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_The Travelling Companion_ was written by Hans Christian Andersen
(1805-1875), and was translated from the Danish by
M. R. James (1862-1936) as part of his
_Hans Andersen Forty-Two Stories_ (1930).

Title: Hans Andersen Forty-Two Stories -- The Travelling Companion
Date of first publication: 1930
Place and date of edition used as base for this ebook:
  London: Faber and Faber, 1953
Author: Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875)
Translator: M. R. James (1862-1936)
Date first posted: 18 November 2007
Date last updated: 18 November 2007
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #36

This ebook was produced by: Dr Mark Bear Akrigg




The Travelling Companion

by

Hans Christian Andersen

(from _Hans Andersen Forty-Two Stories_ [1930]),
translated by M. R. James)




Poor John was in sad trouble, for his father was very ill
and could not recover. No one besides the two of them was in
the little room. The lamp on the table was on the point of
going out, and it was quite late on in the evening.

"You have been a good son, John," said the sick father, "God
will be sure to help you on in the world!" And he gazed on
him with solemn kind eyes, drew a very deep breath and died;
it seemed just as if he were asleep. But John burst into
tears; he had no one left now in all the world, neither
father, mother, sister or brother. Poor John! He fell on his
knees by the bedside and kissed his dead father's hand; many
salt tears he shed, but at last his eyes closed and he went
to sleep, with his head on the hard bedstead.

Then he dreamt a wonderful dream; he saw the sun and moon
bowing to him, and he saw his father well and hearty once
more, and heard him laugh as he always laughed when he was
really happy. A beautiful girl with a golden crown on her
long pretty hair stretched out her hand to John, and his
father said, "Do you see what a bride you have won; she is
the fairest in all the world?" Then he woke up, and all that
pretty sight was gone; his father lay dead and cold in the
bed, and there was no one at all with them. Poor John!

The week after, the dead man was buried. John walked close
behind the coffin. He would never again see the good father
who had been so fond of him. He listened to them casting the
earth down upon the coffin, and he saw the last little
corner of it, but, with the next shovelful of earth that was
cast on it, that was hidden too. And then it seemed as if
his heart would break asunder, so sharp was his sorrow.
Round about him the people were singing a hymn, and the
sound of it was very sweet; tears came into John's eyes; he
wept, and that eased his sorrow. The sun shed a beautiful
light on the green trees as if it would say, "You mustn't be
so cast down, John, you see how beautiful and blue the sky
is: your father is up there now, praying to the good God
that it may be always well with you".

"I will always be good," said John, "and then I too shall go
up to heaven to my father, and what a joy that will be, when
we see one another again! What a lot there will be for me to
tell him, and what a number of things he will have to show
me, and teach me about all the beautiful things in heaven,
just as he used to teach me here on earth. Oh, what a joy it
will all be." John imagined all this to himself so clearly
that he smiled while the tears were still running down over
his cheeks. The little birds sat in the chestnut trees above
him and twittered, "Kiwit, kiwit", they were as happy as
possible, although they were attending the funeral; but then
they knew well enough that the dead man was now up in
heaven, and had wings far finer and bigger than theirs, and
was happy because he had been good here on earth; and so
they were happy. John watched them fly away from the green
trees out into the wide world, and at that he felt a longing
to fly away too. But first he hewed out a large cross of
wood to set on his father's grave, and that evening when he
brought it to the place he found the grave decked out with
sand and flowers. It had been done by strangers, because
they were so fond of the dear father who now lay there dead.

Early next morning John packed up his little bundle, and in
his belt he put away all his inheritance. It was just
fifty-six dollars and a few silver pennies; with that he
meant to go out into the world, but first he went to the
churchyard to his father's grave, and repeated the Lord's
Prayer and said, "Good-bye, dear father, I will always be a
good man, and then you will be able to pray to the good God
that it may be well with me".

Out in the fields through which he walked, all the flowers
were standing fresh and fair in the warm sunshine and they
nodded in the breeze as if they would say, "Welcome to the
green country; isn't it pleasant here?" But John turned
round yet once again to look at the old church where he had
been christened as a little child, and where he had been
every Sunday to service with his old father and had sung his
hymn, and there he saw high up in one of the openings in the
tower the church Brownie standing in his little red peaked
cap; he was shading his eyes with his bent arm, for the sun
dazzled him. John waved a farewell to him, and the little
Brownie waved his red cap and laid his hand on his heart and
kissed his fingers over and over again to show how well he
wished John, and hoped he would have a good journey.

