The Steadfast Tin Soldier

Once upon a time, in a workshop, an old tin spoon was melted down and cast into twenty-five soldiers. They were all alike, like brothers: red coats, blue trousers, rifles on their shoulders. Only there wasn’t quite enough tin for the last one, so he came out with just one leg.

But he stood on that one leg just as steadily as the others did on two. Perhaps even more steadily.

The soldiers were put in a box and given to a little boy for his birthday. The boy lifted the lid and jumped for joy:

"Tin soldiers!"

He lined them up on the table in a neat row. The one-legged soldier stood last.

On the same table stood a paper castle with little windows and towers. In front of it a small mirror shone like a lake, and wax swans floated on it. And in the castle doorway stood a dancer, also cut out of paper. Her dress was white and light as air, a narrow blue ribbon lay across her shoulder, and on the ribbon sparkled a spangle as big as her whole face. She had lifted one leg so high that the soldier couldn’t see it at all.

"She has only one leg too, just like me," he thought. "If only she could be my bride! But she lives in a castle, and I live in a box, with twenty-four brothers too. That’s no place for her."

Still, nobody had forbidden him to look at her. And so the soldier looked.

In the evening the boy was put to bed, and then it all began. The toys came to life! The ball bounced across the floor: bump, bump, bump. The wooden horse went clip-clop with its hooves. The soldiers in the box knocked on the lid, because they wanted to play too, but they couldn’t get it open.

Only two didn’t stir from their places: the tin soldier and the paper dancer. She stood on the tip of her toe, he on his only leg, and neither of them took their eyes off the other.

Then — click! — the lid of a little box sprang open, and out on a spring jumped a black goblin.

"Hey, tin man!" he creaked. "Keep your eyes off what isn’t yours!"

The soldier pretended not to hear.

"Well, well," sniggered the goblin. "You’ll see tomorrow!"

In the morning the boy put the soldier on the windowsill. Whether it was the goblin’s doing or just a gust of wind, the window suddenly flew open, and the soldier tumbled head first from the third floor. Ting! He got stuck between the cobblestones: rifle down, leg up.

The boy and his mother ran outside to look for him. They walked right past him, nearly stepped on him, and still didn’t see him. The soldier could have called out, "I’m here!" But he thought that a soldier in uniform shouldn’t go shouting all down the street.

Then it began to rain, first drip-drop, and then pouring buckets. When at last the sky cleared, two street boys came running.

"Look, a soldier!" one of them cried. "Let’s send him sailing!"

They folded a boat out of newspaper, put the soldier in it and set it off down the gutter along the pavement. They ran alongside, clapping their hands.

Oh, what waves there were in that gutter! The boat spun and bounced and trembled all over. But the soldier stood straight, looked right ahead and kept his rifle on his shoulder.

Suddenly the boat shot under a wooden bridge. It grew as dark as inside his box.

"Where is this taking me?" thought the soldier. "It’s all the goblin’s doing... Oh, if only she were sitting here in the boat with me, it could be twice as dark for all I’d care!"

Out of the darkness popped a big water rat.

"Stop!" he squeaked. "Have you got a pass? Show it!"

The soldier said nothing and only gripped his rifle tighter. The boat sailed on, and the rat ran after it, shrieking at the twigs and bits of straw:

"Stop him! He didn’t show his pass! He didn’t pay!"

Up ahead came a roaring sound. The gutter poured into a wide canal, and for the soldier that was just like a waterfall would be for us. The boat whirled round once, twice, and filled with water right up to the brim. The paper grew soggy and began to fall apart. The water rose to the soldier’s neck.

He thought of the dancer, her white dress and her blue ribbon. "I shall never see you again," he thought. Then the paper tore apart — and the soldier sank to the bottom.

But at that very moment — gulp! — a big fish swallowed him.

Oh, how dark it was inside the fish! Darker than under the bridge, and so cramped you couldn’t turn around. But the soldier lay there, stretched out to his full height, and never took the rifle off his shoulder.

The fish darted this way and that, and then it went still. A long time passed. Then all at once light flashed in the darkness, and someone cried out:

"The tin soldier!"

It turned out the fish had been caught, sold at the market and brought into a kitchen. The cook cut it open with a big knife, and there he was! And the kitchen was in the very same house the soldier had fallen from.

"Well, what a wonder!" cried the cook, clapping her hands, and she carried him into the room.

Everyone came running to see the traveller who had been inside a fish’s belly. The boy held him on his palm and couldn’t believe his eyes.

The soldier was put back on the very same table. The same toys, the same paper castle. And in the castle doorway, there she was, on one leg, with the spangle on her ribbon.

The soldier was so moved that he nearly cried tin tears. But crying isn’t fitting for a soldier. So he simply looked at her, and she looked at him. And neither of them said a word. And the goblin in his box quietly sniggered.

Then, out of nowhere, the boy’s little brother grabbed the soldier and threw him into the stove. Why, he didn’t know himself. Most likely the goblin had a hand in it again.

The soldier stood in the bright light of the fire. He felt terribly hot, but whether it was from the fire or from love, he couldn’t tell. The paint on his uniform had faded. Maybe from the long journey, maybe from sorrow. He felt he was melting, but he stood just as straight, with his rifle on his shoulder, and kept looking at the dancer.

Suddenly the door creaked. A draught caught the paper dancer, and like a little bird she flew straight to the soldier, into the stove. She blazed up in a bright little flame, and was gone.

In the morning, as the cook raked the ashes out of the stove, she found a little lump of tin. It was shaped like a heart. And next to it lay the spangle from the blue ribbon, black as a cinder, but whole.

All that was left of the soldier was his heart. Perhaps because it was the most steadfast part of him.