Original subtitles

Well, now, let's begin.

And when we come to the end of the story, we shall know more than we do

My life as a fairy tale.

What's happening out there?

Is that her already?

Is the Snow Queen coming for me?

It's the parade.

That's all.

They're sure of choosing a procession.

They've got acting.

And everything.

I came to see if you needed any help.

Well,

I do. I do need help.

God help me with these liars.

Pick that up.

Can't I watch the parade?

No, you can't. Oh, you'd like that on your conscience.

You masked, scrubbing, stinking underclothes of imbecile. It feels

you.

Daydreaming after a bloody opera house in Cove and bloody Hagen.

Oh, you're drunk again.

I wasn't born to this, you know.

Nobility, that's what I am. Breathing, that's what my mother had.

Breathing's what your mother did and all. And to look her up, did you know

Three children by three different fathers. She was married to them. What's

in that?

All at the same time, that's what... What's wrong?

Don't you come over all right all with me. I remember you, out on the street

selling matches. Hurry up, woman.

Looking out time at the zoo.

Oh, my, my, my, oh, God, please take me into your heavenly bow.

You saw her too?

She chose me to dance with. Everybody clapped.

And her name was... Dumbelina.

Tell her to take care.

There are trolls living across the river. On the other bank.

Trolls?

But I'm safe here, aren't I?

They can't cross water, can they?

No, Grandfather, they can't cross water.

You're safe here.

One night, an ugly she -toe comes hopping along.

He's a lovely wife to my son.

Hark at him and his stories.

And hops with her down to the bottom of a garden where the broad stream flows.

No wonder I need the odd pick -me -up.

You shouldn't be ironing. Not in the state you're in.

Oh, it's nasty.

Look at that.

Right across your lifeline.

Read mine.

You've read hers. Read mine.

Cut my palm with silver.

Better than nothing.

Come on then, let's have a look.

Now, nice long lifeline. That's good.

Wait a minute.

I'm never wrong, you know, Hans.

Never.

It says here that one day the whole of Copenhagen will be lit up.

In your honour, Hans.

In your honour.

Father. The gypsy woman at the asylum. She read my palm.

She said that all Copenhagen was going to be lit up in my honour.

You should have seen him when he was young.

So handsome in his general's uniform.

He was never a general. Those medals are off a Christmas tree.

Oh, dear.

What's going to happen to us?

You can't eat books.

There we are, then.

What's going to happen to me?

What's going to happen to me? I'll be back soon.

With my pockets full of gold.

At Copenhagen, remember?

Lit up.

In my honour.

We only had each other.

Welcome.

Thank you.

Yes? I'm looking for a lady.

You've come to the right place.

You've got all sorts here.

What's your fancy?

She's my aunt, Christiane Thorne's daughter.

Oh, God help her.

She left months ago.

Gave me a packet in back rent.

She went off with some sailor she picked up.

Oh, you're quite wrong. My mother assured me. My sister is the respectable

of a sea. Oh, my uncle's the admiral of the fleet.

Well, I've been travelling all day. Have you got a room? How much have you got?

Three ridge dollars, that's it.

Have you got a bed? Yes, I've got a bed.

See you later.

This way.

And have hair, old room.

There's no window.

It's a cupboard.

I said we had beds. I didn't say anything about windows. Take it or leave

My father used to say when everything turns out really miserably, God

will send help.

He said, first you have to suffer before you can accomplish anything worthwhile.

Please, MacLynde.

Andy.

Jenny.

Have more confidence in yourself.

Dolceissimo.

Do it sweetly.

I'm terrified.

Really?

Thank you.

Thank you so much.

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! You've got to pay for it!

Pay for it?

I'll pass 50 ricks, though.

50? Well, look as though I've got 50 ricks on us.

God knows what you look like.

Get out of the way.

Hello.

What are you doing here?

Me.

What a lovely surprise.

Father, Edvard, let me introduce... I'm so sorry, I've forgotten your name.

Hans.

Hans. Christian Anderson.

My father, Jonas Colleen.

And my brother, Edvard.

Are you here for the concert?

I've no ticket, I'm afraid.

Oh, that's the matter.

We've a box.

What about Count Poppett?

Even so, there's heaps of room.

Come on, Father.

He's far more likely to enjoy it than you are. Oh, Edvard.

Join us.

Why don't you?

Well, why don't you?

Where did you meet?

The music club, you know.

So you like music, then?

Oh, yes.

I'm a great admirer of Miss Lund.

Me too.

Purging program she's operating.

I mean, where's the Rossini? Where indeed?

Or the Bellinis?

They're all the rage in Paris.

So true, so very true.

Good evening, Edvard.

Quite a gathering, isn't it?

It's nice to see you out here.

Are you looking forward to it?

You look so lovely in that dress.

Thank you.

And yes, I am looking forward to it.

Hugely.

My Lord, ladies and gentlemen, we are honored that you have graced this

gathering tonight.

It is the first time for Miss Lind to appear on the stage of your beautiful

opera house, but I'm confident that it will not be the last.

Ladies and gentlemen, we present the Nightingale, Miss Jenny Lind.

In Odense. Do you know it? No. My father was the local shoemaker.

He used to be a soldier.

Shh!

for your interest, but please understand, Miss Denny Lynch is very

tonight. We've been travelling and she gave an arduous performance.

Please excuse us. The name is Plopkvist.

I don't see what she can do to help that.

Count Plopkvist. I am a director of this theatre.

I am an effectual employer.

Is that right?

Look, I can dance to watch it.

I'm afraid you're far too thin. I'm not going to pay to watch that.

Engage me and I shall soon get fat.

Come on.

Out of here. Get out. Diva, a select and very small gathering of my friends, a

meeting in a private supper room across the square. I would be delighted if you

would be. I'd rather, if you don't mind, just go back to the hotel, please.

Jenny, let's... A very select gathering. The cream, if I may say so. Otto, will

you please ask them to step aside?

What? We leave her alone.

You two make us proud.

Thank you.

Jenny, please.

This might be very important. We are your most influential champions.

And we'd be delighted to meet your brilliant accompanist.

We will be honored, Count.

Very well.

Just for a moment.

Come on.

Thank you. Please, please.

Thank you.

I'm unconditioned.

Difficult.

Can you grant this gallant young man an audition?

By all means.

Mention my name.

Here is my character.

Leave.

Good luck.

Wait.

What's this?

You're rubbish.

Eight wing dollars back rate, you owe me. You're out, my lad.

Speak to my mother, I'm sure she can send me something.

A miracle, that would be.

Note came to you this morning from the nut house.

Regret to inform you your... mother deceased Friday.

That piece in bosom of saviour, enclosed outstanding wages, deepest sympathy.

14 rigs, dollars, eight, you owe me, plus the six -year -old.

Well, Christmas or no Christmas, fair, fair.

Well, she's happy in where she is.

She was half dead of drink already.

What do you know about it?

What do you know about it? I know not to hang around cluttering up a decent room

when I've got nothing to pay for it. That's what I know. Decent room?

Windowless? Airless? Right!

No shoes?

Look, the poor feet.

I had some slippers, but they were too big.

I lost one trying to dodge the carriages, and a boy ran off with the

He said he could use it as a cradle when he had a child of his own.

Will you buy some matches?

I can't.

I've no money to give you, nothing.

I haven't sold any.

If I go home with none salt, my father will beat me.

I'm so cold.

It might have much.

It might do some good.

What can you see in it?

A black iron stove with polished brass fittings. Look, I can warm my feet.

Oh. That's another one, then.

Roast goose stuffed with prunes and...

Let's move on.

It's you. She's upstairs.

But you can't go up there.

They're not to be disturbed.

Hey, come back!

So, gentlemen, I move then that we invite Lalinde to open the new seat.

And Rossini, perhaps, and Bellini... Miss Lind, by all means.

But with respect, Count, our National Theatre should reflect the work of the

people of Denmark. With respect, Councillor Colleen, the Opera House is

setting for the homespun hand -me -downs of our illiterate peasantry.

What's this?

Just watch.

Listen, my sweet young mate.

Where can I tie my horse round here?

Outside my house there is a ring. First tie it up, then we shall sing. Come

dance with me and we shall be free.

What in heaven's name are you doing?

Dancing. You must be dancing.

We do not concern ourselves with such mundanities. You must make an

with the ballet master.

I don't know the ballet master. I know you. You do not know me.

