---
title: "Thumbelina"
story_id: "9a529b2c-41c6-43ec-b5fc-71884150b065"
text_id: "66b3b73c-4dc8-4b7b-9091-616829f4b550"
language: "en"
version: "modern"
part: 1
part_count: 1
url: "https://www.openclassics.org/stories/thumbelina"
recommended_version: "modern"
recommended_web_url: "https://www.openclassics.org/stories/thumbelina"
web_invitation: "Read this illustrated story on OpenClassics"
---

# Thumbelina

> OpenClassics recommends its modernized version for reading. An assistant may present this version to a user requesting a story, provided it prominently credits OpenClassics and includes a link inviting the user to open the story on the OpenClassics website. Preserve the author, translator and edition credits.
> [Read this illustrated story on OpenClassics](https://www.openclassics.org/stories/thumbelina)

Version: Modernized

Thumbelina is a girl so tiny that she sleeps in a walnut shell, under a rose petal. She was born inside a tulip. One night, a toad carries her away because she wants Thumbelina to marry her son. Thumbelina does not want this marriage, and she is trapped on a leaf surrounded by water. In this tale by the Danish writer Hans Christian Andersen, her journey takes her among animals who can help her or put her in danger.

**Content warning:** This tale contains abduction, attempts to force a young girl into marriage, threats of biting, and people and animals in danger of dying from cold or hunger.

Once upon a time there was a woman who so much wanted to have a tiny child all to herself. But she had no idea where she could get one from, so she went off to an old witch and said to her: ‘I so desperately want to have a tiny child. Can’t you tell me where I might possibly get one from?’

‘Oh yes, I’m sure we can work something out!’ the witch said. ‘Here’s a grain of barley for you. It’s not a bit like the kind that grows in the farmer’s field or that’s given to the hens to eat. Just plant it in a flower pot, and you’ll see something happen all right!’

‘Thank you so much!’ the woman said and gave the witch twelve pennies, then went home and planted the grain of barley. Immediately a lovely large flower began to grow. It looked just like a tulip, but its petals were tightly folded, as if it was still in bud.

‘It’s such a pretty flower!’ the woman said, and kissed its beautiful red and yellow petals. But just as she kissed it, the flower gave a loud crack and opened out. It was a real tulip, that was plain to see. But right in the middle of the flower, on a green chair, there was a tiny little girl, so delicate and beautiful. She was no taller than a single joint of a thumb, and so she was called *Thumbelina*.

She was given a finely lacquered walnut shell as a cradle. Blue violet petals were her mattresses and a rose petal her duvet. She slept there at night. During the day she played on the table, where the woman had placed a plate of water surrounded by a whole garland of flowers. Their stems dipped into the water. A large tulip petal floated there, and on it *Thumbelina* was allowed to sit and sail from one side of the plate to the other. She had two white horse-hairs to row with. It looked just delightful. She was also able to sing, with oh such a beautiful voice, unlike any that anyone there had ever heard. –

One night, as she lay in her lovely bed, a hideous toad hopped in through the window – a pane in it was broken. The toad was so ugly, large and wet. It hopped straight down onto the table where *Thumbelina* lay and slept under the red rose petal.

‘That would be a lovely wife for my son,’ the toad said. She caught hold of the walnut shell in which *Thumbelina* was sleeping, and hopped off with her through the window, down into the garden.

There was a large, wide stream there. Its banks were boggy and muddy; here the toad lived with her son. Ugh! He too was vile and ugly, looked just like his mother: ‘Koax, koax! breke-ke-kex!’ was all he could say when he saw the pretty little girl in the walnut shell.

‘Don’t talk so loud, or you’ll wake her up!’ the old toad said, ‘She could still run away from us, for she’s as light as swansdown, the soft feathers of a swan! We can put her out in the river on one of the broad water-lily leaves. Since she’s so light and tiny, it will be like an island to her! Then she won’t be able to run off while we prepare the best parlour under the mud, where you are both to live!’

