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The Naughty Boy
Hans Christian Andersen
Along time ago, there lived an old poet, a thoroughly
kind old poet. As he was sitting one evening in his room, a dreadful storm arose
without, and the rain streamed down from heaven; but the old poet sat warm and
comfortable in his chimney-comer, where the fire blazed and the roasting apple
hissed.
"Those who have not a roof over their heads will be
wetted to the skin," said the good old poet.
"Oh let me in! Let me in! I am cold, and I'm so wet!"
exclaimed suddenly a child that stood crying at the door and knocking for
admittance, while the rain poured down, and the wind made all the windows
rattle.
"Poor thing!" said the old poet, as he went to open the
door. There stood a little boy, quite naked, and the water ran down from his
long golden hair; he trembled with cold, and had he not come into a warm room he
would most certainly have perished in the frightful tempest.
"Poor child!" said the old poet, as he took the boy by
the hand. "Come in, come in, and I will soon restore thee! Thou shalt have wine
and roasted apples, for thou art verily a charming child!" And the boy was so
really. His eyes were like two bright stars; and although the water trickled
down his hair, it waved in beautiful curls. He looked exactly like a little
angel, but he was so pale, and his whole body trembled with cold. He had a nice
little bow in his hand, but it was quite spoiled by the rain, and the tints of
his many-colored arrows ran one into the other.
The old poet seated himself beside his hearth, and took
the little fellow on his lap; he squeezed the water out of his dripping hair,
warmed his hands between his own, and boiled for him some sweet wine. Then the
boy recovered, his cheeks again grew rosy, he jumped down from the lap where he
was sitting, and danced round the kind old poet.
"You are a merry fellow," said the old man. "What's your
name?"
"My name is Cupid," answered the boy. "Don't you know
me? There lies my bow; it shoots well, I can assure you! Look, the weather is
now clearing up, and the moon is shining clear again through the window."
"Why, your bow is quite spoiled," said the old poet.
"That were sad indeed," said the boy, and he took the
bow in his hand -and examined it on every side. "Oh, it is dry again, and is not
hurt at all; the string is quite tight. I will try it directly." And he bent his
bow, took aim, and shot an arrow at the old poet, right into his heart. "You see
now that my bow was not spoiled," said he laughing; and away he ran.
The naughty boy, to shoot the old poet in that way; he
who had taken him into his warm room, who had treated him so kindly, and who had
given him warm wine and the very best apples!
The poor poet lay on the earth and wept, for the arrow
had really flown into his heart.
"Fie!" said he. "How naughty a boy Cupid is! I will tell
all children about him, that they may take care and not play with him, for he
will only cause them sorrow and many a heartache."
And all good children to whom he related this story,
took great heed of this naughty Cupid; but he made fools of them still, for he
is astonishingly cunning. When the university students come from the lectures,
he runs beside them in a black coat, and with a book under his arm. It is quite
impossible for them to know him, and they walk along with him arm in arm, as if
he, too, were a student like themselves; and then, unperceived, he thrusts an
arrow to their bosom. When the young maidens come from being examined by the
clergyman, or go to church to be confirmed, there he is again close behind them.
Yes, he is forever following people. At the play, he sits in the great
chandelier and burns in bright flames, so that people think it is really a
flame, but they soon discover it is something else. He roves about in the garden
of the palace and upon the ramparts: yes, once he even shot your father and
mother right in the heart. Ask them only and you will hear what they'll tell
you. Oh, he is a naughty boy, that Cupid; you must never have anything to do
with him. He is forever running after everybody. Only think, he shot an arrow
once at your old grandmother! But that is a long time ago, and it is all past
now; however, a thing of that sort she never forgets. Fie, naughty Cupid! But
now you know him, and you know, too, how ill-behaved he is!
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