John kept on thinking of all the charming things he would
come to see in the splendid wide world; and on he went,
further and further, never before had he been so far. He
knew nothing of the villages he passed through or of the
people he met, he was far away now, among strangers.

The first night he had to lie down to sleep in a haystack in
the fields; no other bed could he get. But to his thinking
it was just delightful; the King himself could have no
prettier sleeping place. The open country and the river, the
haystack and the blue sky over it made the pleasantest of
bedrooms. The green grass with the little red and white
flowers was the carpet, and the elder trees and the wild
rosebushes stood for posies, and for a bath he had the whole
river with its clear fresh water where the reeds waved, and
wished him good night and good morning. The moon was a
proper big night light, hung high up under the blue ceiling,
and wouldn't set fire to the curtains. John could sleep
there as tranquilly as possible, and that is what he did. He
did not wake up again till the sun rose and all the little
birds round about sang: "Good morning, good morning! Aren't
you up yet?"

The bells were ringing for service; it was Sunday. The
people were on their way to listen to the parson, and John
went too. He sang a hymn and hearkened to God's word, and it
seemed to him as if he were in his own church at home, where
he had been christened and had sung hymns with his father.

Out in the churchyard were many many graves, and on some of
them the grass was growing tall and rank. At that John
thought of his father's grave, and how it too might come to
look like these, now that he could no longer weed it and
tidy it. So he sat himself down and pulled up the long
grass, set up the wooden crosses that had fallen down, and
laid the wreaths that the wind had blown off the graves back
in their places; for he thought: "Perhaps someone will do
the like for my father's grave now that I can't do it any
more myself."

Outside the churchyard gate an old beggar stood leaning on
his crutch. John gave him the silver pennies he had and went
forward, cheerful and happy, out into the wide world.

Towards evening the weather turned very bad and John hurried
on to get under shelter, but very soon it came to be dark
night. At last he came in sight of a little church standing
quite alone on a rising. Luckily the door stood ajar and he
slipped in; he would stop there till the storm was over.

"I'll sit down here in a corner," said he, "I'm very tired
and can manage with a bit of a rest," and so he sat down,
clasped his hands, and said his evening prayer, and before
he knew it he was asleep and dreaming while it thundered and
lightened outside.

When he woke up again it was far on in the night, but the
storm had passed over, and the moon was shining in on him
through the windows. In the middle of the church floor there
stood an open coffin with a dead man in it who had not yet
been buried. John was not at all frightened, for he had a
clear conscience, and knew well enough that the dead do no
one any harm. It is bad men who are alive who do the
mischief. Two bad live men of this sort were standing there,
close by the dead man who had been put in the church before
being laid in the grave; they meant to do him a mischief and
not let him lie in his coffin, but throw him out in front of
the church door: poor dead man!

"Why do you want to do that?" asked John. "It's wrong and
wicked; let him sleep in Jesus' name."

"Oh, ah!" said the two villainous men, "he's made fools of
us: he owed us money and couldn't pay, and now he's gone
dead into the bargain, and we shan't get a penny, so we're
going to take it out of him properly, and he shall lie like
a dog outside the church door."

"I've got but fifty dollars," said John, "it's all my
property, but I'll give it you and be glad to do it if
you'll promise me faithfully to leave the poor dead man in
peace. I shall get on all right without the money; I've got
good sound arms and legs, and God will be helping me
always."

"All right," said the two ruffians, "if you'll pay his debts
of course we won't do anything to him, you may take your
oath on that." So they took the money John gave them,
shouted with laughter at his simpleness and went their way.
But John laid the body reverently in the coffin, crossed its
hands on its breast, bade it good-bye and went on
contentedly through the deep wood.