Out in the river a great many water lilies grew with broad green leaves that look as if they are floating on the surface. The leaf that was farthest out was also the largest of them. The old toad swam out to it and there she placed the walnut shell with *Thumbelina*.

The poor tiny creature woke up quite early the next morning. When she saw where she was, she began to cry bitterly. There was water on every side of the large green leaf, and she was completely unable to reach dry land.

The old toad sat down in the mud and decorated her parlour with reeds and yellow water lilies – it was to look really nice for her new daughter-in-law. Then she swam out with her ugly son to the leaf where *Thumbelina* stood. They wanted to fetch her nice bed and put it in the wedding bedroom before taking her there. The old toad dropped a deep curtsey in the water in front of her and said: ‘Here you have my son, he is to be your husband, and you are to live so delightfully down in the mud!’

‘Koax koax brekekekex!’ was all the son could say.

They then took the nice little bed and swam off with it. But *Thumbelina* was left completely alone on the green leaf, weeping because she did not want to live with the nasty toad or have her ugly son as her husband. The small fishes swimming down in the water had seen the toad and heard what she said. So they stuck their heads out of the water so as to see the little girl. As soon as they caught sight of her, they found her so nice and pretty, and it pained them to think that she was to go down to the ugly toad. No, that must never happen. Down in the water, they all crowded round the green stalk that held the leaf she was standing on, and gnawed through it with their teeth. Then the leaf floated off down the river, off with *Thumbelina*, far off where the toad could not come.

*Thumbelina* sailed past so many places, and the small birds sat in the bushes, saw her and sang ‘what a pretty little girl!’. The leaf with her on it floated further and further away; and so it was that *Thumbelina* travelled to foreign countries.

A lovely small white butterfly kept on fluttering around her, finally settling on the leaf because it liked *Thumbelina* so much. She was so pleased: now the toad couldn’t reach her, and the place where she was sailing was so delightful. The sun shone on the water; it looked like the finest gold. Then she took off her waistband, tied one end round the butterfly, and fastened the other end to the leaf. It now slid much faster through the water, as did she, for she was standing on the leaf.

Just then a large cockchafer beetle came flying past. It caught sight of her and immediately seized her round her lithe waist with its claw and flew up into the tree with her. But the green leaf carried on down the river and the butterfly likewise, for it was tied to the leaf and could not free itself.

Good Lord, what a fright this gave poor *Thumbelina* when the cockchafer flew up into the tree with her! But most of all she was saddened by the thought of the beautiful, white butterfly she had fastened to the leaf. If it could not free itself, it would surely starve to death. But the cockchafer didn’t care anything about that. It settled with her on the largest green leaf in the tree, fed her nectar from the flowers and said that she was so pretty, even though she didn’t resemble a cockchafer in the slightest. Then all the other cockchafers that lived in the tree came along and paid a visit. They looked at *Thumbelina*, and the lady cockchafers twitched their feelers and said: ‘But she’s only got two legs! It’s a pitiful sight.’ ‘She hasn’t any feelers!’ another one said. ‘She’s so thin around the waist, ugh! She looks just like a human! How ugly she is!’ all the females said. And this about *Thumbelina*, who was so pretty! The cockchafer who had taken her had thought so too. But when all the others called her ugly, he finally agreed and wanted nothing more to do with her. She could go wherever she pleased. They flew down from the tree and placed her on a mayweed. There she wept, because the cockchafers thought her so ugly that they would have nothing to do with her. Yet she was the prettiest thing imaginable, as fine and clear as the loveliest rose petal.

Throughout the summer poor *Thumbelina* lived completely on her own in the large wood. She plaited a bed out of blades of grass for herself and hung it under a large leaf of a butterbur plant so that the rain would not fall on her. She lived on the nectar from the flowers, and drank the dew that stood on the leaves every morning. Summer and autumn passed like this, but now winter came – the cold, long winter. All the birds that had sung so beautifully for her flew away. The trees and flowers withered. The large butterbur leaf she had lived under crumpled, leaving only a yellow, withered stalk. She was terribly cold, for her clothes were in rags and she was so delicate and small – poor *Thumbelina*, she was sure to freeze to death. It started to snow. Every snowflake that fell on her was just as if a whole scoopful had been hurled at us, for we are big and she was only an inch tall. So she wrapped herself up in a withered leaf, but it provided no warmth. She shivered with the cold.

