Andersen evidently forgot that the flower has been given to the princess and is no longer in the living room.

THE FLYING TRUNK

ONCE UPON A TIME there was a merchant who was so rich that he could pave the entire street and almost another little alley with silver coins. But he didn’t do that. He knew of other ways to use his money, and if he paid out a penny, he got a dollar back. That’s the kind of merchant he was—and then he died.

His son got all this money, and he lived merrily, went to parties every night, made kites from his dollar bills, and skipped stones on the water with gold coins instead of pebbles. That makes money go, and go it did. Finally he only had four coins left and no other clothes than a pair of slippers and an old robe. Now none of his friends cared about him anymore since they couldn’t walk down the street together, but one of them, who was kind, sent him an old trunk and advised, “pack it in!” That was all well and good, but he had nothing to pack so he sat in the trunk himself.

It was a strange trunk. As soon as you pressed on the lock, the trunk could fly. And that’s what it did. Whee! It flew with him up the chimney and high up over the clouds, further and further away. The bottom kept groaning, and he was afraid that it would fall to pieces, and then he would have done a nice somersault, heaven knows! Soon he came to the land of the Turks. He hid the trunk in the forest under some wilted leaves and walked into town. He could do that safely because all the Turks walked around like him in robes and slippers. Then he met a wet nurse with a little child. “Listen here, you Turkananny,” he said, “what kind of castle is that here close to town? The windows are so high up.”

“The king’s daughter lives there,” she said. “It’s been prophesied that she will be unlucky in love, and therefore no one can visit her unless the king and queen are there.”

“Thanks,” said the merchant’s son, and then he went back into the forest, sat in his trunk, flew up on the roof, and crept through the window to the princess.

She was lying on the sofa sleeping. She was so beautiful that the merchant’s son had to kiss her. She woke up and was quite alarmed, but he said he was the Turkish God, who had come down through the sky to her, and she liked that.

Then they sat side by side, and he told stories about her eyes: they were the most lovely, dark oceans, and thoughts were swimming there like mermaids. Then he talked about her forehead: it was a snow-topped mountain with the most magnificent rooms and pictures, and he told her about the stork that brings the sweet little babies.

They were certainly some wonderful stories! Then he proposed to the princess, and she said yes at once!

“But you have to come on Saturday,” she said. “The king and queen are coming here for tea then. They’ll be very proud that I’m going to marry the Turkish God, but listen, be sure you can tell a really lovely fairy tale because they particularly like them. My mother likes them to be elegant and moralistic, and my father likes funny ones so he can laugh.”

“I’ll bring no other wedding gift than a fairy tale,” he said, and then they parted, but the princess gave him a sword that was studded with gold coins, something he could really use.

Then he flew away, bought himself a new robe, and sat in the forest composing a fairy tale to be finished by Saturday. That’s not so easy either.

But he finished it, and then it was Saturday.

The king and queen and all the court were waiting with tea at the princess’s tower, where he was very well received!

“Won’t you tell a fairy tale?” asked the queen. “One that is profound and educational.”

“One that can make you laugh, too,” added the king.

“Yes certainly,” he said and told this story. Listen carefully.

“Once upon a time there was a package of matches that were extremely stuck-up because they were of such high origin. Their family tree, that is to say, the big pine tree that each of them was a little stick of, had been a tall old tree in the forest. The matches were now lying on a shelf between a tinderbox and an old iron kettle, and they told them stories about their youth. ‘Yes, when we were riding high,’ they said, ‘we really were riding high! Every morning and evening we had diamond tea, that was the dew. We had the sunshine all day when the sun was shining, and all the little birds had to tell us stories. We could easily tell that we were rich because the ordinary trees only wore clothes in the summer, but our family could afford nice green clothes both summer and winter.