All round him, wherever the moonlight could pierce between
the trees, he saw the prettiest little elves playing about
most delightfully. They didn't take fright at him; they knew
that he was a good innocent being; it's only the bad people
who cannot catch a glimpse of the elves. Some of them were
no bigger than a finger, and had their long yellow hair
fastened up with golden combs. They would be running in
pairs on the big dewdrops that lay on the leaves and the
long grass. Sometimes the dewdrop would fall down, and then
they tumbled over among the tall green blades and there was
a great laughter and commotion among the rest of the tiny
creatures. It was monstrous funny. They would sing, and John
recognized as plain as possible all the pretty tunes he had
learnt as a little child. Big spotted spiders with silver
crowns on their heads were kept spinning long hanging
bridges from one bush to another, and palaces, which looked
like glittering glass in the moonlight when the fine dew
settled on them. And so it went on until the sun rose, when
the little elves crept into the flower buds and the breeze
caught their bridges and palaces, and they flew away through
the air in great webs of gossamer.

Now John had just got out of the wood when from behind him a
deep voice called out, "Hallo, comrade, where are you making
for?" "Out into the wide world," said John, "I've neither
father nor mother, and I'm only a poor lad, but God will
help me, I know." "I'm for the wide world too," said the
stranger, "shall we bear each other company?" "All right,"
said John, and they went on together. It wasn't long before
they took to each other very much, for they were both good
fellows. But John was soon aware that the stranger was much
cleverer than he; he had been almost all the world over, and
could tell all about everything we can imagine.

The sun was already high when they sat themselves down under
a big tree to eat their breakfast, and just as they did so
there came along an old woman. Oh how old she was! She was
quite doubled up, and went leaning on a crutch stick, and on
her back she had a bundle of sticks for firing which she had
picked up in the wood. Her apron was pinned up, and John saw
sticking out from it three long rods made of bracken and
willow twigs. Just as she had got to where they were, her
foot slipped, down she fell, and she gave a loud scream, for
she had broken her leg, poor old thing.

John was anxious to carry her home at once to where she
lived, but the strange man opened his knapsack and took out
a bottle; and he said that in it he had an ointment which
could make her leg properly well, so that she could get home
by herself as well as if she had never broken her leg, but
in return he wanted her first to give him the three rods she
had in her apron.

"That's a good price," said the old woman, and she wagged
her head in a very odd fashion. She didn't care about
parting with her rods, but it wasn't much fun either to lie
there with a broken leg, so she gave him the rods, and the
minute he had rubbed the ointment on the leg, the old mother
got up and walked off much quicker than before. That was
what the ointment could do. But then it wasn't an ointment
that you could buy at the chemist's.

"What do you want with the rods?" John asked his companion.
"Why, they're three pretty nosegays," said he, "I've a fancy
for them. I'm an odd sort of fellow."

So on they went for a good bit. "Goodness me, how overcast
it is getting!" said John and pointed in front. "Those are
tremendous thick clouds." "No," said his comrade, "those are
not clouds; they are the mountains, the splendid great
mountains where one gets right up beyond the clouds in the
fresh air. That is noble, I can tell you; to-morrow we shall
be sure enough right out in the world." But they weren't so
near as they seemed; it needed a whole day's walk before
they got to the mountains where the great forests grew
straight up towards heaven, and where there were rocks as
big as a whole town. It would sure enough be a heavy job to
get up to the top, and for that very reason John and his
comrade went into an inn to get a good rest and gather
strength for the morrow's march.

Down in the big taproom in the inn there was a large company
come together, for a man with a puppet show was there: he
had just put up his little theatre, and people were seated
round in front to see the play, but in the very front of all
a fat old butcher had taken a seat--the best seat there was.
His big bulldog (and ugh! how fierce he looked) sat by his
side and stared with all his eyes like the rest of the
company.

Now the play began, and a pretty play it was, with a King
and Queen who sat on a velvet throne with gold crowns on
their heads and long trains to their robes, as was right and
proper. The most charming wooden puppets with glass eyes and
big moustaches stood at all the doors and opened and shut
them to let folk into the room. It was really a delightful
play and not in the least sad, but just as the Queen got up
and walked across the floor--God knows what the big bulldog
was thinking of--but as the fat butcher wasn't holding him,
he made one bound right on to the stage, seized the Queen by
her slender waist, and crick-crack it went: it was quite
frightful.