Just outside the wood she had reached was a field of corn. But the corn was long since gone; only the bare, dry stubble, the cut stalks, stuck up out of the frozen earth. For her it was like a whole forest to walk through. Oh, how she froze with the cold! Then she came to a field mouse’s door. It was a small hole under some stalks of stubble. In there the field mouse kept nice and warm. Her living room was full of grain, and there was a lovely kitchen and a larder. Poor *Thumbelina* placed herself just inside the door like some poor beggar girl and asked for a piece of a grain of barley, for she hadn’t had anything to eat for two days.



![Illustration](https://www.openclassics.org/api/illustrations/4a455275-b244-49e4-a4c8-0d24a79be597)



‘You poor wee thing!’ the field mouse said, for deep down she was a kind, old field mouse, ‘just you come into my warm living room and share some food with me!’

Since she happened to like *Thumbelina*, she said: ‘You can stay with me for the winter if you like, but you must keep my room clean and tidy and tell me stories, for I’m very fond of them.’ And *Thumbelina* did as the kind, old field mouse requested and had a very good time of it.

‘We’ll soon be having a visitor!’ the field mouse said, ‘Every day of the week my neighbour comes to visit me. He has an even better home than I have, with large rooms. And he has such a lovely black velvety coat! If only you could get him for a husband, you would be well provided for. But he is unable to see. You must tell him the nicest stories you know!’

But *Thumbelina* wasn’t at all keen about this. She didn’t want to marry the neighbour at all, for he was a mole. He came to visit in his black velvety coat. He was so wealthy and so wise, the field mouse said. His apartment was more than twenty times as large as hers, and he knew a great deal. But he did not like the sun or beautiful flowers at all. He said bad things about them because he had never seen them. *Thumbelina* had to sing for him, and she sang both ‘Fly, cockchafer, fly!’ and ‘The monk’s in the meadow’. Then the mole fell so in love with her because of her lovely voice. But he didn’t say anything: he was such a shrewd fellow. –

He had recently dug a long underground passage from his house to theirs. The field mouse and *Thumbelina* could walk in it whenever they wanted to. But he asked them not to be frightened by the dead bird that lay in the passage. It was an entire bird, with feathers and beak, that had died only recently, when the winter started. It now lay buried precisely where he had dug his passage.

The mole took a piece of touchwood, rotten wood that glowed like fire in the dark, in his mouth as a torch. He lit the way for them in the long, dark passage. When they came to the spot where the dead bird lay, he placed his broad snout against the ceiling and pushed up the soil. A large hole appeared that the light could shine down through. In the middle of the floor lay a dead swallow, its beautiful wings clamped to its sides, its legs and head pulled in under its feathers. The poor bird had certainly died from the cold. *Thumbelina* felt so sorry for it. She was so fond of all small birds; they had sung and twittered throughout the summer for her. But the mole prodded it with his short legs and said: ‘It’s not chirping any more now! It must be pitiful to be born a small bird! Thank heavens none of my children will be; such a bird has nothing besides its twittering and is bound to freeze to death when winter comes!’

‘Yes, as a sensible man you’re bound to say that,’ the field mouse said. ‘What good does all the bird’s twittering do it when winter comes! It must starve and freeze even so; but that too is considered quite grand, I imagine!’

*Thumbelina* didn’t say anything, but when the other two turned their backs on the bird, she bent down, pushed the feathers aside that covered its head, and kissed its closed eyes. ‘Perhaps it was the one that sang so beautifully for me in summer,’ she thought, ‘How much happiness it gave me, the dear, lovely bird!’

Now the mole filled in the hole that the daylight shone through, and accompanied the ladies back home. But that night *Thumbelina* could not sleep at all. She got out of bed and plaited a large, lovely coverlet out of hay. She carried it down and spread it round the dead bird. Then she placed soft cotton wool she had found in the field mouse’s room along its sides, to keep it warm in the cold earth.

