When People told themselves their past with stories,
explained their present with stories,
foretold the future with stories,
the best place by the fire was kept for ...

~The Snow Man~

    It is so delightfully cold, said the Snow Man,
that it makes my whole body crackle.
This is just the kind of wind to blow life into one.
How that great red thing up there is staring at me!
He meant the sun, who was just setting. It shall not make
me wink. I shall manage to keep the pieces.

    He had two triangular pieces of tile in his head,
instead of eyes, his mouth was made of an old broken
rake, and was, of course, furnished with teeth.
He had been brought into existence amidst the joyous
shouts of boys, the jingling of sleigh-bells, and the
slashing of whips. The sun went down, and the full
moon rose, large, round, and clear,
shining in the deep blue.

    There it comes again, from the other side,
said the Snow Man, who supposed the sun was
showing himself once more. Ah, I have cured him
of staring, though, now he may hang up there, and
shine, that I may see myself. If I only knew how to
manage to move away from this place,
I should so like to move. If I could, I would slide along
yonder on the ice, as I have seen the boys do,
but I don't understand how, I don't even know how to run.

Snowman by John Henry 
Away, away, barked the old yard-dog.
He was quite hoarse, and could not pronounce
Bow wow properly. He had once been an indoor dog,
and lay by the fire, and he had been hoarse ever since.
The sun will make you run some day. I saw him, last winter,
make your predecessor run, and his predecessor
before him. Away, away, they all have to go.
I don't understand you, comrade, said the Snow Man.
Is that thing up yonder to teach me to run?
I saw it running itself a little while ago, and now it has
come creeping up from the other side.
You know nothing at all, replied the yard-dog, but then,
you've only lately been patched up. What you see yonder
is the moon, and the one before it was the sun.
It will come again to-morrow, and most likely teach
you to run down into the ditch by the well, for I think
the weather is going to change. I can feel such pricks
and stabs in my left leg,
I am sure there is going to be a change.
I don't understand him, said the Snow Man to himself,
but I have a feeling that he is talking of something very disagreeable. The one who stared so just now, and
whom he calls the sun, is not my friend, I can feel that too. 
Away, away, barked the yard-dog, and then he
turned round three times, and crept into his kennel to sleep.
    There was really a change in the weather.
Towards morning, a thick fog covered the whole
country round, and a keen wind arose, so that the cold
seemed to freeze one's bones, but when the sun rose,
the sight was splendid. Trees and bushes were covered
with hoarfrost, and looked like a forest of white coral,
while on every twig glittered frozen dew-drops.

The many delicate forms concealed in summer by
luxuriant foliage, were now clearly defined, and
looked like glittering lace-work. From every twig glistened
a white radiance. The birch, waving in the wind, looked
full of life, like trees in summer, and its appearance was wondrously beautiful. And where the sun shone,
how everything glittered and sparkled, as if diamond
dust had been strewn about, while the snowy carpet
of the earth appeared as if covered with diamonds,
from which countless lights gleamed, whiter
than even the snow itself.
    This is really beautiful, said a young girl, who had
come into the garden with a young man, and they
both stood still near the Snow Man, and
contemplated the glittering scene. Summer cannot show
a more beautiful sight, she exclaimed, while her eyes sparkled.

    And we can't have such a fellow as this in the
summer time, replied the young man, pointing
to the Snow Man, he is capital.
    The girl laughed, and nodded at the Snow Man, and
then tripped away over the snow with her friend.
The snow creaked and crackled beneath her feet,
as if she had been treading on starch.
    Who are these two? asked the Snow Man
of the yard-dog. You have been here longer than
I have, do you know them?

Of course I know them, replied the yard-dog, she
has stroked my back many times, and he has given me
a bone of meat. I never bite those two.
    But what are they? asked the Snow Man.
    They are lovers, he replied, they will go and live
in the same kennel by-and-by, and gnaw at the same
bone. Away, away!
    Are they the same kind of beings as you and I?
asked the Snow Man. 
Well, they belong to the same master, retorted
the yard-dog. Certainly people who were only born
yesterday know very little. I can see that in you.
I have age and experience. I know every one here in
the house, and I know there was once a time when I did
not lie out here in the cold, fastened to a chain. Away, away!

    The cold is delightful, said the Snow Man, but do
tell me tell me, only you must not clank your chain so,
for it jars all through me when you do that.
    Away, away! barked the yard-dog, I'll tell you,
they said I was a pretty little fellow once, then I used
to lie in a velvet-covered chair, up at the master's house,
and sit in the mistress's lap. They used to kiss my nose,
and wipe my paws with an embroidered handkerchief,
and I was called "Ami, dear Ami, sweet Ami."
But after a while I grew too big for them, and they sent
me away to the housekeeper's room, so I came to live
on the lower story. You can look into the room from
where you stand, and see where I was master once,
for I was indeed master to the housekeeper.