The poor man who was performing the whole of the play was
dreadfully frightened and upset about his Queen, for she was
the prettiest by far of all the dolls he had, and now the
horrid bulldog had bitten her head off. But afterwards, when
the people were gone, the strange man--I mean the man who
had come with John--said he could put her to rights well
enough; and he got out his bottle and rubbed the doll with
the ointment he had used to cure the poor old woman when she
had broken her leg. The moment the doll was rubbed it became
quite sound again, and what was more, it could move all its
limbs itself; there was no need to pull the string. The doll
was just like a living human being except that it couldn't
talk. The man who owned the little theatre was delighted.
There was no necessity for him to hold the doll any longer;
it could dance by itself, and there were none of the others
that could do that.

When at last night came, and all the people in the inn were
gone to bed, someone was heard sighing--sighing so deep and
going on so long that everybody got up to see who it could
be. The man who had played the comedy went to his little
theatre, for it was in there that the someone was sighing.
All the wooden dolls were lying there mixed up together, the
King and all the bodyguard, and it was they who were sighing
so miserably, staring with their big glass eyes: for they
wanted dreadfully to be rubbed with the ointment like the
Queen, so that they too might be able to move of themselves.
The Queen threw herself right down on her knees and held up
her beautiful golden crown. "Take it," she begged, "only do
anoint my husband and my court people." At that the poor man
who owned the play and all the dolls could not keep from
crying; he was really grieved for them. He promised the
Travelling Companion at once to give him all the money he
got for his play next evening if he would only anoint four
or five of his best dolls. But the Companion said that all
he would ask for was the big sword the man wore at his side;
and when he had got that he rubbed six of the dolls, which
began to dance that moment; and so delightfully did they
dance that all the girls, the living, human girls who were
looking on, began to dance too. The ostler and kitchenmaid,
the cook and the chambermaid, all danced, and so did all the
visitors, and the shovel and tongs into the bargain; but
they both tumbled down just as they were making their first
hop! Ah, they had a merry night of it, I can tell you.

Next morning John and his comrade left them all, and started
off towards the high mountains and through the great pine
forests. So high did they climb that the church towers far
below them looked at last like little red berries down there
in the midst of the green, and they could see far and wide
for many and many a mile over country where they had never
been. So much of the beauty of the beautiful world John had
never before seen at one time; and the sun shone so hot in
the fresh blue sky, and he heard huntsmen sounding their
horns in among the hills--such a lovely blessed sound--that
the water stood in his eyes from pure pleasure, and he could
not help saying: "O kind Lord! I could kiss you for being so
good to us and giving us all the beauty there is in the
world!"

His Companion stood there too, with clasped hands, looking
out over the woods and villages in the hot sunshine. Just
then a marvellously beautiful sound rang out above them, and
they looked upwards. A great white swan was hovering in the
sky; beautiful it was, and it sang as they had never before
heard a bird sing; but gradually it became weaker and
weaker, its head drooped, and slowly it sank down till it
lay at their feet dead, the splendid bird.

"Two such fine wings," said the Companion, "so big and so
white as these are, are worth money. I'll take them with me.
It's a good thing I've got a sword, you can see that now?"
And he cut both wings off the dead swan with a single
stroke, for he meant to keep them.

And so now they travelled on for many and many a mile across
the mountains, till at last they saw before them a great
city with more than a hundred towers that shone like silver
in the sun. In the centre of this town was a stately marble
palace roofed with red gold, and there lived the King.

John and his Companion would not go into the city at once,
but stayed in an inn just outside it to make themselves
tidy, for they wanted to look smart when they appeared in
the streets. The landlord told them that the King was a good
sort of man who never did nothing to nobody, neither the one
nor yet the other: but his daughter, why there! God help us,
she was a bad Princess. Beauty she had and to spare, nobody
was ever so pretty and attractive as what she was, but where
was the use of that? She was a right down wicked witch, and
so it came about that so many fine young princes had lost
their lives. She'd given everybody leave to come courting
her; any person could come, no matter whether he was a
prince or a beggar, that was all one to her, and all he'd
got to do was to guess three things as she asked him; if he
could do that she would marry him and he'd be King over the
whole country when her father died, but if he couldn't guess
the three things, why she had him hung or else beheaded; so
wicked and cruel was this lovely Princess. Her father, the
old King, was terribly upset about it, but he couldn't
prevent her being so nasty, for he had said once he never
would have anything whatever to do with her lovers, she
might do just as she pleased. Every time a Prince came to
guess and to win the Princess, he couldn't make anything of
it, and so he was hung or had his head chopped off: well,
they'd warned him beforehand; he might have left it alone.
The old King was so troubled at all the sorrow and misery,
that once every year he spent a whole day on his knees with
all his soldiers, praying that the Princess might turn good,
but she wouldn't. The old women who drank brandy coloured it
quite black before they drank it; that was their way of
mourning, and more than that they couldn't do.

