His son got all this money, and he lived merrily, went to parties every night, made kites from his dollar bills, and skipped stones on the water with gold coins instead of pebbles. That makes money go, and go it did. Finally he only had four coins left and no other clothes than a pair of slippers and an old robe. Now none of his friends cared about him anymore since they couldn’t walk down the street together, but one of them, who was kind, sent him an old trunk and advised, “pack it in!” That was all well and good, but he had nothing to pack so he sat in the trunk himself.

It was a strange trunk. As soon as you pressed on the lock, the trunk could fly. And that’s what it did. Whee! It flew with him up the chimney and high up over the clouds, further and further away. The bottom kept groaning, and he was afraid that it would fall to pieces, and then he would have done a nice somersault, heaven knows! Soon he came to the land of the Turks. He hid the trunk in the forest under some wilted leaves and walked into town. He could do that safely because all the Turks walked around like him in robes and slippers. Then he met a wet nurse with a little child. “Listen here, you Turkananny,” he said, “what kind of castle is that here close to town? The windows are so high up.”

“The king’s daughter lives there,” she said. “It’s been prophesied that she will be unlucky in love, and therefore no one can visit her unless the king and queen are there.”

“Thanks,” said the merchant’s son, and then he went back into the forest, sat in his trunk, flew up on the roof, and crept through the window to the princess.

She was lying on the sofa sleeping. She was so beautiful that the merchant’s son had to kiss her. She woke up and was quite alarmed, but he said he was the Turkish God, who had come down through the sky to her, and she liked that.

Then they sat side by side, and he told stories about her eyes: they were the most lovely, dark oceans, and thoughts were swimming there like mermaids. Then he talked about her forehead: it was a snow-topped mountain with the most magnificent rooms and pictures, and he told her about the stork that brings the sweet little babies.

They were certainly some wonderful stories! Then he proposed to the princess, and she said yes at once!

“But you have to come on Saturday,” she said. “The king and queen are coming here for tea then. They’ll be very proud that I’m going to marry the Turkish God, but listen, be sure you can tell a really lovely fairy tale because they particularly like them. My mother likes them to be elegant and moralistic, and my father likes funny ones so he can laugh.”

“I’ll bring no other wedding gift than a fairy tale,” he said, and then they parted, but the princess gave him a sword that was studded with gold coins, something he could really use.

Then he flew away, bought himself a new robe, and sat in the forest composing a fairy tale to be finished by Saturday. That’s not so easy either.

But he finished it, and then it was Saturday.

The king and queen and all the court were waiting with tea at the princess’s tower, where he was very well received!

“Won’t you tell a fairy tale?” asked the queen. “One that is profound and educational.”

“One that can make you laugh, too,” added the king.

“Yes certainly,” he said and told this story. Listen carefully.

“Once upon a time there was a package of matches that were extremely stuck-up because they were of such high origin. Their family tree, that is to say, the big pine tree that each of them was a little stick of, had been a tall old tree in the forest. The matches were now lying on a shelf between a tinderbox and an old iron kettle, and they told them stories about their youth. ‘Yes, when we were riding high,’ they said, ‘we really were riding high! Every morning and evening we had diamond tea, that was the dew. We had the sunshine all day when the sun was shining, and all the little birds had to tell us stories. We could easily tell that we were rich because the ordinary trees only wore clothes in the summer, but our family could afford nice green clothes both summer and winter. But then the foresters came. It was the big revolution, and our family tree was split up. The head of the family got a place as the topmast on a magnificent ship that could sail around the world if it wanted to. The other branches went to other places, and we now have the task of bringing light to the common crowd. That’s how we who are so noble came to be here in this kitchen.’

“‘Yes, it’s quite different for me,’ said the iron kettle, standing next to the matches. ‘From the time I came into the world, I have been in hot water many times. I have the responsibility for the most substantial work and am strictly speaking the most important one in the house. My only joy is to sit here clean and tidy after dinner and have pleasant conversations with my companions. But with the exception of the water pail, who gets out in the yard once in a while, we all live a secluded indoor life. Our only news comes from the marketing basket, but he talks very critically of the government and the people. Just the other day an old jug over there fell over in alarm at what he said and smashed to pieces. He’s markedly liberal, I’ll tell you.’ ‘You spout off too much,’ the tinderbox said, and the flint struck the stone so the sparks flew. ‘Let’s have a cheerful, merry evening.’

“‘Yes, let’s talk about who is most distinguished,’ the matches said.

“‘No, I don’t like talking about myself,’ said the clay pot. ‘Let’s have an evening of entertainment. I’ll start. I’ll tell about something that we’ve all experienced. Everyone can follow along then, and it’s so amusing: On the Baltic where the Danish beech trees ...’