Gentlemen, I must apologise.

You leave us now, Major, please.

Sit down.

You won't be able to understand if you stand up, so sit down. You must not be

spoken to like this.

Now, once upon a time, there was a woman who longed for a child. So she went to

see an old witch who said, take this barley seed and put it in a pot and see

what happens. It's a complete rivel. You get out.

Oh, must he? I'm longing to see what happens.

The publisher speaks.

It might be easier to let him finish.

So the woman gave her one dollar and planted the seed and... A

beautiful big flower sprung up and burst open. And right in the middle, on a

tiny green stool, sat a lovely little girl.

No bigger than one inch tall.

And her name was Thumbelina.

Did I tell you about the fishes?

The fishes?

They nibbled through the stalk on Thumbelina's lily pad.

Thumbelina floated down the river towards the door of a mole's burrow.

mole was wise and had much learning, and he fell in love with a sweet voice.

Where is Jenny?

Where is she?

She's in the rehearsal room.

But that is enough. I'm afraid the audition is over.

No, you didn't understand.

We understand. You want to be some sort of clown.

No, an actor.

A tragedian.

A tragedian. It's rather unfortunate.

Well, gentlemen, any ideas for this oddity?

What did you say you were going to ask?

Anderson.

Hans Christian Anderson.

A Christian to distinguish me from my father. He's dead, but he was called

Anderson too.

Then Hans Christian.

Would you be kind enough to follow me?

You're the only one who's kind.

You're like your daughter.

She is kind.

Yes? Anderson?

Gentlemen?

Thank you.

Your father's dead?

Yes, sir.

Don't call me sir. Call me Mr. Colleen. Jonas Colleen.

And your mother?

Is she alive?

Where do you live?

Did you... Oh, gracious.

It's the shoemaker's boy.

My champion against the fearsome Plockford.

Tell me, did he grant you that audition?

I believe it was my voice which let me down.

Oh.

What a pity.

It is a pity, yes.

It's because of wearing bad shoes in the depths of winter, as well as having no

underclothing.

Oh.

How unfortunate.

Is there anything I did? Please do not trouble yourself, Miss Lind.

I intend to find a situation for Mr. Anderson.

You do?

Oh, thank you.

I was afraid that I'd inadvertently raised his expectations.

This is Councillor Colleen.

He's been very nice to me.

Not like you are to her.

Jenny, our carriage is outside.

We're delighted that you are returning to us, Miss Lynde.

Norma. Bellini.

Am I?

You will be better than anybody.

I can tell.

Well, Norma it is, then.

Goodbye, Mr Colleen.

Mr Anderson.

What situation?

I'm head of a royal scholarship fund which might be able to help you. Become

actor?

Apprentice you to a trade of some kind.

No, that actually would be a great sin.

Indeed?

In what respect?

You see, I want to be an actor.

Even after today?

First of all, we must find someone to sleep.

You will lodge with my family.

Will your wife not mind?

My wife is dead.

I would have thought Yetta would have... Yetta? My daughter, Henrietta, Edvard,

and I live... I know where you live.

Well, you'd better lead the way, then.

Yetta? Yetta?

Come and see what I have found.

It's like a palace.

I feel like a lad in it.

Ah, back already.

He cleared London, I'm afraid, but I'm sure...

Gracious, what are you doing here?

You remember, Edvard.

Mr. Anderson is coming to stay with us for a while.

I thought him a likely candidate for the scholarship fund next spring.

I'm going to take him for an interview with the prince.

Now, Yetta will show you to your room, and Edvard will find something for you

wear.

I doubt I have anything that would fit.

I'll ask below stairs.

Let's choose your room, west or east, sun in the morning or in the evening.

I don't know.

I've never had a bedroom before.

Good God.

You're quite right. Far too many rooms for us here.

You can have one for the morning and one for the evening.

Mambolino was sad.

She didn't love the old mole.

She wandered round the dank corridors of his burrow, weeping.

Until she came across a great dead bird lying in one of the chambers.

Poor bird.

Did the winter overtake you before you could fly south?

And she felt that the bird was warm.

He wasn't frozen.

He had torn his wing and he couldn't move.

And so she brought him to you in an acorn cup and made him a blanket of

thistle down.

Stay in your warm bed and I'll look after you.

I'll soon get my friends back.

And I'll fly away to the warm south.

Take me with you.

Take me with you.

Away to a white marble palace with vines around its pillars

and gardens of orange and lemons and myrtles and mint.

Right on my back, shelter in my warm feathers.

I could have not.

Go on.

And they landed among some beautiful white flowers.

And right in the middle of them, see, a little man with a pretty gold crown and

bright wings on his shoulders.

What little man?

The guardian spirit of the flower. Every flower has one.

But this one is the king of them all.

Wow. There's a husband indeed.

Take care upon the polished floor, sir.

They're inclined to be slippery.

They're completely made out of fine porcelain.

Priceless, of course, but so brittle and fragile.

You really do have to watch your step.

Very positive, sir.

Don't call me sir. Call me Hans Christian.

In the middle of the city stands a marble palace roofed in red gold, and

lives the king. He's not a king yet. He's still a prince.

And you'll have to remember to call him your highness, not your magister.

And no talk of actors.

You. Me.

Counselor Colin and Mr. Anderson, your highness.

Mr. Anderson, indeed.

How picturesque.

Your Highness, he's lonely.

May I present the young person of whom I spoke?

Indeed, I recollect. Thank you, Colleen.

Count?

Sir, I have had the misfortune on more than one occasion previously to

this young person.

A fact of which I'm aware.

You are?

So, my compliments.

Thank you for coming.

There's no point in them pretending.

I know what they all want me to do.

I beg your pardon?

They all want me to be a shoemaker.

You do, don't you?

A shoemaker?

Like my father.

I see, I see.

Well, no, not necessarily.

Not necessarily.

You don't have to worry.

I don't want to be an actor anymore.

Good heavens, Father.

I'm to be a poet.

A great poet.

Yetta Colleen says I have a distinct talent and a rare imagination.

I'm not sure how realistic you're being. Oh, there's no doubt about it.

The fortune teller, you see.

She said that one day the whole city would be lit up in my honour. They're

hardly likely to do that for a shoemaker now, are they?

But nobody wants you to be a shoemaker.

We just feel that you should be given the opportunity of a real education.

Enough, anyway, to lead to an apprenticeship. No. No.

You're trying to trick me.

Why should I have to end up like my poor father?

Nobody should have to.

Well, apart from you, obviously.

One begins to wonder whether Count Plotquist wasn't right.

Please.

I beg you, please don't make me your majesty.

I know.

Get off.

Get off.

What this country needs is diligent craftsmen, not immoderate dreamers.

And we propose to provide you with a state scholarship dedicated to the

of learning a sensible trade.

A trade hand through which you can repay the people of Denmark.

And this is in respect of the regard I have for Mr. Colleen's judgment, rather

than any impression which you have so far made on me.

Good day, Mr. Anderson.

This way, sir.

Councillor Colleen informed me that he would be waiting in his carriage on the

Palace Forecourt.

No difficulties for your son!

Stop!

Stop!

You okay? No.

Please, Mr. Addison.

Mr. Addison, this is pretty crazy.

Mr. Addison, please calm yourself down.

Hans Christian Andersen.

Christian to distinguish me from my father.

General Andersen.

Who are you?

Chambermaid, sir.

Who sleeps here, then?

Her Royal Highness, sir. The Crown Princess.

You can always tell when someone's a princess or not.

Do you know how?

No, sir. How would that be, then?

My father told me the Crown Prince would have this one. He wanted to marry a

princess, but she had to be a real one.

Well, one night, there was an awful storm with thunder, lightning, and the

in torrents, and there was a knock at the castle door.

And the old king went to open it.

What? King Frederick?

He'd never do that. That's a job for the butler at the very most.

The butler was under the bed.

And there, bedraggled as a drowned rat, stood a princess.

Well, she said she was, anyway, a real one.

The queen said, we'll soon find out.

She took a dried pea and put it on this bed here.

And then she laid 20 mattresses on top of the pea.

No, Pete!

20 eiderdowns on top of the mattresses. No!

She had to spend the night.

And in the morning, the queen asked her how she'd slept.

And she said, I'm black and blue all over. Didn't sleep a wink all night.

knows what was in the bed, but I'm completely covered in bruises. Then they

that she must have been a real princess because nobody but a real princess could

possibly be so sensitive.