"What a hateful Princess," said John, "she ought to be
whipped, that would do her good. If I was the old King she
should get her red stripes right enough."

Just then they heard the people outside shouting: "Hurrah!"
The Princess passed by, and she was really so lovely that
everybody forgot how horrid she was, and so they shouted:
"Hurrah!" Twelve fair maidens, all in white silk dresses and
each with a gold tulip in her hand, rode on coal-black
horses beside her. The Princess herself had a milk-white
horse, caparisoned with diamonds and rubies; her riding
habit was of pure gold, and the whip she had in her hand
looked like a ray of sunlight. The gold crown on her head
was like little stars from up in heaven, and her cloak was
made of thousands of butterflies' wings sewn together, and
yet she was far more beautiful than all her clothes.

When John caught sight of her, he went as red in the face as
a drop of blood, and could hardly say a word; the Princess
looked exactly like the lovely girl with a gold crown he had
dreamt of the night his father died. He thought her most
beautiful, and couldn't help loving her. It certainly wasn't
true, he said, that she could be an evil witch who had
people hung or beheaded when they couldn't guess what she
asked them. "Well, everyone is free to court her, even the
poorest beggar; and on my word I will go up to the Palace; I
can't help it." They all said he must not do that; it would
certainly go with him as with the rest, and the Travelling
Companion too advised him not to go, but John said it would
be all right, brushed his shoes and his clothes, washed his
face and hands, combed his nice fair hair and went all alone
into the town and up to the palace.

"Come in," said the old King when John knocked at the door.
John opened it, and the old King in his dressing-gown and
embroidered slippers came to meet him. He had the gold crown
on his head, the sceptre in one hand and the gold orb in the
other. "Half a minute," said he, and tucked the orb under
his arm in order to give John his hand. But the moment he
heard that here was a suitor, he began to cry so that both
sceptre and orb fell on the floor and he had to dry his eyes
with his dressing-gown. Poor old King!

"Do let it alone," he said, "it'll go with you just like all
the rest. You shall just see for yourself," and he took John
out into the Princess's garden. It was a horrible sight. On
every tree there hung three or four king's sons who had
courted the Princess, but couldn't guess the things she
asked them. Every time the wind blew, all the bones rattled
so that the little birds were frightened and never would
come into the garden. All the flowers were tied up to human
bones, and in the flower-pots there were dead men's skulls
grinning. That was a nice garden for a Princess.

"There, you see," said the old King, "it will go with you
just like all the others you see here, so do let it alone;
you really do make me quite wretched, I feel these things so
much."

John kissed the kind old King's hand and said it would be
all right, he was so fond of the lovely Princess.

Just then, here came the Princess herself with all her
ladies riding into the palace court, so they went out to
meet her, and said good morning. She was beautiful, in all
conscience; she shook hands with John and he grew more in
love with her than before; he was certain she could not be a
dreadful wicked witch as everybody said she was. They went
up into the hall, and the little pages offered them
sweetmeats and gingernuts, but the old King was so wretched
he couldn't eat anything, and besides the gingernuts were
too hard for him.

So now it was settled that John should come back to the
palace next morning, and then the judges and all the council
should be assembled and hear how he got on with his
guessing. If he succeeded, he was to come twice more; but so
far there had never been anybody who had guessed the first
time, and so they had to lose their lives.

John was not the least troubled about what would happen to
him, he was merely happy, he only thought about the lovely
Princess, and believed most surely that the good God would
help him all right; but how, he didn't know in the least,
nor did he care to think. He danced all along the street
when he went back to the inn where the Travelling Companion
was waiting for him.

John never tired of telling how prettily the Princess had
behaved to him and how lovely she was; he longed already for
the next day when he should go there to the palace and try
his luck at guessing.