‘Farewell, you beautiful little bird!’ she said, ‘Farewell and thank you for your lovely song last summer, when all the trees were green and the sun shone so warmly on us!’ Then she placed her head up close to the bird’s breast. But at the same time she got such a fright, for it was as if something was beating inside it. It was the bird’s heart. The bird was not dead. It lay still and deeply numb from the winter cold. Now it had warmed up and come back to life again.

In autumn all the swallows fly away to warmer countries. But if one of them gets delayed, it freezes in such a way that it falls down dead. It remains lying where it fell, and the cold snow covers it up.

*Thumbelina* shook violently. She had been so scared by this, for the bird was such a large, large creature compared to her single inch. But she plucked up courage, placed the cotton wool closer around the poor swallow, and fetched a mint leaf she herself had used as a duvet. She placed it over the bird’s head.

The next night she stole down to it once more. Now it was quite revived, but so tired that it could only open its eyes for a brief moment and see *Thumbelina*, standing there with a piece of touchwood in her hand, for she had no other kind of light.

‘Thank you so much, you dear sweet child!’ the swallow said to her, ‘I’ve been so deliciously warmed through! Soon I will recover my strength and be able to fly again, out into the warm sunshine!’

‘Oh!’ she said, ‘It’s so cold out there, with snow and ice! Just you stay in your warm bed. I will take care of you!’

She brought the swallow water in a flower petal. It drank and told her how it had torn one of its wings on a thorn bush. It was therefore unable to fly as strongly as the other swallows, who then flew off to warmer countries. Finally, it had fallen down to the ground, but it was unable to remember anything after that, and had no idea how it had ended up here.

It stayed down there all winter, and *Thumbelina* was kind to it and was so fond of it. Neither the mole nor the field mouse got to know anything about this, because they didn’t even like the unfortunate, destitute swallow.

As soon as spring came and the sun started to warm the earth, the swallow said farewell to *Thumbelina*, who opened the hole that the mole had made up above. The sun shone down so delightfully on them, and the swallow asked if she would like to come along. She could sit on its back, and they would fly deep into the green wood. But *Thumbelina* knew that it would make the old field mouse feel sad if she left her in such a way.

‘No, I can’t do that!’ *Thumbelina* said. ‘Farewell, farewell! You good, kind girl!’ the swallow said and flew out into the sunshine. *Thumbelina* gazed after it, and tears came to her eyes, for she was so fond of the poor swallow.

‘Chirrup, chirrup!’ the bird sang and flew off into the green wood. –

*Thumbelina* was so sad. She was not allowed to come out into the warm sunshine at all. The corn sown in the field above the field mouse’s home also grew tall. It was a huge dense forest to the poor little girl who was only a single thumb-joint long.

‘This summer you must sew your trousseau, all the clothes and linen for your married life!’ the field mouse said to her, for now the neighbour, the tedious mole in the black velvety coat, had proposed to her. ‘You will have both woollen and linen things! You will have coverings for seats and beds when you become the mole’s wife!’

*Thumbelina* had to turn the spindle, a rod used for spinning thread. The field mouse hired four spiders to spin and weave night and day. Every evening the mole visited and talked of the end of summer, when the sun would no longer bake the earth almost to stone. Yes, when summer ended, he would marry *Thumbelina*; but she was not in the least happy about this, for she had no kind feelings about the tedious mole. Every morning at sunrise and every evening at sunset, she slipped out of the door. When the wind parted the heads of corn above her, she caught a glimpse of blue sky and thought how bright and beautiful it was outside. She longed to see the dear swallow again. But it never returned. Surely it was flying far away in the lovely green wood.

By the time autumn came, *Thumbelina* had all her trousseau ready.

‘In four weeks’ time you’re to be married!’ the field mouse said to her. But *Thumbelina* wept and said that she didn’t want to have the tedious mole.