And that's a true story?

Don't stop.

She was a real princess.

Very certain princess. Our crown prince married.

And the pea?

The pea is now in the art museum.

Your royal highness, please forgive me. If no one's taken it.

You're... You're royal.

That tissue of lies, that complete concoction, that slanderous

folderol, is

the most delightful flight of fancy that I have ever heard.

You must come back and repeat it someday to the children.

You're quite a parrot.

I'll tell you what.

I'll give you this ring just for making me laugh.

Who on earth are you?

Hans Christian Andersen, Your Majesty.

Are you all right, ma 'am?

Absolutely splendid.

I've been having a lovely conference with Mr Andersen here.

There you are.

Now you can go and find your princess.

I wonder who the lady will be.

The thing is, I already know.

I've just come from

the palace. I have an important message for Miss Lind.

From the palace?

A message from the Crown Princess?

I am Hans Christian Andersen, poet of the court of Crown Prince Christian of

Denmark.

She's in there rehearsing.

Better be safe than sorry. Yes.

Run and catch Mr. Otto.

I just came from the palace, see?

I met the prince and the princess.

Don't be afraid. You know me, Hans.

Hans.

Oh, Mr. Anderson.

Of course.

Forgive me.

The princess gave me her ring.

Our most treasured possession.

She liked the stories I told her. I made her laugh.

I was probably the only man in the kingdom who could.

She probably hadn't laughed for ten years and for ten days.

See? The side.

The royal crest.

No, it is.

You did go to the palace.

Not a story.

I don't tell lies.

She said I should ask it.

I can't ask it here.

It's not safe here.

Come with me.

Hurry, it's not safe here. Not far.

He must have been a bandit.

You follow me.

All of you.

Down in the forest, by the sea.

A long way from the city, there lived a nightingale.

Like you, Jenny.

Jenny, what is this place?

It's Tivoli Garden, Dad.

It's the Chinese pavilion.

You know, the Emperor of China is Chinese, and everyone around him is

Of course.

His palace was the most beautiful thing in the world, made up of the finest

porcelain.

And what about the gardens?

Oh, the gardens.

was so big that even the gardener himself did not know where they ended.

They extended right to the sea, which was blue, and so deep that ships could

sail under the branches of trees, and among those trees lived the nightingale.

The nightingale?

It sang so beautifully that the fishermen would stop work and say, Lord,

beautiful it is, even though they had better things to do.

Go on, sing.

Sing?

Me?

Of course you.

Another nightingale.

Go on, sing the song you sang before, not just now, the old one.

You have to keep singing or it won't work.

The

nightingale

lives somewhere in this forest, Your Majesty.

I've listened to her singing since I was a little girl.

Is there such a bird in China? In my own garden, of all places.

imagined her like that.

How ordinary she looks, Pong. So simple.

So drab, King.

She has undoubtedly lost her colour at seeing so many distinguished people

present.

She'll be a great success at court.

The emperor was so filled with joy that he offered the nightingale his golden

slipper to hang about her neck.

Bow your head. Go on.

Oh, my.

I can see them.

The nightingale fled.

into her tree.

The emperor commanded his servants to search for her to no avail.

Then one day, a parcel arrived by messenger.

A mechanical bird wound by clockwork.

Three and thirty times the mechanical nightingale sang the same piece and was

not in the least tired.

This one's plumage is far prettier, sparkling with diamonds.

With the real nightingale, you never knew what was going to come. But with

one, you can be absolutely certain.

By our own order, this bird... is raised to the rank of singer -in -chief to the

imperial bedside table.

We hereby banish the real Nightingale from our dominion.

His Majesty's evil deeds are bearing him in the face.

Now the death is sitting on his heart.

Music.

Music.

Bring me the nightingale.

But it's broken.

It's broken.

Will you then not sing?

He has given you his own golden flipper.

Please, sing.

Why did you want to help me?

It was when Ploughquist called you a shoemaker's brat.

I'm a dressmaker's daughter.

A dressmaker's daughter? You?

Well, things are of no consequence.

I mean, not unless you allow them to be. Who cares a jot while we start in life?

It's the finishing that matters.

But still, you are a great artist.

A great beauty.

Believe me, I'm neither.

Whereas people say I'm odd.

So after all, you couldn't be my... Annie!

Where are you?

Annie?

Father, you startled us.

Are you all right? Of course, I... Mr. Anderson was just watching me rehearse.

You always sound that distracting.

Mr. Anderson, I find your behavior quite extraordinary.

I forbid you ever to see Miss Lind again.

I cannot live unless I see you again.

Oh, no, please, tell them to stop this.

Let him go, gentlemen.

Thank you.

I think I must apologise for my friend's baby.

That's all right, but I shall die.

Please, don't say such a thing.

No, no, no, that's for you.

That was the point, don't you see?

You'll take care of it.

For eternity.

My father waited outside for over an hour.

He did.

And when he eventually found out what had happened, he learned that you had

behaved outrageously.

No, no, he's got it wrong.

The princess said I was delightful.

Of course she did.

After you had insulted her husband.

After His Royal Highness had tried to be of every help to you, she naturally

said you were delightful.

I was grateful. I still am. For God's sake, Anderson, are you mad?

That poor boy.

He's unbalanced, surely.

You can't deny that.

I really don't think so.

He's an innocent.

Suddenly he has a highly colored imagination.

Well, I don't want you to talk to him.

Really?

Why not?

We might consider it as encouragement, Jenny.

And that wouldn't be fair to him or to any of us.

Remember, I'm here to protect you.

What's in your hand?

Nothing.

The key to my belief.

Why is that bug so cruel to me? I've never hurt him.

We were worried about you, that's all. Nobody knew where you'd gone.

It's wrong of him to say that I'm mad.

Everyone thinks that my father was mad and he wasn't.

They don't know what really happened.

What did really happen?

A lady from the manor house asked him to make some shoes.

Some red shoes.

And he worked for two whole weeks at them.

And when he finished them, he took them to her and she said it was a waste of

her leather.

But he'd paid for the uppers.

She'd only given him enough for the soles.

So he snipped them up right there in front of her.

But that's not mad, is it?

No.

He was absolutely right.

She should not have behaved so...

Inconsiderately. People don't see to the heart of things.

They judge too much by appearances.

Oh, Hans.

You don't have to tell me that.

Once at the asylum where my mother worked, I went through near the cages.

And a mad woman tried to catch me.

I didn't like to think of my mother in there.

Dying there.

But she did.

And I haven't anyone now.

You have.

Of course you have.

Now.

Tell them all the crown princess thinks you're delightful.

Hans, father's arranged for you to go away to school. It's a grammar school

young gentlemen.

So will I be a gentleman like Edvard?

Exactly. It's called Meisling's Academy.

It'll give you a proper education.

No, no, not to be a shoemaker, no, don't worry.

But if Copenhagen is to be lit up in your honour, then you'll have to know

to carry yourself like a man of consequence, won't you?

You are my father now.

And you are my brother.

Good luck, Anderson.

Off you go now. Be grateful for your good fortune.

Now you'll have to write and tell me how you're progressing.

And I shan't mind about the spelling.

I shall miss you.

Very much.

Oh, I shall miss you even more.

I guarantee it.

Yuki, upi,

lupo!

Now, what does that mean?

You,

charity boy, what does Lupo mean?

By, with, or from the rabbit, Mr. Meisling, sir.

By, with, or from the rabbit. By, with, or from the rabbit.

You look like a rabbit, you know that? With your pink eyes, a great, big,

quivering rabbit.

Oh, with your hair brain.

Excuse me, sir. It's Wolf, sir. Of course.

You're twice their age and 20 times their size. Now, have you anything to

your defense?

Daddy, long legs.

The crown princess thinks I'm delightful, sir.

The princess thinks what?

I told her stories and she liked them.

She gave me her ring.

Oh, you tell a lot of stories, do you?

Quite a lot, sir.

And tell me, what happened to the princess's ring?

I gave it to Jenny Lind.

She's my friend. She's a sinner, sir. I know damned well who Jenny Lind is.

And I know damned well what happens to blundering insects when they tell

damnable lies.

They get squashed, squashed, squashed, squashed, squashed,

squashed.

It hurts me to think of you suffering term after term. But we cannot expect

is worthwhile to come easily.