But the Travelling Companion shook his head and was quite
depressed. "I'm so fond of you," he said, "and we might have
been together for a long time yet; and now I'm to lose you
already. My poor, dear John, I could cry--but I won't spoil
your pleasure on this last evening perhaps, that we shall be
together; we'll be merry, so we will; to-morrow when you are
gone I shall have time to cry."

Everybody in town had got to know at once that a new suitor
to the Princess had come, and there was great lamentation in
consequence. The theatre was closed, and all the cake women
tied black crape round their sugar pigs; the King and the
clergy were on their knees in the church, and there was the
deepest of sorrow, because of course John could not fare
better than all the rest of the suitors.

Late in the evening the Travelling Companion made a big bowl
of punch, and said to John that now they would make merry
and drink the health of the Princess. But no sooner had John
drunk a couple of glasses than he turned so sleepy that he
couldn't keep his eyes open, he must have a nap. The
Travelling Companion lifted him off his chair very gently
and laid him on his bed, and when it was dark night he took
the two great wings that he had cut from the swan and tied
them fast to his shoulders; the biggest of the rods he got
from the old woman who fell down and broke her leg, he put
in his pocket, he opened the window and flew over the town
right away to the palace and there he sat himself in a
corner up under the window which opened into the Princess's
bedroom.

The whole town was perfectly still. When the clock struck a
quarter to twelve, the window opened, and the Princess flew
out in a great white cloak, and with long black wings, away
over the town, and out to a great hill. But the Travelling
Companion made himself invisible so that she couldn't see
him, and flew after her, and he whipped the Princess with
his rod so that the blood actually came at every blow. Ugh,
what a flight that was through the air! The wind caught her
cloak, and it spread out all round like a great sail, and
the moon shone through it. "How it hails, how it hails,"
said the Princess at every stroke she got of the rod--and
much good might it do her. At last she got out to the hill,
and knocked. There was a rumbling as of thunder when the
hill opened, and the Princess went in, and the Travelling
Companion after her, for nobody could see him, he was
invisible. They went through a great long passage where the
walls glistened in a marvellous fashion; there were
thousands of glowing spiders that ran up and down along the
wall and gave a light like fire. Then they came to a large
hall built of silver and gold: flowers as big as sunflowers,
red and blue, shone from the walls, but nobody could pick
them, for the stalks were poisonous snakes and the flowers
were fire that shot out of their mouths. The whole ceiling
was set with shining glow-worms and sky-blue bats that
flapped their thin wings; it was a most extraordinary sight.
In the middle of the floor was a throne supported by four
skeletons of horses which had harness of red fire-spiders.
The throne itself was of milk-white glass, and the cushions
to sit on were of little black mice all biting each others'
tails. Over it was a canopy of rose-red cobweb set with the
prettiest little green flies, shining like jewels. On the
throne sat an old Troll with a crown on his hideous head and
a sceptre in his hand. He kissed the Princess on her
forehead and made her sit by his side on the splendid
throne; and now the music struck up. Great black
grasshoppers played their Jew's harps, and the owl beat on
its stomach, for it hadn't got a drum. That was a funny
concert: tiny little goblins with will-o'-the-wisps in their
caps danced round the hall. Nobody could see the Travelling
Companion; he had placed himself right behind the throne and
heard and saw everything. The courtiers who now came in were
as fine and stately as could be; but anyone who could see
properly noticed at once what they were. They were nothing
but broomsticks with cabbage heads on them--into which the
Troll had bewitched life, and given them embroidered
clothes. But that didn't matter after all, for they were
only used for show.

When the dancing had gone on some time, the Princess told
the Troll that she had got a new suitor, and asked what she
should think of to ask him about next morning when he came
to the palace.

"Listen," said the Troll, "now I'll tell you something. You
must choose something very easy, for then he won't hit on
it. Think of one of your shoes; he won't guess that. Then
have his head cut off, but don't forget when you come out
here to me to-morrow night to bring me his eyes, for I want
to eat them."

The Princess made a very deep curtsey and said she would not
forget the eyes. Then the Troll opened the hill and she flew
home again, but the Travelling Companion followed her and
thrashed her so hard with the rod that she moaned and sighed
at the fierce hail storm and made all the haste she could to
get in at her bedroom window.

But the Travelling Companion flew back to the inn where John
was still asleep, took off his wings and laid himself too
down on the bed; for he had every right to be tired.