“‘That’s a great beginning,’ all the plates said, ‘this’ll definitely be a story we’ll like.’

“‘Yes, I spent my youth there with a quiet family. The furniture was polished, the floors washed, and there were clean curtains every other week.’

“‘How interestingly you tell that!” said the broom. ‘You can hear at once that it’s a woman telling the story—there’s no dirt in it at all.’

“‘Yes, one can tell that,” the water pail said, and it made a little hop of joy so that there was a splash on the floor.

“And the pot continued the story, and the ending was as good as the beginning.

“All the plates were rattling with pleasure, and the broom took some green parsley out of the parsley pot and crowned the pot with a wreath because he knew it would irritate the others, and ‘if I crown her today,’ he thought, ‘she’ll crown me tomorrow.’

“‘Now I’ll dance,’ said the fire tongs and danced. Oh, God bless us, how she could kick a leg in the air! The old seat cover in the corner split from watching it! ‘May I also be crowned?’ asked the fire tongs, and so she was.

“‘These are just riffraff,’ thought the matches.

“Then the tea urn was supposed to sing, but she had a cold, she said. She couldn’t sing unless she was warmed up. Actually it was due to conceit because she didn’t want to sing except for the master and mistress in the dining room.

“On the windowsill sat an old quill pen that the maid used for writing. There was nothing remarkable about him, except that he had been dipped too deeply in the inkwell, but he was proud of that. ‘If the tea urn doesn’t want to sing,’ he said, ‘then she doesn’t have to. There is a nightingale hanging outside in a cage. It can sing. Granted it hasn’t had lessons, but we won’t criticize it this evening.’

“‘I find it highly inappropriate,’ said the tea kettle, who usually sang in the kitchen and was a half sister of the tea urn, ‘that a foreign bird like that should sing. Is that patriotic? I’ll let the marketing basket judge!’

“‘I’m just so annoyed,’ the marketing basket said. ‘I’m so thoroughly annoyed, you can’t imagine! Is this an appropriate way to spend the evening? Wouldn’t it be better to rearrange things and set the house in order? Then everyone would be in his correct place, and I would control the whole shebang. That would be something else!’

“‘Yes, let’s cause a riot!’ they all said. At that moment the door opened. It was the maid, and so everyone stopped talking. No one said a word. But there wasn’t a pot who didn’t know what it could do and how dignified it was. ‘Well, if I had wanted it,’ they all thought, ‘it really would have been a merry evening!’

“The maid took the matches and made a fire with them—God bless us, how they sizzled and burned in flames!

“‘Now everyone can see,’ they thought, ‘that we are the best! What radiance we have! What light!’—and then they were burned out.”

“That was a lovely fairy tale,” the queen said. “I felt just like I was in the kitchen with the matches. You may certainly marry our daughter.”

“Of course,” the king agreed, “you’ll marry our daughter on Monday!” Now they said “du” to him, since he was going to be part of the family. ¹

So the wedding day was decided, and the evening before the whole town was lit up. Rolls and pastries were thrown to the crowds. Street urchins stood on their toes, shouted hurrah, and whistled through their fingers. It was extremely splendid.

“Well, I’d better also do something,” the merchant’s son thought, and so he bought some rockets, caps, and all the fireworks you could think of, put them in his trunk, and flew up in the air with it.

Whoosh, how it went! And how it popped and puffed!

All the Turks jumped in the air at this so that their slippers flew around their ears. They had never seen such a sight in the sky before. Now they understood that it really was the Turkish God himself who was going to marry the princess.

As soon as the merchant’s son landed in the forest with his trunk, he thought, “I’ll just go into town to find out how that looked to everyone.” And it was understandable that he wanted to do that.

Well, how the people were talking! Every single one he asked about it had seen it in his own way, but it had been beautiful for all of them.

“I saw the Turkish God himself,” one said. “He had eyes like shining stars and a beard like foaming water.”

“He flew in a coat of fire,” another one said, “and the most gorgeous little angels peeked out from the folds.”

Yes, he heard lovely things, and the next day he was getting married.

Then he went back to the forest to put himself in his trunk—but where was it? The trunk had burned up. A spark from the fireworks had remained, had started a fire, and the trunk was in ashes. He couldn’t fly any longer and couldn’t get to his bride.

She stood all day on the roof waiting. She’s still waiting, but he’s wandering the world telling fairy tales. But they aren’t any longer so lighthearted as the one he told about the matches.

1. Danish shares with many European languages formal and informal forms of direct address. “Du” is informal.