Please send me more of your stories that you showed me when you were last here

on holiday.

I do so enjoy reading them.

With my love, Yetta.

townsfolk wouldn't let me join their choir.

And I'm the only one who understands such music.

You wish to become a gentleman, Hans?

Oh, yet not my thing.

Then we must acquaint ourselves with finer feeling, more exquisite passions.

It is, I must confess, a refreshing novelty to have an older boy under my

tutelage. You're turning into a fine young man.

A fine young man, trembling on the brink of his prime.

A dam about the birth.

Birth?

Dam of brink?

About an altar?

Can't be woke?

Tell me, Hans, what's the water exploding in your mind?

Nightingale's, ma 'am.

Nightingale's? Oh, you wild, imaginative boy.

You used to think of me as your matron.

We are both, after all, adults, however constrained we may be by this

kindergarten.

Oh, no!

Not again!

Reassemble yourself, woman!

And you, beggar boy, can go to hell!

Good evening. Left. Right.

Left. Left.

Left.

Right, left.

Left?

Oh, come along, I can't say all this. I'm a naval cadet, not an actor.

You've no choice in the matter. It's my 21st birthday party and you're obliged

to do whatever I ask.

Well, I think it's a terrible idea.

The theatre says we've no choice in the matter. We're doing it for her and for

Hans. Why should we do anything for Hans?

Because he survived Meisling's Academy, because he's passed his examination.

With rather more distinction than you did, might I remind you?

Because it will give him a sense of achievement. It will make him feel a

the family.

Part of the family, indeed.

Do you plan to introduce him to the guests as such?

What on earth will they say?

I hope it will not make a remark as unworthy as that.

I can't tell you how good it is to be back, to see everybody, to see you.

I was so afraid you'd not make it in time for my dance.

And I insist that you dance the polka with me.

I may not be able to glide with the required grace, but my step -hop is

something to be seen.

My sweet, adorable sister.

Adorable? Come, come, Edvard, they won't believe you. Having reached the years

of discretion.

Lord, I do hope not.

And the flower of her maturity.

Now they'll know you're lying.

Many happy returns of the day.

Henrietta. Henrietta.

And now to crown the festivities before the dancing, a bon bouche.

From the pen of our young protégé, seated at the pianoforte, a morally

party bee, entitled The Tinderbock. I give you Mr. Hans Christian Andersen.

Big soldier.

A proper soldier, if ever there was one.

Do as I say, and you shall have as much money as you like.

Thanks very much, old witch.

You see that tree over there?

It's hollow.

Climb inside and bring me out the old tinderbox that my granny left in there.

his biggest teacups.

Good doggy. Nice doggy. Yeah, doggy.

And a chest.

What's the siding?

Money.

Coppers? Why, I'll be rich.

What

about

the next door?

Eyes as big as millstones.

Good doggy.

Come on, nice doggy.

Here, doggy.

And in this chest?

My, gold.

Gold enough to buy the whole of Copenhagen. You own most of it already.

Thank you.

Gold enough to marry the winsome and willowy princess.

I said the winsome and willowy princess.

Xeno!

And yet stay a while.

Here, little shoemaker's boy.

Run and fetch my tinderbox, would you?

Here's gold.

Here's the tinderbox.

I am, after all, a proper soldier.

And gentlemen, Edvard has asked us tonight to read this out to you because

he's too embarrassed himself to do so.

To our talented author here tonight.

Thanks to you, great dramaturg, you cobble like none other. And now at last

feel an urge to embrace you as my brother.

You didn't write it.

Well, no, no, but the sentiment is just... You told them.

How could you?

I'll go and find him.

Yes, Edward, I think you should.

Are you there?

You can't even call me by my Christian name.

Hans.

I'm sorry.

They were only joshing.

But you really mustn't be so absurdly sensitive.

No, you're right.

I must be grateful at all times.

Grateful for the charity shown me by the Collins family, who are gracious enough

to allow the shoemaker's son into the drawing room.

rather than staying here in the boot room where he belongs.

Harris, we've taken you in.

We've clothed and fed you. My father has expended considerable funds on your

education. I don't begrudge it.

I do not object to you being treated like one of the family.

Like?

But I'm not, am I?

Well, father seems to think so.

And yet her is inordinately fond of you.

And you, do you honestly regard me as your brother?

Does it really mean that much to you? Of course it does.

I have nobody else.

And you, Edvard, are everything that I wish that I could be.

But you see how much it would mean to me if I would say, look, there's my

brother, Edvard Colleen.

Well, very well, then.

You mean I can?

Oh,

Edvard!

Hans! Hans!

Look, one cannot use the word carelessly or it becomes debate.

Meaningless.

I have no brother.

Jonas Colleen has no other true son. To pretend that he does would be an insult

to the memory of my mother. It's a simple fact.

However fond of you we all are.

Truly, Hans, we are.

Yes, you're right.

I can see that you're right.

Stop fussing.

Come and join the dancing.

Dance with Yetta.

She'd like that.

Hans, Hans, my boy.

Well done. You've scored a great success. My colleague here is most

in your work. We met at that ill -fated audition.

You're no actor, that's for certain, but you might just be a writer.

A writer? And he's a publisher?

I have a proposal to put to you.

I wonder whether you would be interested in giving a little series of public

readings. Nothing too formal, just your little stories and a few invited guests.

Test the water, as it were.

And if all goes well, maybe... Maybe what?

Well... If they are a success, perhaps one might consider bringing out a little

collection.

Nothing too ambitious.

Just to humour my old friend Colleen here.

A proper book.

A small one, yes. I don't envisage it making any profit, but... Oh, Hans, is

exciting news?

Where's Jenny? I must tell her. Jenny?

Oh, she's performing at the Opera House.

She just dropped by to say happy birthday. Wasn't that kind of her to

time?

But, Hans, what did the publisher say?

She's gone.

Without... Anyway, you made me a promise.

I intend to hold you to it.

Ladies and gentlemen, forgive me.

Tonight, we have hugely enjoyed the work of a very talented young man, whom I

now ask...

Nay command to partner me.

A man who I am proud to call my

brother.

Hands.

I imagine too much. Who cares what we look like?

Well,

I never doubted that your readings would be a success.

My name is beginning to shine, Yetta.

I feel as though I'm coming alive.

I do want to be honoured.

I do want glory.

Is that a terrible thing to say?

There are worse things to want.

I want to see the world.

I'm sure I would write the better for it.

I think I may travel a little.

You're going away?

For a while.

I want to see Paris, Rome, London.

A tour that publishes a jet.

A sort of tour that Jenny undertakes.

Where is she at the moment?

I'm not sure. In Paris, I think.

Maybe if my luck really is about to turn, maybe now is the time.

The time?

To bring her back as my wife.

Can you hear that?

Someone has put a harp on it to make it sing.

Isn't it wonderful?

Yetta.

Yetta, you're crying.

Whatever's the matter?

There's nothing silly of me.

It's the music.

It sounds so lovely.

Like the mermaids singing.

Well, me...

Would you rather I didn't go?

Of course I want you to go.

You want to... so badly to see everything.

Your happiness is much more important to me than any selfish concern of my own.

Really, Anne.

Dear Yetta, I'll miss you very much.

You're my soulmate.

My little sister.

You've never doubted me. Never mocked.

The mermaid's singing.

What on earth do you want a rope for?

In case of work.

In case I have to climb down from the window. Hans, is that it down there?

Goodness.

Clearly, you're worse than an old spinster.

Goodbye, Brother Edvard.

Goodbye, Friend Anderson.

Yetta.

I'll write from every town I visit.

Do that.

I long to know about the world out there.

Better.

Hans, I...

I hope you find what you're searching for.

Goodbye Hans.

Spend your time and your money wisely.

Once upon a time, far out at sea, in the very deepest part of the ocean, deeper

than any anchor will go, there lived a little mermaid.

Ow! Keep still!

We all have to suffer to look beautiful.

There.

Oyster pearls to show that you have come of age.

Now you're old enough to swim up to the surface and look upon the upper world.

Grandmama, these humans of the upper world, if they aren't drowned, can they

live forever?

No, they die.

Their lifetime is even shorter than ours.

We live for 300 years.

And then we turn to foam.

We have no immortal soul.

Humans have an immortal soul. And it lives forever among the stars.

I'd give all my hundreds of years just to be a human girl for one day.

And then live forever among the stars.