It was quite early in the morning when John awoke. The
Travelling Companion got up too and told him that he had had
a very strange dream about the Princess and one of her
shoes; and therefore he earnestly begged him to ask if the
Princess had not thought of one of her shoes. That, of
course, was what he had heard from the Troll in the hill;
but he didn't want to tell John anything about that, but
only begged him to ask whether she had thought of one of her
shoes.

"I may as well ask about one thing as another," said John,
"perhaps what you have dreamt about may be quite right, for
I believe always that God will be sure and help me. Still,
I'll bid you good-bye, for if I do guess wrong, I shall
never get a sight of you again."

So they kissed each other, and John went into the town and
up to the palace. The whole hall was quite full of people;
the judges were in their armchairs and had eiderdown
cushions for their heads because they had so much to think
about! The old King stood up drying his eyes with a white
pocket handkerchief; then the Princess entered. She was even
more lovely than the day before, and she greeted them all
most kindly, but to John she gave her hand and said: "Good
morning to you."

Now John had to guess what she had thought of. Goodness, how
kindly she looked at him--but the moment she heard the
single word _shoe_ she turned as white as a sheet in the
face and shivered all over her body; but that didn't do her
any good, for he had guessed right. Bless his heart, how
delighted the old King was! He turned right head over heels,
and everybody clapped their hands at him and at John, who
had guessed right the first time.

The Travelling Companion beamed with pleasure when he
learned how well all had gone. But John clasped his hands
and thanked the good God, who would surely help him again
the other two times.

There was to be a second guessing no later than next day.

The evening passed just like the one before. When John was
asleep the Travelling Companion flew out after the Princess
to the hill and thrashed her even harder than the first
time, for now he had taken two rods. No one got a sight of
him, and he heard everything. The Princess was to think of
her glove, and this he told to John as if it had been a
dream.

So John was able again to guess right, and there was the
greatest rejoicing at the Palace. The whole court turned
head over heels as they had seen the King do the first time;
but the Princess lay on the sofa and would not utter a
single word. Now the question was if John could guess right
the third time. If that went well he would, of course, win
the lovely Princess and inherit the whole countryside when
the old King died; if he guessed wrong, he would lose his
life, and the Troll would eat his pretty blue eyes.

The evening before, John went to bed early, said his evening
prayer and went quite peacefully to sleep. But the
Travelling Companion fastened his wings to his back, bound
his sword to his side and took all his three rods with him
and flew off to the palace.

It was a pitch dark night; it blew so that the tiles flew
off the house roofs and the trees in the garden where the
skeletons hung bent like reeds under the blast; it lightened
every minute, and the thunder rumbled as if it were but a
single peal that lasted the whole night.

Suddenly the window opened and the Princess flew out. She
was as pale as a corpse, but she laughed at the awful storm;
she thought it was not fierce enough; her white cloak
whirled abroad in the air like a great sail, but the
Travelling Companion flogged her so hard with his three rods
that the blood dripped down on to the earth and at last
could she scarcely fly any further. Finally she reached the
hill.

"It is hailing and blowing," said she, "never have I been
out in such a storm."

"Well, one can have too much of a good thing," said the
Troll. Then she told him that John had again guessed right
the second time. If he did the same on the morrow, he would
have won, and she could never again come out to the Troll to
the hill, and never could do such witchcraft as before; and
so she was greatly troubled.

"He shan't be able to guess," said the Troll, "I shall hit
on something he's never thought of, never fear, or else he
must be a bigger wizard than me. But now let's enjoy
ourselves," and with that he took the Princess by both hands
and they danced round with all the little goblins and
will-o'-the-wisps that were in the room. The red spiders ran
merrily up and down along the walls, and it seemed as if the
fire flowers shed sparks. The owl beat the drum, the
crickets whistled, and the black grasshoppers blew the Jew's
harp. It was a merry ball.

When they had danced long enough the Princess had to get
home otherwise she might be missed at the Palace. The Troll
said he would come with her, and so they would at any rate
still be together for so long.