It was certainly a smaller room than those up stairs,
but I was more comfortable, for I was not being
continually taken hold of and pulled about by the children
as I had been. I received quite as good food, or even
better. I had my own cushion, and there was a stove
it is the finest thing in the world at this season of the year.
I used to go under the stove, and lie down quite beneath it.
Ah, I still dream of that stove. Away, away!
    Does a stove look beautiful? asked the Snow Man,
is it at all like me?
    It is just the reverse of you, said the dog,
it's as black as a crow, and has a long neck and a
brass knob, it eats firewood, so that fire spurts out
of its mouth. We should keep on one side,
or under it, to be comfortable. You can see it
through the window, from where you stand.

    Then the Snow Man looked, and saw a bright polished
thing with a brazen knob, and fire gleaming from the
lower part of it. The Snow Man felt quite a strange
sensation come over him, it was very odd,
he knew not what it meant, and he could not account
for it. But there are people who are not men of snow,
who understand what it is. And why did you leave her?
asked the Snow Man, for it seemed to him that the
stove must be of the female sex. How could you give
up such a comfortable place?

    I was obliged, replied the yard-dog.
They turned me out of doors, and chained me up here.
I had bitten the youngest of my master's sons in the leg,
because he kicked away the bone I was gnawing.
"Bone for bone," I thought, but they were so angry,
and from that time I have been fastened with a chain,
and lost my bone. Don't you hear how hoarse I am.
Away, away! I can't talk any more like other dogs.
Away, away, that is the end of it all.

    But the Snow Man was no longer listening.
He was looking into the housekeeper's room on the
lower story, where the stove stood on its four iron legs,
looking about the same size as the Snow Man himself.
What a strange crackling I feel within me, he said.
Shall I ever get in there? It is an innocent wish,
and innocent wishes are sure to be fulfilled. I must go
in there and lean against her, even if I have to
break the window.
    You must never go in there, said the yard-dog,
for if you approach the stove, you'll melt away, away.
    I might as well go, said the Snow Man,
for I think I am breaking up as it is.

    During the whole day the Snow Man stood looking
in through the window, and in the twilight hour the
room became still more inviting, for from the stove
came a gentle glow, not like the sun or the moon, no,
only the bright light which gleams from a stove when
it has been well fed. When the door of the stove was
opened, the flames darted out of its mouth,
this is customary with all stoves. The light of the
flames fell directly on the face and breast of the
Snow Man with a ruddy gleam. I can endure it no longer,
said he, how beautiful it looks when it stretches
out its tongue?
    The night was long, but did not appear so to the
Snow Man, who stood there enjoying his own
reflections, and crackling with the cold.
In the morning, the window-panes of the housekeeper's
room were covered with ice. They were the most
beautiful ice-flowers any Snow Man could desire,
but they concealed the stove. These window-panes
would not thaw, and he could see nothing of the stove,
which he pictured to himself, as if it had been a lovely
human being. The snow crackled and the wind whistled
around him, it was just the kind of frosty weather
a Snow Man might thoroughly enjoy.
But he did not enjoy it, how, indeed,
could he enjoy anything when he was stove sick?

    That is terrible disease for a Snow Man,
said the yard-dog, I have suffered from it myself,
but I got over it. Away, away, he barked and then
he added, the weather is going to change.
And the weather did change, it began to thaw.
As the warmth increased, the Snow Man decreased.
He said nothing and made no complaint, which is a
sure sign. One morning he broke, and sunk down
altogether, and, behold, where he had stood,
something like a broomstick remained sticking up
in the ground. It was the pole round which the boys
had built him up. Ah, now I understand why he had
such a great longing for the stove, said the yard-dog.
Why, there's the shovel that is used for cleaning
out the stove, fastened to the pole.
The Snow Man had a stove scraper in his body,
that was what moved him so. But it's all over now.
Away, away. And soon the winter passed. Away, away,
barked the hoarse yard-dog. But the girls in the house sang,

Come from your fragrant home, green thyme;
Stretch your soft branches, willow-tree;
The months are bringing the sweet spring-time,
When the lark in the sky sings joyfully.
Come gentle sun, while the cuckoo sings,
And I'll mock his note in my wanderings.

    And nobody thought any more of the Snow Man.

By Hans Christian Anderson

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