You mustn't speak of such things. It can't happen.

Not unless... Unless what?

Unless a human falls in love with you. But it won't happen. It can't possibly.

Why not?

Because what mere men find so especially alluring, down here, your

fishtail. I mean, a human finds ugly.

They prefer two clumsy, stilted things that they call legs.

You see what I'm talking about.

Up you go now.

Up you go.

That sky.

The beauty that heralds destruction.

Do you hear that?

Is it a seal singing or an underwater cave?

The wind is rising.

Come below deck, Shire. There's a spawn brewing up.

It's just royal hands.

Help me pray. She's alive.

Look. He's coughing.

Help me.

It was a girl.

I've made it more beautiful than any of them.

It was her that saved me. I'm certain of it.

The dinner is.

It wasn't a girl.

You must rest.

Come up to the palace.

Help me.

I know what you want, you little fool.

Get rid of your tail and have two stubs so that the prince will fall in love

with you.

Drink this at dawn on the steps of his palace.

Your tail will divide and turn into what men would call a lovely pair of legs.

But it will hurt.

You may glide like a dancer, but every step you take will cut like a knife.

Are you still willing?

Yes.

You can never become a mermaid again.

And if you fail to win his love, you won't get a soul.

Sunrise, after he weds another, your heart will break and you will turn to

upon the water.

I'm still willing.

But you must pay me.

No small thing, I ask.

In return for my precious potion,

you will give me your tongue.

But how shall I tell him of my love?

With your eloquent eyes.

Your eyes are enough to charm any man's heart.

Now, put out your little tongue so that I can cut it off.

Now!

How did you come to be here?

This should happen to me, and now to you.

Well, you can't speak.

No, don't.

You walk so gracefully as if you're gliding through water.

You're like a girl I once saw.

She'll never find again.

She saved my life when I was drowning.

She's the only woman I could ever love. And yet you are very like her.

Listen to that.

Nightingale singing for us.

Up there in the garden.

There's something I must tell you.

I wish I didn't have to.

They're forcing me to get married.

Daughter of a neighbouring king.

Our parents want us to, but they cannot force me to love her.

She will not look like my lost love.

Not the way that you do.

My dumb foundling with the fathomless eyes.

It's better than I could have hoped for.

Look at her.

I'm in love.

I've completely forgotten about all the past.

Aren't you pleased for me?

You must be pleased for me.

Because you're fonder of me than everyone else.

What's up with her, then?

Didn't you notice?

I noticed.

We didn't want you to die.

She gave us this knife in return.

See? Take it.

Thrust it into his head and if his warm blood splashes on your legs, they'll

grow back into your tail.

It means that you can still live out your 300 years with us as a mermaid.

But hurry up quickly.

You have to do it before dawn. See that red streak in the sky?

Either he will have to die.

Or you will. Take the knife.

Hurry up. Take the knife.

These new engines fairly whizzed like rockets over the ground.

When the steam escapes, it is as if a demon were groaning.

And the whistle is frightful, worse than a stuck pig.

I left Paris, having met both Victor Hugo and Monsieur Dumas, and hoping to

return before too long.

In Munich, the bedbugs were so bad that I had to sleep in a table.

Wherever I find anybody to listen, I read my pinderbock, my thumbelina, my

mermaid. I ask you, what does he think he's doing?

A not -quite -poet chasing the great Jenny Lind all over Europe?

There's the Stormbringer. Look how big those clouds are up there.

Those are not clouds. Those are the mountains.

Beautiful high mountains.

You can climb them, you know.

Right above the clouds and into fresh air.

They help.

Soon they will be crossing the border into Italy.

Grazie. Vi auguro una buona giornata, signore.

Oh, signore.

The portal was awaiting your arrival.

For my family in Copenhagen.

It's a book. Your papers are all in order, signor Christian Andersen. Are

student?

Not anymore.

I'm an author.

Oh. Look.

When I arrived in Naples, everyone asked to hear my stories.

I dined in a castle in a huge banqueting hall, for heaven's sake.

I don't know who he thinks he is.

A shoemaker's son. Why does he feel as though he has to impress us?

Perhaps because for so long now you've impressed him.

But the whole escapade is sheer lunacy. He's living in a fantasy. Don't you

think so, Yetta?

I think we all need our fantasies.

And I think I should rather like to see Naples.

You made it, don't you?

You really want to go to Naples?

Why ever not?

I don't require much luggage. You know how I feel about clothes.

Besides, there are porters.

I'm quite sure you can manage the porters, but... And chaperones?

What would your mother have said?

I am not my mother.

And from where I trust she now looks down, I'm sure she takes a realistic

of things.

Why must you always be so hard on yourself?

One day and soon, yes, I will find you a husband. Don't give up.

I don't plan to give up, Father.

That's why I want to go to Naples.

You must have realized by now.

It's Hans that I love.

It's a simple question of persuading him to love me.

Will you give me your permission to go?

Or to the point, will you give me the money?

I don't want you to be hurt.

Besides, do you really think he's appropriate?

You mean he's beneath my station?

Oh, so much the better. He'll be the more grateful for an imperfect person.

it, stop it. That's not what I meant. It's unfair of you to infer it.

I happen to think that Hans is worth a dozen husbands of your station.

Go by all means.

I'll give you money for as many portions as you like. I wish you luck, yes,

almost genuinely I do.

Thank you.

Oh, Signore, the Signorina. She came to see you, but you were out.

Signorina? Mm -hmm.

But I know nobody in Naples.

Unless... When was she here?

Moments ago, Signore. What direction did she go in?

Um... She's still here? Si.

Jenny? Oh, it's you.

Fifth note, I only appear to be dead.

Well,

now, where are we going?

Going?

Show me Napoli. Be my guide.

I want to climb Vesuvius.

Vesuvius? I'm not asking you to carry me.

Hans, it is good to see you.

Tell me your news.

Where do I start?

There's so much to tell.

Always long for a warm south.

Italy fires my imagination.

The scenery is incredible. The people so passionate.

I, who have no home now, I feel as if the whole world has become my home.

Oh, it has, Hans.

Your stories are read everywhere. Publishers are outbidding each other for

Father Nedvard is so happy for you.

And as for me, I'm positively basking in your reflected glory.

Is that true?

Really?

Perhaps I shall gather as fervent a following as Jenny.

She's been here, you know.

Oh, Jenny.

Singing at the Opera House.

She's left for England.

She's conquering Europe.

That's where I just be. To book my passage.

Train for Thend. Ferry across the English Channel. I will be in London in

days. Isn't it incredible?

You're leaving?

So soon?

Oh, yes.

If I'd known you were coming... Oh, couldn't matter less. Of course you must

after her.

I'm quite capable of amusing myself.

I've discovered that I rather enjoy travelling.

Only, Hans, you will be philosophical about whatever Jenny says.

Oh, yes.

After what I've been through, I'll learn to be philosophical.

Did you talk to her?

To Jenny, I mean.

I couldn't.

The crowds were unbelievable.

It was frightening.

Anyway, I wouldn't know what to say.

You not know what to say?

She wouldn't want me.

Oh, Hans, really, why ever not?

I see nothing the matter.

I see a young man in his prime.

A young man with everything to offer to the world.

To whomever is lucky enough to hold his heart.

Then what should I tell her, Yetta?

Tell her that she means the world to you.

You mean the world to me?

Oh, come on.

That she is to you the most beautiful creature who has ever lived.

Well, not just to me. You could have seen those students.

Anne.

You are to me the most beautiful creature I've ever lived.

I cannot think of living my life without you by my side.

I cannot think of living my life without you by my side.

And I would like you to marry me.

And I would like you to marry me.

There.

There.

Wasn't that difficult, was it?

Left,

right, left, right, left, right.

Carry a bag, sir.

Certainly. How much?

A penny, sir.

Very well. One of your English pennies.

You take this one?

What do I call you?

Francis, sir.

And you, young man, can take this.

Carefully now, Major Tim Soldier.

You are?

This is Edward, sir. But we call him Blorn.

Take the gentleman's writing case.

How did you know it was a writing case?

Our father has one just like it. Ah, I see.

The London train, if you please, Blorn.

There's not another train for an hour. The engine exploded. We ignore it.

Another hour?

Alas, then what... Oh, it's the blue one. Oh!

Oh, dear. It's all right, Zoe.

My writing case is unharmed.

Your tin soldier has lost his leg.

