high Alps. The night is beautiful with streaming northern lights and countless twinkling stars. Storms are coming; the clouds rise and scatter swan feathers; the snowflakes drift down, covering thRead the story →

The Will-o'-the-Wisps are in town, says the Moor-woman

The Willo'theWisps are in town says the Moorwoman

There was a man who once knew many stories, but they had slipped away from him– so he said. The Story that used to visit him of its own accord no longer came and knocked at his door. And why did it come no longer? It is true enough that for days and years the man had not thought of it, had not expected it to come and knock; and if he had expected it, it would certainly not have come; for without there was war, and within was the care and sorrow that war brings with it. The stork and the swallowsRead the story →

The windmill

The windmill

A windmill stood upon the hill, proud to look at, and it was proud too. I am not proud at all, it said, but I am very much enlightened without and within. I have sun and moon for my outward use, and for inward use too; and into the bargain I have stearine candles, train oil and lamps, and tallow candles. I may well say that I'm enlightened. I'm a thinking being, and so well constructed that it's quite delightful. I have a good windpipe in my chest, and I have four wings that are placed outside mRead the story →

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The most beautiful stories of AndersenThe best fairy tales →

Iron JohnA fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm →

The shepherd boyA fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm →

The brother and sisterA fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm →