The Steadfast Tin Soldier

There were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers, all brothers, for they had been cast from the same old tin spoon. They held their muskets against their shoulders and looked straight ahead, and their uniforms were splendid, red and blue. The very first thing they ever heard in this world, when the lid was lifted from the box in which they lay, was the word "Tin soldiers!" It was a little boy who cried it out, clapping his hands, for they were his birthday present, and now he set them up on the table. One soldier was exactly like the next — all but one. He had been cast last of all, and there had not been quite enough tin to finish him, so he had only one leg. But he stood just as firmly on that one leg as the others did on two, and it was he, of all of them, who became remarkable.

On the table where they were set up stood a great many other toys, but the one that caught the eye most of all was a pretty little castle made of paper. Through its tiny windows you could look right into the rooms. In front of the castle stood little trees around a small mirror, made to look like a clear lake, and swans of wax swam upon it and saw themselves reflected there. It was all very pretty, but the prettiest thing of all was a little lady who stood in the open doorway of the castle. She too was cut out of paper, but she wore a skirt of the clearest muslin, with a narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders like a scarf, and in the middle of it sat a glittering tinsel rose as large as her whole face. The little lady stretched out both her arms, for she was a dancer, and she lifted one leg so high in the air that the tin soldier could not see it at all, and he thought that she, like himself, had only one leg.

"There is the wife for me," he thought. "But she is very grand. She lives in a castle, and I have only a box, and there are five-and-twenty of us in it. That is no place for her. Still, I must make her acquaintance." So he lay down at full length behind a snuffbox that stood on the table, and from there he could watch the fine little lady, who went on standing on one leg without ever losing her balance.

When evening came, all the other tin soldiers were put back into their box, and the people of the house went to bed. Then the toys began to play their own games — paying visits, waging war, and giving balls. The tin soldiers rattled inside their box, for they wanted to join in, but they could not lift the lid. The nutcracker turned somersaults, and the pencil skipped about the slate. There was such a racket that the canary woke up and began to join in the talk, and in verse too. The only two who did not stir from their places were the tin soldier and the dancer. She stood straight on the tip of one toe, with both arms stretched out; he was just as steadfast on his one leg, and he never took his eyes from her for a moment.

Now the clock struck twelve, and — snap! — the lid of the snuffbox flew open. But there was no snuff inside; instead, up sprang a little black goblin, for it was a trick box.

"Tin soldier," said the goblin, "keep your eyes to yourself, and don't go looking at what is none of your business!"

But the tin soldier pretended not to hear.

"Very well — just you wait till tomorrow!" said the goblin.

When morning came and the children got up, the tin soldier was set in the window. And whether it was the goblin's doing or the draught, no one can say, but all at once the window flew open and the soldier tumbled head over heels out of the third-floor window. It was a dreadful fall! He landed upside down, his leg straight up in the air, his bayonet caught between two paving stones, and his shako wedged fast.

The servant girl and the little boy came straight down to look for him, but though they very nearly stepped on him, they did not see him. If the tin soldier had called out, "Here I am!" they would surely have found him. But he did not think it proper to shout out while he was in uniform.

Now it began to rain. The drops fell faster and faster, until it was a downpour. When it was over, two boys came along the street.

"Look here!" said one of them. "There's a tin soldier! Let's send him out for a sail."

So they made a boat out of a newspaper, set the tin soldier down in the middle of it, and sent him sailing off down the gutter, while both boys ran alongside, clapping their hands. Goodness, what waves rolled in that gutter, and what a current there was — for the rain had come down hard! The paper boat rocked up and down, and now and then spun round so fast that the tin soldier trembled. But he stayed steadfast; not a muscle of his face moved. He looked straight ahead and held his musket against his shoulder. All at once the boat swept in under a long plank bridge over the gutter, and it grew as dark as it had been inside his box.

"Where am I going now?" he thought. "Yes, yes, this is the goblin's fault! Oh, if only the little lady were here in the boat with me — then it might be twice as dark, and I would not care."

Just then a great water rat appeared, one who lived beneath the plank bridge.

"Have you a passport?" asked the rat. "Hand over your passport!"

But the tin soldier said nothing and held his musket tighter than ever.

On went the boat, and the rat came after it. Ugh, how he ground his teeth, and cried out to the sticks and straws, "Stop him! Stop him! He hasn't paid the toll! He hasn't shown his passport!" But the current grew stronger and stronger. The tin soldier could already see daylight ahead, where the bridge ended — but he also heard a roaring sound loud enough to frighten the bravest man. For just think: at the end of the bridge the gutter poured down into a great canal, and for him that was as dangerous as it would be for us to shoot down a mighty waterfall.

He was already so close that there was no stopping. Out shot the boat, and the poor tin soldier held himself as stiff as he could; no one should say he had so much as blinked. The boat spun round three or four times and filled to the brim with water; it had to sink. The tin soldier stood up to his neck in water, and deeper and deeper the boat sank, and the paper came apart more and more, until at last the water closed over the soldier's head. Then he thought of the pretty little dancer, whom he would never see again, and in his ears there rang the words:

Fare thee onward, soldier bold, Death awaits you in the cold.

Then the paper fell to pieces, and the tin soldier plunged down — but at that very moment he was swallowed by a great fish.

Oh, how dark it was inside that fish! Darker even than under the plank bridge, and far narrower too. But the tin soldier stayed steadfast, and lay there at full length with his musket on his shoulder.

The fish darted this way and that, making the most terrible movements; then at last it grew quite still. Something flashed through it like a bolt of lightning, the light shone clear, and a voice cried out, "The tin soldier!" The fish had been caught, taken to market, sold, and carried up into a kitchen, where the cook cut it open with a big knife. She took the soldier between two fingers, round the middle, and carried him into the room, where everyone wanted to see the remarkable fellow who had travelled about inside a fish. But the tin soldier was not at all proud. They set him on the table, and — no, how strange things can happen in this world! — the tin soldier was in the very same room he had been in before. He saw the same children, and the same toys stood on the table: the splendid castle with the pretty little dancer. She still balanced on her one leg, with the other lifted high in the air — she was steadfast too. It touched the tin soldier so that he almost wept tin tears, but that would not have been proper. He looked at her, and she said nothing.

Then one of the little boys picked up the soldier and threw him straight into the stove, and gave no reason for it. It was surely the goblin in the box who was to blame.

The tin soldier stood there, lit up bright, and felt a heat that was terrible — but whether it came from the real fire or from love, he could not tell. The bright colors had all gone from him; whether that had happened on his journey, or whether his grief had done it, no one could say. He looked at the little lady, and she looked at him, and he felt himself melting; but still he stood steadfast, his musket on his shoulder. Then all at once a door flew open, and the draught caught the dancer, and she flew like a sylph straight into the stove to the tin soldier, blazed up in flames, and was gone. Then the tin soldier melted down to a lump, and when the maid raked out the ashes the next morning, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the dancer nothing was left except the tinsel rose, burned coal-black.