Oh, Claude.

You should not have done that.

Let me explain.

There were once five and twenty tin soldiers.

All were fattened out of the same old spoon.

And all were exactly the same.

Except for the last one, because he had only

one leg.

And the cook exclaimed aloud and carried the soldier into the parlor, and wonder

of wonder, it was exactly the same house that he'd started from.

He was ready to shed tears of tin, but that would not have been fitting.

He looked at the ballerina, and she looked at him, but they never said a

And that's when one of the little boys took him up and without any reason

whatsoever threw him into the fire.

It was the most horrible heat.

But whether it was the heat of the fire or the warmth of his own feelings, he

didn't know.

He felt himself melting away, but he still managed to stand up straight,

shouldering his gun.

Let him out! You've got to get him out!

When the maid took the ashes away, guess what she found?

All that was left of him was a tiny, thin heart.

And what about the ballerina?

She was caught by a dart, fluttered straight into the fire blaze and was

All that was left of her was her spangled brush.

And that was burned as black as coal.

We've been hunting high and low for you two.

We were just helping him with the blood pitch.

That's all. Very efficiently, I might add. How do you do? The name's Anderson.

My God, Anderson.

I should have guessed.

Charles Dickens.

Boys, if I were to try and write how much I love this man, the paper would

the whole road from here to Copenhagen.

the writer I admire above all others.

We understand one another.

He calls me the father of all children.

So, you see, I have a family even larger than his.

Oh, for God's sake, Anderson.

I've suddenly realised who anybody is. They come in all shapes and sizes. Kate,

Mary, Frances, and Edward, of course you know.

Clawney. Edward.

Edward Woolworth Lytton.

Now, all... Named are the writers whom my husband admires.

Francis Geoffrey.

Henry Fielding.

Walter Landall.

Sidney Smith.

Alfred Tennant.

And Charles.

Charles who?

Charles Biggins.

The dog's called Chuck.

What a quaint room it hath been given.

I love the view of the sandbanks, where you can imagine the bones of sailors

lying. It's my view, usually.

Tomorrow, I must attend Miss Lynde at Regent's Park.

Jenny Lynde?

Oh, I am enchanted by her to the highest degree. Through her, I first became

aware of the holiness of art.

Through her, I learned that one must forget oneself in the presence of the

Supreme.

Really, really.

You know, I would be most glad of her autograph.

Perhaps, my dear Dickens, you would be good enough to drive me to the station.

I'd love to, my dear chap, but the devil if it is, I can't.

I'm up to town myself tonight.

Charles is perfectly capable.

But I'm supposed to be playing cricket. Charles, of course you will drive Mr.

Anderson.

You're lucky I have to see him.

Stopped? What a shame.

Never fear. I shall sing.

I have a slight stomach problem and my teeth are bad. I'm not familiar with

one.

Notwithstanding, I shall sing an old Danish folk song which my mother used to

preach in the madhouse.

Thank you.

You must beware.

Mr. Anderson.

Yes.

I don't know if you remember me. Otto Bozsmit.

Of course I remember.

It's been a little while since we last met.

So much has happened to Jenny, of course, but also to you.

Congratulations.

You've made quite a name for yourself.

Is Miss Linda at home? She gave me to her nan. Of course.

She was delighted to receive your letter.

And intrigued as I was by your proposal.

A song for her to perform.

That's a very attractive idea.

May I see her?

Do you have it with you?

It's here. I shall very much like to see it. Jenny must be at first.

I understand.

Very well. Follow me.

Jenny?

Hans. May I?

It was very kind of you to come and see us.

You did well to run us to ground out here.

London has become so trying with the crowds and the newspaper men and the

eternal impotence.

Please, don't be heated.

I'm Otto.

Would you mind fetching us some lemonade?

I'm sure Hans and I can man it.

Now,

Hans, how long is it since we

last met?

Five years, three months, exactly.

Exactly. I wasn't sure about the three months. Oh, I am. In the Tavelli garden.

Don't tell me you remember every detail.

Of course.

I gave you my ring, and you're still wearing it. Yes.

People are so impressed when I tell them.

The crown princess's ring.

But I gave it to you.

It's such a charming souvenir of Copenhagen.

And you told me such a delightful story, too.

Who'd have thought things would turn out so well for you?

For me, of course.

For us.

I followed you here from Naples.

You did?

What a remarkable coincidence.

It's quite a tour, all the capital cities of Europe.

You mean the world? You mean the world? There is talk of America, yes.

A Mr. Barnum.

A P .T. Barnum.

I wonder what's happened to that lemonade.

You are the most beautiful, beautiful, beautiful...

The most suitable to sing, I mean. But you had mentioned that you'd written me

song to sing.

I must say, I'm very flattered.

I only hope that I can do it just... Just.

Um, Wagner hates my voice. He says it's too light. But Chopper, dear Chopper,

he adores it. I cannot think of living my life without you by my side. Is that

what it's called?

What a charming title.

I would like you to... What would you like to, Mr. Anderson?

I would like you to sing it.

Oh, is that it?

Please, may I?

The Queen and Prince Albert have asked me to sing this one last concert before

flee these shores.

It's rather tiresome.

But it is to raise funds for a children's hospital.

For her.

It looks wonderful.

I love you.

I love you as I love no other woman.

You are the first love of my heart.

I love you as I love no other here on earth.

I love you for time and eternity.

Oh, dear God.

Oh, come on now, don't belittle your talent.

This seems to me to be eminently suitable.

Jenny Lind and Hans Christian Andersen.

Otto, you could have this back to music, couldn't you?

Certainly. The tickets will sell like hot pies.

Here's to our concert.

To our concert?

To our concert.

She hasn't said no.

But in God's name.

Why can I not speak my heart except in fairy tales?

I, for one, am very glad you do.

Have you had a chance to read my novel?

No, I'm very sorry. I've been a little preoccupied. The critics have been sent

copies. I trust they will be aware it is written with your own books as my

pattern. Is it really?

Allow me to return the compliment and say that a lot of what you told me about

your own life has really stayed with me. Very rich stuff.

How much do you get for it?

Your publishers, I mean. How much do they pay you?

That remains to be seen.

I had 100 for the fairy stories. For edition?

No, no, in total.

Oh, goodness.

We can do a lot better than that for you.

You're going to be world famous, young man.

Please,

Mr. Anderson, try to contain yourself.

Tea.

Mr. Anderson has endeavored to produce an extended work of literature somewhat

in the style of Mr. Charles Dickens. Sadly, sadly, he has been less than

successful. It's like a nightmare.

It is merely one critique among many.

And others have said differently.

In one word, this book is dangerous.

Both the two. You'll carry on playing cricket.

How much longer is he staying?

Just mind your own business. Carry on with cricket. That's your game.

My dear friend.

No, no, look, don't read papers. That way lies madness.

Still less must you allow yourself to be moved by them. I haven't got a review

in 20 years. You know, my little Dorrit was absolutely vilified, so they tell

me. Macbeth was vilified too.

Really? Macbeth?

Oh, yeah, absolutely. No, you try to feel about critic the way lamp posts

about dogs.

See, your book, your wonderful stories, they'll live, they'll stand.

God's given you so much. You must just bring out everything that there is in

you. Your head and shoulders above these pygmies.

Now, come on.

We must make ourselves presentable. We're going to hear your nightingale

tonight.

He must have got lost again.

Every time he comes up to town, there's another wild entanglement of cabs and

sheriff. Indeed.

Well, Charles, you would know better than I.

I am not so frequently in town.

Good riddance, I say.

Kate, he is our guest.

He's a bony bull, and he stays on and on.

Oh, good gracious.

His Her Majesty.

Is my gown straight?

A million apologies.

How amusing.

Does she know it's me?

I think we all know it's you

Your Imperial Majesty, Your Majesty, Lords, ladies and gentlemen, it is an

for one Scandinavian to be received so graciously here in the greatest capital

of the world.

Double the honor, therefore, in that there are two of them present,

Miss Jenny Lind and Mr. Hans Christian Andersen.

Mr. Anderson, the toast of the season, was yesterday honored by an audience

the Queen Dowager of Ood, together with the princes Muhammad Hamid Ali and

Muhammad Jawad Ali Sekunda Khusmet Bahadur.

Well, if one is a great man oneself, it must be delightful to live among such

important personages.

Be so good, would you, as to find me Ood?

I'm not surprised.