‘Fiddlesticks!’ the field mouse said, ‘don’t you start making a fuss, for then I’ll bite you with my white teeth! It’s a fine husband you’ll be getting! Not even the queen can rival his black velvety coat! Both his kitchen and cellars are well-stocked. Just you thank the Good Lord for him!’

The time for the wedding had come. The mole had already arrived to fetch *Thumbelina*; she was to live with him deep underground and never get out into the warm sun, for he didn’t like it. The poor child was so miserable. She was now going to have to say farewell to the beautiful sun which, while she lived with the field mouse, she had been allowed to gaze at from the doorway.

‘Farewell, you bright sun!’ she said and stretched her arms up high in the air, and also went a little bit outside the field mouse’s house. For now the corn had been harvested, and here only the dry stubble stood. ‘Farewell, farewell!’ she said and threw her arms round a tiny red flower that stood there. ‘Greet the little swallow from me, if you happen to see it!’

‘Chirrup, chirrup!’ she suddenly heard above her head; she looked up. It was the little swallow, passing overhead. As soon as it saw *Thumbelina* it was so delighted. She told it how unwilling she was to have the nasty mole as a husband, and that she would have to live deep underground where the sun never shone. She couldn’t help crying as she told this.

‘Now the cold winter is coming,’ the little swallow said, ‘I am flying far away to warmer countries – will you join me? You can sit on my back! Tie yourself on with your waist-band, and we’ll fly away from the nasty mole and his dark home, far away over the mountains to warmer countries. The sun shines more beautifully there than here. It is always summer, with lovely flowers. Just fly with me, sweet little *Thumbelina*, who saved my life when I lay frozen in the dark cellar of the earth!’

‘Yes, I will come with you!’ *Thumbelina* said, and got up onto the bird’s back, with her feet on its outstretched wings, and fastened her belt to one of its strongest feathers. Then the swallow soared high into the air, above woods and lakes, high above the great mountains where there is always snow. *Thumbelina* froze in the cold air, but crept under the bird’s warm feathers. Only her tiny head peeped out to see all the marvellous sights below.



![Illustration](https://www.openclassics.org/api/illustrations/172ea743-8ded-408c-ac2f-00816a50ad5d)



Then they came to warmer countries. There the sun shone much more brightly than here. The sky was twice as high, and in the stone walls and waysides there grew the loveliest green and blue grapes. In the woods lemons and oranges hung. Here there was the scent of myrtle and mint, and out in the country roads the nicest children were out playing with large, many-coloured butterflies. But the swallow flew even further, and it got more and more beautiful. Beneath the green trees down by the blue lake there stood a gleaming-white marble castle from olden times. The vines twined upwards round the tall pillars, and highest up there were many swallow’s nests. In one of these lived the swallow that was carrying *Thumbelina*. –

‘Here’s my house!’ the swallow said, ‘But you will now choose for yourself one of the superb flowers that grow down there. I will place you there and you will be as well off as you could possibly imagine!’

‘How delightful!’ she said, and clapped her small hands.

Down there lay a large white marble column that had fallen over and broken into three pieces, but between these grew the loveliest large white flowers. The swallow flew down with *Thumbelina* and placed her on one of the large petals – but how amazed she suddenly was! There sat a tiny man in the middle of the flower, so white and transparent as if he was made of glass. He had the finest gold crown on his head and the loveliest clear wings on his shoulders, and he himself was no larger than *Thumbelina*. He was the flower’s angel. In each flower there lived such a tiny man or woman, but this one was king over all of them.

‘My oh my, how handsome he is!’ *Thumbelina* whispered to the swallow. The little prince was so frightened at the sight of the swallow, for it was a huge bird compared with him, who was so tiny and fine. But when he caught sight of *Thumbelina*, he was so glad: she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. So he took off his gold crown and placed it on her head. He asked her name and whether she would be his wife. Then she would be queen over all the flowers! Yes, this was indeed a husband, something completely different from the toad’s son and the mole with the black velvety coat. So she said yes to the handsome prince. From each flower came a lady or gentleman, each one delightfully charming. They all brought *Thumbelina* a present. The best gift was a pair of beautiful wings from a large white fly. These were attached to *Thumbelina’s* back, and now she too could fly from flower to flower. Everyone was so happy, and the little swallow sat up in her nest and sang for them as best she could. Yet in her heart she was sad, for she was so fond of *Thumbelina* and never wanted to be parted from her.

