Thumbelina

Thumbelina

Once there was a woman who longed for a child more than anything else. She had a little house, a garden, and flowers on her windowsill, but she wished she could hear a child's laughter in her home. One day she went to an old enchantress. “I don't need riches,” she said. “I only want a little daughter or son to care for.” The enchantress smiled and gave her a seed. “Plant this in a flowerpot and water it well.” The woman did as she was told. A green shoot sprang up at once. A few days later, a large bud appeared, rather like a tulip, with its petals tightly closed. “What a lovely flower,” said the woman, and kissed it gently. The bud opened. Inside sat a tiny girl, no bigger than a thumb. “You're real!” the woman whispered. The little girl held out her arms. And that was how Thumbelina came to live in the house. Half a walnut shell became her bed. Violet petals made a mattress, and a pink rose petal was her blanket. By day she sailed across a plate of water on a tulip leaf, rowing with two white hairs from a horse's mane. She could sing beautifully too, though her voice was so small that to human ears it sounded like a tiny silver bell. One night, a large toad hopped into the room through the open window. She saw Thumbelina asleep in her walnut shell. “What a fine bride she would make for my son!” the toad decided. Without asking anyone, she snatched up the little bed and carried it into the garden. A broad river flowed beyond the garden. Among its reeds, the toad set the shell on a large water-lily leaf, far from the bank. “She won't be able to escape from here,” she told her son. “Meanwhile, we can get our home ready.” In the morning Thumbelina woke to find water all around. “Where am I?” The toad appeared among the reeds. “You'll soon be living with us. I've decided you're just right for my son.” Thumbelina turned pale. “But I don't know you. I don't want to live here.” The toad seemed not to hear. “We'll have everything ready!” And away she swam. Thumbelina sat on the leaf and cried. Little fish beneath the water had heard every word. “That isn't fair,” said one. “She plainly said no,” agreed another. They swam to the water lily's stem and nibbled it through. The leaf broke free and drifted downstream. “Thank you!” Thumbelina called. The river carried her farther and farther. Dragonflies skimmed the water, flowers bloomed on the banks, and birds sang in the bushes. A white butterfly settled on the leaf. Thumbelina took off her sash and gently fastened one end to the butterfly and the other to the leaf. The butterfly flew, and her little boat sped along. Suddenly a large beetle scooped her up and carried her into a tree. He placed her on a green leaf. “What an extraordinary creature!” he said. His friends gathered around. “She has only two legs!” “And no feelers!” “What a narrow waist!” At first the beetle had thought Thumbelina lovely. But when the others mocked her appearance, he began to doubt himself. “Perhaps you aren't so pretty after all,” he said. Thumbelina stared at him. A moment ago he had called her beautiful. Now he was merely repeating what everyone else said. “Then let me go,” she told him. The beetle carried her to a daisy and flew away. Thumbelina was alone in the fields. All summer she lived among the flowers. She drank dew from the leaves, ate pollen, and slept beneath a great burdock leaf. But summer ended. Leaves yellowed, flowers faded, and a cold wind began to blow. Thumbelina wrapped herself in a dry leaf, but she still shivered. One day she found a tiny door in the ground. A field mouse lived there. “Who's knocking?” asked the mouse. “It's me. May I come in and get warm?” The mouse saw her little frozen visitor and let her in at once. “Come along. I have grain, a warm room, and a dry bed.” Thumbelina was grateful. She helped with the housework, told stories, and sang. The field mouse grew fond of her. “Stay with me for the winter.” A mole lived nearby. He was wealthy, with long underground passages and great storerooms. He disliked sunlight and thought flowers were quite impractical. One day he came to visit. Thumbelina sang. The mole stopped to listen. “What a wonderful voice.” After that, he visited often. Once, he offered to show her his tunnel. “I've dug it right out to the field. It's much more convenient than walking on the surface.” The tunnel was dark. In the middle of the passage lay a swallow. “Poor bird,” said Thumbelina. “Birds are no use at all,” said the mole. “They spend the whole summer flying and singing. Then the cold comes, and they don't know what to do.” Thumbelina said nothing. That evening she returned to the swallow. She touched the bird's breast and felt a faint heartbeat. “She's alive!” Thumbelina covered her with dry leaves and brought water. For several days she secretly nursed the swallow. One evening the bird opened her eyes. “Where am I?” “In an underground tunnel. You were terribly cold.” The swallow remembered flying south, falling behind her flock, and tumbling to the ground. “You saved me, little girl.” All winter she stayed in the warm shelter. Thumbelina brought crumbs and water. By spring the bird was strong again. “I'm flying toward the sunshine,” she said. “Climb on my back. Come with me.” Thumbelina wanted to say yes. But she thought of the field mouse, who had given her a home through the coldest days. “I can't leave without saying goodbye. She would worry.” The swallow nodded. “Then farewell. Perhaps we'll meet again.” And she flew away. Meanwhile, a new plan had been made in the field mouse's home. “The mole wants you to marry him!” the mouse announced happily. “He has wonderful storerooms, spacious tunnels, and not a single draft. What a lucky girl you are.” Thumbelina was silent. The mole was not wicked. But he disliked the sun, did not understand birds, and wanted to live underground for the rest of his life. “I don't want to marry him,” she said at last. “Don't be foolish,” the mouse replied. “What could be better than a warm home underground?” Thumbelina knew that, for the mouse, it truly was the best place in the world. But it was not the best place for her. Summer passed. The mouse and the mole prepared for the wedding as though everything were settled. Every day Thumbelina went out among the ears of grain and looked at the sky. “Dear sunshine,” she whispered, “perhaps soon I won't see you anymore.” Autumn came. And then a familiar cry rang over the field. “Thumbelina!” The swallow landed beside her. “I'm leaving for warmer lands. Will you come?” This time Thumbelina did not hesitate. “Yes.” She said goodbye to the field mouse and thanked her for the winter shelter. “You saved me from the cold, and I will always remember that. But I can't live someone else's life simply because it seems comfortable to them.” Thumbelina climbed onto the swallow's back and held tightly to a feather. They flew over fields, forests, and mountains. Rivers gleamed below, and clouds drifted close beside them. At last they reached a warm country where grapes, lemons, and enormous flowers grew. The swallow flew to a white palace. Her nest was on an old column. “Choose a flower,” she said. “You'll be happy here.” Thumbelina approached a great white blossom. Inside sat a tiny young man wearing a golden crown. Transparent wings shone behind him. He was no bigger than she was. “Welcome,” he said. “I am the king of the flower fairies.” Little men and girls flew out of other flowers. They laughed and danced, and no one was surprised by her size. For the first time, Thumbelina did not have to explain why she was so small. The king gave her a pair of delicate wings. “Now you can fly from flower to flower, if you wish.” He did not tell her where she must live. He did not decide whom she must marry. He simply showed her a new world. In time they became close friends. And when they both knew they wanted to be together, they chose to marry. The flower people told her: “Thumbelina is a lovely name. But you may choose a new one now, if you like.” She thought for a moment. “Let my name be Maia.” The swallow sat in her nest and watched the little winged girl circling above the flowers. In autumn the bird flew back north. She found the old house where a tiny girl had once been born inside a flower, and sang beside the window. The woman who had missed Thumbelina for so long heard a strange joy in that song. It seemed to her that the swallow was saying: “Your little girl is alive. She has found a place where she can be herself.” And it was true.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