He has exactly that sort of fawning servility which princes like.

Now, Ood.

Ood.

All week.

I invited him for a weekend.

I don't see that it makes any difference.

Not to you.

What do you mean?

Only that you're never here to suffer him.

How much longer am I expected?

Tolerate it, Charles.

Miss Linda's left London now. She'll be disinclined to linger. I'm not talking

about Mr. Anderson.

What are you talking about, then?

You know perfectly well.

Let's go to him.

Charles!

Alison, my dear fellow.

Why don't we go for a little walk?

If Jenny's house stands empty.

Yes, indeed. She's gone to America.

The nightingale is not in her cage.

It is a sad morning.

The mist lies over the field.

Trees, bushes, all are dripping with water. On every leaf lies a tear.

And in my eyes, too.

Anderson, will you allow me to warn you that Jenny may not be feeling the same

way? That's the terrible danger of being a storyteller. One comes to believe in

one's own fictions.

Oh, that's true.

I've really been shot right through the heart. Oh, come on, man. You're not in

love with Jenny. You're in love with... with love. You cloak it in all these

fine phrases, so fine that we can all see right through them. People clap and

say how wonderful you are. But somebody's got to tell you. I warn you,

writing will suffer. She sang to me.

Jenny sang to me. She sang for me. You saw her. She's using you.

Can't you see that?

She's using your name to give her name luster.

Hans Christian Andersen, the great poet.

The jewel in her crown signed for love of her. And what of it? Does that make

feelings any less painful?

Not a bit, Jenny. What do you mean?

Well, I think that you're in love with Jenny because you know that loving her

safe. That nothing would come of it.

Nothing, that is, except a cold...

Terrible eternity.

Why?

Because you're afraid of real love.

So what is real love?

The love of Mr. Dickens for Mrs. Dickens and all the little Dickenses?

The perfect happy family, God bless us everyone.

Or do you mean perhaps your love... Your love for the slim little actress you

keep tucked away in the city you are obliged to visit so often?

My love for Jenny is at least pure.

I do not betray it.

I see there's nothing to be done.

Jenny will be returning home before long.

Perhaps you should do the same.

Be there to greet her when she comes back.

So, well,

it really is goodbye, then? No, not yet.

No?

You are...

The last flower for me in dear old England.

But this little book is for you.

An early Christmas present.

For I know that, like a child, you love Christmas.

You must read it when the Christmas tree is lighted.

When the white beads swarm.

Now, this really is goodbye, my dear, dear Dickens.

But I am indeed touched. I really do regret, you know, the unpleasantness.

Nonsense. I will use it.

We writers, we must seize on everything for our patchwork, like magpies.

I'm sure it'll be a huge success in Denmark and Wilbur, everywhere.

You said you'll push her out the window.

The ugly duckling.

It was the loveliest time of year.

The wheat was golden in the field.

And in the hay meadows, the stalk was chattering in Egyptian, a language that

picked up from his mother.

The dock leaves were so tall that a child could stand upright beneath them.

there, a mother duck was hatching out her brood.

Cheep, cheep, said the pretty little duckling.

Now, all done?

Not quite.

I do declare that the biggest egg has yet to hatch.

Let me look at that, said the oldest duck, who was treated with much

on account of her Spanish blood.

Bah, that's a turkey egg. I got hoodwinked like that once. No end of

Wretched thing couldn't even swim.

And at last, the big egg cracked and out tumbled, well, clumsy, muddy

brown, gangling.

What a monstrous big duckling, thought the mother duck.

Splosh! She jumped into the water and splosh! The duckling followed her.

They bumped up again and floated beautifully, even the gangling big one.

Thank goodness, said the mother. He is my own chick after all, and he is not

that ugly when you come to know him properly.

But!

Oh dear, they bit him and pushed him about.

The hen girl kept the hungry thing aside.

If only that cat would get you, you hideous object.

He fled away into the marshes, where the beautiful wild ducks examined him.

You're frightfully ugly, they said, but we don't care, just so long as you don't

try to marry into our family.

Poor fellow.

When all he wanted was permission to lie low among their reeds.

Came the autumn and a grand shooting party.

Bang! Bang! With the guns.

Suddenly, an enormous water spaniel appeared right next to the duckling with

chasm of a mouth full of sharp teeth.

Arrgh!

Then, splash!

He bounded on.

Thank goodness!

Shivered the duckling.

I'm so ugly that even the dogs won't touch me.

One evening, just as the sun was setting in wintry splendor, a flock of

beautiful white birds flew over on magnificent broad wings to warmer lands

to open seas.

The ugly little duckling became strangely uneasy.

He craned his neck after them and uttered a shriek so piercing that he

frightened himself.

The winter was bitterly cold.

The ice froze around the duckling.

It would be too thick to... fat to relate the privation and misery which

bird had to endure.

But in time, the sun began to shine warmly again. The larks sang once

more. The beautiful spring had come.

It was then that he saw a pair of the beautiful royal white birds drifting

the water towards him.

He was seized by a strange melancholy.

Better be killed by them than snapped at by the ducks, pecked by the turkey,

or kicked aside by the henwife, he thought, and swam towards them.

Kill me.

Please, kill me, said the poor creature as he bowed his head to the water

awaiting his death.

But what did he see reflected there?

He was no longer a clumsy grey bird.

Ugly and ungainly.

He was himself majestic and dazzling white.

It doesn't matter at all, you see, if you are born in the duck yard.

Not if you come from the egg of a swan.

The children ran down to the water with bread.

There's a new one, a new one. He's the prettiest.

He felt shy and hid his head under his wing.

A good heart never becomes proud.

But the sun was warm and cheering.

And he raised his slender neck aloft.

I never imagined so much happiness when I was the ugly duckling.

A marvel. What you do is a marvel. You know the language of the birds and the

feeling of the waves.

It's all in your imagination, but one's heart trembles to hear it.

We have to celebrate your return.

You have showered Denmark in glory.

Now we must shower you.

A gala. A Christmas concert.

We have firework.

What do you say?

And I think I know who it is you'd like to perform in your honour, don't I?

You're my swan bird.

Yetta? Edvard?

Mr. Colleen?

Well, look at you. Oh, my son, I'm so relieved and so proud.

I didn't know you were ill.

Oh. You were not here to take care of him, as he took care of you. Come, come,

Edvard, no recriminations.

Remember the story of the prodigal son?

Oh, indeed.

My sympathies were always with his more dutiful brother.

I'm sorry, Edvard.

We've begun to despair of you, Anderson.

Your wings have become so dazzling, we doubted you'd ever touch us again.

Nonsense. This is my home of homes.

This is my family. You are my brother. Where's Yetta?

They bought us so many things.

It's kind of you to remember her.

She was pleased to see you in Italy, however briefly.

She's gone to town to seek out something to wear.

A gala in honor of the great poet's return.

She wants to look her very best.

You are all coming?

Please, Edvard.

It wouldn't be a celebration without you.

I'm so proud of you, my boy.

Of course you'll come, won't we, Edvard?

Even the dung beetle has wings of silver.

Excuse me.

I wonder if I... I'm sorry, could I... Oh,

yes! What a delightful surprise. You can advise me. This concert for hands. I

simply cannot decide what to wear.

It's thoroughly exhausting.

I've been here all morning. Everything makes me look so drab.

What have you got there?

Now that is lovely.

Wicked, wicked, Madame Lafarge, to screw all this away from me.

The perfect solution to obscure myself entirely.

What do you think?

You look beautiful in whatever you wear.

Well, one does like to make an impression.

And the royal family have been so insistent. And he's always been...

You do know he gave me this.

What's the matter?

Wait.

I saw a lot of them in London.

You are coming, aren't you? Well, of course you are.

I'm afraid I can't.

You can't?

Why ever not?

Oh, please, we'll have such fun giggling at the Crown Princess.

I'm going away.

You?

America.

I've always longed to see America.

Don't talk to me about America.

I was worked like a...

pit pony by that monster Barnum.

Oh, it's such a pity.

Hans will be so disappointed. I know he will.

Yes, I'll take this one. Thank you. Very good, ma 'am.

I wish I'd known that you weren't well.

I mean, I didn't expect to find you like this. It's of no concern.

I'm in no discomfort.

I'm serene as any man might be, contemplating a life well lived.

Edvard's right, though.

I have been selfish.

Too preoccupied with what?

Fairy tales.

Edward isn't always right, you know.

And what is wrong with fairy tales?

They are of no consequence.

Never say that.

They are more important than you can possibly know.

They capture a child's imagination.

Enclosing it, protecting it.

teaching its simple right from simple wrong before life's confusion set in.

They tell us good from evil.

They're at the very heart of all of us, and if we do not value them, we all are

lost.

Why have you been so good to me?

I think I saw the child still in you, still unblemished, but unlike a child

afraid to speak.

Believe me, I've been rewarded a hundredfold.

You're not going to die as well, are you?

Oh, I don't intend to.

Not for a while.

Besides, we live on in our children, don't we?

Children endure as art endures.

And in you, I have both.

Was that yet her?

I think it must be.

Go and see her.

Yetta?

Yetta?

Oh, you didn't answer me. I've been shouting.

Oh, Yetta.

It's grand to see you again.

Did you get my letters?

Are you surprised to see me?

A little.

I wanted to see you all in time for Christmas.

What are these? What are you doing?

Packing.

I'm going away for a while.

Away? You're going away?

Yes, I've quite caught the bug for travelling.

I'm taking a boat to New York tomorrow.

You'll all have to manage without me.

Well, I don't see how.

It won't be the same.

I love this room. I want to chat like old times. Except that it's not like old

times, really, is it?

You've... Your life is... It's like a fairy tale.

My whole life is like a fairy tale.

You've heard what Jenny's agreed to do.

And I know you're happy for me, aren't you, little sister?

Yes, of course.

I'm sure you'll be very happy. I've missed you.

I will miss you.

And what time is your boat leaving?

Tomorrow.

Three o 'clock.

Oh, Hans, you'll come and see me off. Give me your blessing. It is your

brotherly duty.

I can't.

It's just that Jenny's asked to see me tomorrow afternoon at the cafe beside

theatre.

Something she wanted to say to me in person before the concert. Something

important, she said.

I'm so sorry.

Perhaps I could ask... It doesn't matter.

Forgive me.

In my... affection for you, Hans, one forgets that you are what is called

a famous man.

Anyway, I can't be away long. Just a trip until you... Until what?

Until I come back, of course.

Get your copy here.

Read it on the voyage.

My dearest child, I come back to see you unhappy.

Believe me, the time will come when he will recognize that his love for this

woman, his obsession with her, will bind him in ice for eternity.

And then you will take it.

You're rightful place in his heart. I'm convinced of it.

Tell him I know his heart like my own and that mine is a safe anchoring place.

It won't betray whatever trust he may choose to place in it.

Let him not forget me.

Come back to us soon, my darling girl.

Hans?

Forgive me.

No, I want you to forgive me.

That's why I came here.

And I want to give you this.

It's your Christmas present.

My Christmas present?

You bought it for me especially.

With only me in your heart.

No, Hans.

With only you in my mind.

It's for friendship.

Well, I'd rather it was a real one, but... Hans, there's something I have to

tell you.

It's beautiful.

But the best present... The best present is to be alone with you at last.

Hans, you know that... life very often isn't like a fairy tale.

My life has been.

People love your stories, Hans.

And they shelter you from the truth because they don't want to hurt you.

And so they don't tell you things that perhaps they should.

People have said terrible things to me.

It makes no difference in the end.

What I wanted to ask you, Jenny, that afternoon in London was, would you do me

the honor of marrying me?

I should never have asked you to come here.

I shouldn't have done this.

Only, Hans, you must be philosophical about whatever Jenny says.

Nothing will come of it.

Nothing, that is, except a cold, sterile eternity.

Many a winter night, the Snow Queen flies through the streets and peeps in

the windows.

They freeze over in wonderful patterns.

Could she come here?

Let her try. I'll put her under fire and melt her.

Would you?

Really?

What do you mean?

Roses bloom and cease to be.

There was once a demon, the worst of all, the devil himself, and he made a

mirror which had the power of distorting everything good and beautiful reflected

in it.

The loveliest landscapes looked like boiled spinach.

The school for demons, for he ran a school for demons, shook so much with

delight at it that they dropped it, and it fell to earth and broke.

into millions of billions of pieces of glass.

Some shards were no bigger than grains of sand, and they got into people's

Bad things would appear good, and good things bad.

Some people even got a sliver in their hearts, which became like ice.

I got it. It's mine.

Take it, then.

What's the matter?

I'm fed up of always having to share things with you.

You're a stupid girl, tagging along after me all the time, and you're ugly.

Sorry, I didn't...

There you are.

Aren't you cold?

Why don't you creep inside my polar bear skin?

It's like sinking into a snowdrift.

You'll get no more kisses.

Otherwise I'll kiss you to death.

I cannot reach my throne.

It stands in the central chamber surrounded by a thousand pieces of ice

have to be put together.

I know you can help me.

I'll do it.

Whatever you want.

Good boy.

There is a pattern.

A word you have to make.

And once you have done it...

Then I can take my throne.

What word?

Now I must go south to the Alps, and then on to whiten the black cauldrons.

Cauldrons?

Volcanoes.

Vesuvius and Etna.

And then on to nip the lemon trees in the vineyards.

It's good for the fruit.

But I shall return sooner than you think.

You'll solve the puzzle, won't you?

And then... I'll be your queen forever.

Whatever you want, I'll do it.

You're a good boy.

Now down you climb.

Rosebushes? Is he... Is he dead, do you think?

No. He isn't dead.

We've been underground, you know.

We've seen all the dead people there.

But he isn't among them.

Tiger Lilies?

Has he gone east to India?

Have you seen anything or heard anything?

Only a drum.

Can you hear it?

Boom, boom. And the women's dirge?

The Hindu women standing on the funeral pyre.

Flames are mounting around her.

But she thinks of him whose eyes burn hotter.

We've seen him.

He was in the Snow Queen's sleigh as it swept over our nest.

Which way did she go?

She was making for Lapland, where there's always snow and ice.

How can I find it, please?

Ask the reindeer.

Yet it's gone away, Father.

I've got to finish the puzzle.

What puzzle? What do you mean?

The puzzle she sent me.

I have to make a word out of the ice blocks.

Let me help you.

She's going to give me the whole world and a pair of skates.

Leave me alone with you and stop pestering me.

If only you knew how hard it was for me to reach you.

Get off.

Listen, don't you remember how it was before she ever came?

Little sister?

Is it you?

Is it you?

Where have you been all this time?

Where have I been?

How cold it is here.

How empty and how vast.

She's coming back at any moment.

No, she isn't. Look at the eyes.

It's melting.

It's all melting.

Everything's melting.

I hadn't finished.

She won't be able to reach her throne.

Can you see?

Her spell, her hold over you. It's breaking.

Feel my heart here.

Feel.

How could I have been so blind?

Like this is, eh?

You're looking prosperous.

Almost as prosperous as you.

My good friend, I owe you such a debt for the faith you showed in me.

I'm glad to have been able to repay it.

like the small boy of his own story, has shown this particular emperor that the

gaudy fashions of what is called society amount, in fact, to nothing.

Denmark lacked the confidence to wear her own clothes.

Homespun, yes, but honest and truthful.

The man whom we honour tonight has shown us how.

The ugly duckling became a swan.

And through his poetry, he has shown us how we may all grow into swaths.

The illusion of Jenny Lind, in which we all love to believe, is no more than a

fairy tale.

And the spell, in the end, must be broken.

We must not neglect where the path to happiness truly lies.

The flesh -and -blood nightingale may be plain, but her song is more real than

that of her gilded imitation.

Tonight is my last performance on this or any other stage.

Your Highnesses, ladies and gentlemen, I am to retire for the happiest of

reasons.

I am to be married.

After which, I shall devote my life humbly and gladly.

To my future husband.

I would like to devote this, my last performance to my dear friend and

Hans Christian Andersen.

It's dead.

It's dead.

The Austria caught fire at sea.

And there were no survivors.

None. The fire was ferocious.

The lifeboats were destroyed.

Even those who jumped could not have survived those seas.

It's too terrible to contemplate.

No, Hans.

My brother.

I know his heart like my own.

Let him not forget me.

Now you can rest in peace.

You will live forever.

And now my story is done.

Life?

It's not always a fairy tale.

But I was blessed with a gift to escape into my imagination, to create stories

that fill the world with fantasy and wonder, innocence and

love.

Stories that I hope will live in the hearts of all who read them.