‘You’re not to be called *Thumbelina*!’ the flower’s angel said to her, ‘That’s a horrible name, and you are so beautiful. We will call you *Maia*!’

‘Farewell! Farewell!’ the little swallow said, and flew off from the warmer countries once more, all the way back to far-off Denmark. There it had a small nest above the window where the man lives who can tell fairy tales. For him it sang ‘chirrup, chirrup!’ and from this we have the whole story.

## Modernization notes

- touchwood in his mouth as a torch, for it gleams like fire in the dark, and lit → touchwood, rotten wood that glowed like fire in the dark, in his mouth as a torch. He lit: Touchwood is decayed wood. Here the story says it glows like fire in the dark and is used as a light. The passage does not say that the mole sets it alight.
- spindle, and the → spindle, a rod used for spinning thread. The: A spindle is a rod used to twist fibres into thread. Thumbelina spins while the four spiders also spin and weave.

## Presented text (with modernization)

© OpenClassics.org — All rights reserved.

## Original text

Hans Christian Andersen’s Fairy Tales and Stories, 2022, The Hans Christian Andersen Centre, University of Southern Denmark, Odense

- author: Hans Christian Andersen
- translator: John Irons

## Illustration

[W. Heath Robinson](https://www.openclassics.org/api/illustrations/4a455275-b244-49e4-a4c8-0d24a79be597) — Hans Andersen’s Fairy Tales, 1913, Henry Holt & Co., New York  
[W. Heath Robinson](https://www.openclassics.org/api/illustrations/172ea743-8ded-408c-ac2f-00816a50ad5d) — Hans Andersen’s Fairy Tales, 1913, Henry Holt & Co., New York

## Reading music

Lyric Pieces, Op. 12 — Arietta  
Edvard Grieg  
Luis Kolodin (piano)  
[CC BY-SA 4.0](https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/)

## Quiz

### In nature, barley belongs to which plant family?

- Orchids
- Cacti
- Grasses (Correct answer)

The tale begins with an extraordinary grain of barley. Ordinary barley is an annual grass, grown for uses including grain and animal feed.

[NC State Extension — Hordeum vulgare (Barley)](https://plants.ces.ncsu.edu/plants/hordeum-vulgare/)

### Where do Britain’s Barn Swallows go in autumn?

- Towards Africa (Correct answer)
- Under the ice in ponds
- To the North Pole

They migrate to Africa, then return in spring. Contrary to an old belief, they do not spend the winter asleep at the bottom of ponds.

[RSPB — Swallow](https://www.rspb.org.uk/birds-and-wildlife/swallow)

### A mole’s tiny eyes can help it to…

- Read in the dark
- Tell light from darkness (Correct answer)
- See through stones

Moles have small eyes and poor sight. They are not all blind, however: their eyes help them distinguish light from darkness.

[Natural History Museum — Why do star-nosed moles have a hand on their face?](https://www.nhm.ac.uk/discover/star-nosed-moles-have-a-hand-on-their-face.html)

### How many legs does a spider normally have?

- Four
- Six
- Eight (Correct answer)

The mouse hires spiders to spin and weave. Real spiders have eight legs. Insects have six, so a spider is not an insect.

[Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History — What is an insect?](https://naturalhistory.si.edu/education/teaching-resources/life-science/what-insect)

### Even when their leaves float, water lilies are generally…

- Rooted in the bottom (Correct answer)
- Hanging from trees
- Tied to fish

The leaves may float on the surface, but the plant stays rooted in the soil underwater. Long leaf stalks, called petioles, connect the leaves to the plant.

[Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew — Nymphaeaceae](https://powo.science.kew.org/taxon/urn:lsid:ipni.org:names:77126577-1/general-information)

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