So they flew off through the awful storm, and the Travelling
Companion wore out his three rods on their backs; never had
the Troll been out in such a hailstorm. Outside the palace
he said good-bye to the Princess and in the same instant
whispered in her ear, "Think of my head". But the Travelling
Companion heard it all the same, and at the moment when the
Princess slipped in through the window into her bedroom, and
the Troll was turning to go back, he caught him by his long
black beard and with his sword hewed off his hideous Troll's
head at the shoulders, so that the Troll himself never once
caught sight of him. The body he threw out into the lake to
the fishes, but the head he only dipped into the water and
then tied it up in his silk pocket handkerchief, took it
home to the inn, and lay down to sleep.

Next morning he gave John the handkerchief, but told him he
must not untie it before the Princess asked what it was she
had thought of.

There were so many people in the great hall of the Palace
that they stood on one another like radishes tied in a
bundle. The council sat in their chairs with their soft
pillows and the old King had a new suit on, and the golden
crown and the sceptre had been polished so that it all
looked splendid. But the Princess was quite pale and had on
a coal black dress as if she were going to a funeral.

"What have I thought of?" said she to John, and at once he
untied the handkerchief, and was quite startled when he saw
the hideous Troll's head. A shudder ran through everyone,
for it was frightful to look upon, but the Princess sat like
a stone image and could not utter a single word. At last she
rose and gave her hand to John, for, of course, he had
guessed right. She looked on neither one or another, but
with a deep deep sigh she said, "Now you are my lord,
to-night we will hold our bridal."

"That's the sort for me," said the old King; "so we will!"
All the people shouted "Hurrah", the guards' band played in
the street, the bells rang, and the cake women took the
black crape off their sugar pigs, for now there was
rejoicing. Three whole roasted oxen, stuffed with ducks and
chickens, were set out in the middle of the marketplace;
anyone could cut himself a slice. The fountains ran with the
most delicious wine, and anyone who bought a penny roll at
the baker's had six large buns given him into the bargain,
buns, mark you, with raisins in them.

At night the whole town was illuminated and the soldiers
fired off cannons, and the boys peashooters, and there was
eating and drinking, singing and springing, up at the
palace; all the noble lords and the lovely ladies danced
together, and from far away you could hear them when they
sang:

    _Here are so many pretty maidens
    That all want a turn.
    They are asking for the drum and fife march;
    Pretty maiden, take a turn,
    Dance about and stamp about
    Till your shoe soles tumble out._

But the Princess was still a witch and cared not at all for
John. This the Travelling Companion was aware of, and
therefore he gave John three feathers from the swan's wings,
and a little bottle with some drops in it, and told him that
he must have a large tub full of water put by the bride's
bed, and when the Princess was going to get into bed, he
must give her a little push so that she should fall into the
water; then he must duck her thrice--having first put the
feathers and the drops into the bath--and then she would be
rid of her witchcraft and would come to be very fond of him.

John did all that the Travelling Companion had advised him.
The Princess screamed aloud when he plunged her beneath the
water, and wriggled in his hands in the form of a great
coal-black swan with fiery eyes. When she came up from the
water a second time, the swan was white, save for a black
ring round its neck. John prayed earnestly to God and made
the water run over the bird the third time, and in that
instant it was changed to a real lovely Princess. She was
even prettier than before, and she thanked him with tears in
her beautiful eyes for having freed her from the spell that
was on her.

Next morning the old King came with all his court, and there
were congratulations that lasted till late on in the day;
last of all came the Travelling Companion. He had his stick
in his hand and his knapsack on his back. John kissed him
over and over again and said he must never go away, but must
stay with him; he had been the cause of all his good
fortune; but the Travelling Companion shook his head and
said--how kindly and lovingly--"No, now my time is up, I
have but paid my debt. Do you remember the dead man whom
those evil men would have injured? You gave all you had that
he might rest in his grave. I am that dead man." And that
same instant he was gone.

The bridal lasted a whole month. John and the Princess were
as fond of each other as could be, and the old King lived
for many happy days and let their little children ride a
cock horse on his knee and play with his sceptre. But John
was king over the whole realm.




Transcriber's note:

The edition used as base for this book contained the
following errors, which have been corrected:

Page 51: You mustn't be so cast down, John you see
=> You mustn't be so cast down, John, you see

Page 52: till the sunrose
=> till the sun rose


[End of _The Travelling Companion_ by Hans Christian Andersen,
from _Hans Andersen Forty-Two Stories_, translated by M. R. James]