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Hurry up, Grandpa's waiting.

C'mon! Let's go!

Do you remember Grandpa?

I remember he has a big moustache. He's ill, so don't upset him.

He was a great man, and now... oh dear, it's just too bad.

Now just be calm.

Hello.

Come in.

Is this the insane asylum? Yes.

Wait, I'll go find Grandpa. Are they all loonies in here?

Don't be silly.

Come here, boy.

Let's make friends.

What's your name, boy? Hans Christian Andersen.

Come closer, I'll give you a kiss.

Remember, it was the Lord God himself who kissed you.

You'll be a great man. Everyone will know who you are!

Are you really the Lord God?

Are You whom I pray to every morning before breakfast?

Pray to me before lunch and before dinner too.

But we don't always have lunch every day, nor do we always have dinner.

Pray with all your heart,

and then you will always have lunch,

and dinner, and even dessert.

I'm fond of dessert. Me too.

But why are You down here, and not up in Heaven?

You don't believe me?

Let there be rain!

Give some to me! I want some! Me too!

Me too! Me too! And me too!

Hans Christian, say hello to grandfather.

Hello, grandfather.

Grandma, guess what? Just now the Lord God himself kissed me!

When? Where? Right here!

He said I would become a great man.

He has a great big circle around his head.

Who does? Come look, I'll show you.

Where is he? Show me!

He's there, sitting on the bench.

There's nobody there. But He was just there!

Is he anywhere in that group?

No, He's not there.

Maybe he flew off to Heaven?

Lord, let us live out this day,

without being hungry.

Let it be light,

And let the sun warm us.

Spare us, Lord, from snows and rains; for the poor, Lord, spare some pains.

Send us our harvest bread, Lord, with neither rage nor dread,

Wind, leave off your howls and moans

Don't disturb the cruel sea.

Leave the cold waves

Sleep in peace

Neither howl, nor shriek, nor moan

Send our poor fishermen home.

Send us our harvest bread, Oh Lord,

Without rage

Or wrath or dread.

Awful fear of death we feel

Just give us the strength

to heal.

Spare us, Lord,

From snows and rains,

For the poor, Lord, spare, some pains.

May it soon

Be light

May the sun shine bright.

From our path, Lord, we did stray

We have fallen,

Lost our way.

Dinner!

What brings you here? I brought my grandson.

He's the shoemaker Andersen's son.

His father died two years ago. Can't you hire him?

I don't need him. Well, take him on as an apprentice, I beg of you!

Of what use is he? He knows how to read.

He knows dramatic theatre plays by heart, he dances

and he can do hard labor, and what's more

he sings! Oh, how he sings!

What's wrong with you, old woman? Where do you think you brought him?

Take him to the town square, and let him sing there!

Now we'll start the mechanical looms,

and your little fool will sing then! Won't that be fun?

How rude and coarse you all are!

Now, now, no babbling!

Let's get out of here!

Hans, what are you thinking of?

There, where so freely I roam,

by a brook in the woods is a home

and there all night

a candle's

burning bright

Johann, Johann, Johannes, my dear friend!

Where is your lovely home

with windows twain?

Johann, Johann, Johannes, my dear friend!

Just shades remain.

So I wait for the evening shadows

And sleepless I'll quiver all night

For a glimpse through the curtained windows

Of my loved one, my wife -

oh dear sight!

Excellent! Marvelous! What a voice!

He's a real artist. It's my dream to be an artist!

And soon I'll go to Copenhagen and enter

the Royal theatre!

All right, really show us something now!

Let him sing one more song, and then we must all work!

This isn't quite yet the Royal Theatre.

All right, leave your nightingale here, and I promise we won't eat him.

“The old bridge

in summers before...”

No, I didn't know..

I think he's just a girl.

I'm a boy. He has a voice just like a girl.

He's a boy, I know for sure.

He's a missy, no doubt about it. We'll check it out right now!

I'll find out himself. Let me go! I'm a boy!

Let's make sure. Come on, undress him!

Put it on, hurry!

You pigs!

You hear?

You are all pigs!

For tremendous achievements in the field of literature!

Thank you, Your Majesty.

The thanks of the Fatherland are especially precious to me.

Long live the master of Danish literature!

I congratulate you heartily, Andersen.

I read your excellent novel, The Improviser.

Tell me, my dear Andersen

were you writing about yourself? To some degree.

Your Majesty, and he writes about himself.

What if I ask you right now

to improvise a fairy tale on a theme I'll give you, impromptu?

I'm not sure,

but for you, Your Majesty, I'll try.

Try to make up a fairy tale, well, let's say, about...

glory.

Glory?

Who better than you, Andersen, to invent a fairy tale about glory?

Well, gather round. I'll try.

I'm with you.

Glory is an woman enormously tall -

as tall as the tower of our Town Hall.

She looks down at the people fussing below -

petty, puny folk! And Glory bends down,

picks one of them out of the crowd at random.

Raises him ever-so-high right up to her eyes,

looks him over carefully,

then pronounces with disappointment:

“Again — no good!”

Then she casts him back to the ground.”

But Glory won't drop you!

Who knows? We are all in God's hands.

Yet I can't understand how you manage to write such sublime stories?

Your Majesty, it's quite simple.

In the morning

I sit down at my desk,

dip my pen in the inkwell

and think, “what should I write today.”

Suddenly there's a knock on the door.

'Come in”, I say.

A lady walks in

who sometimes, by the way, looks a bit like Miss Henrietta,

and says, scarcely audibly:

“I'm a fairy tale. I'm here to help you.”

She stands at my back, silently,

but suddenly characters appear in my mind,

images and words are born and jostle each other,

and the sentences just flow from my pen.

I turn around sharply -

but no one's there.

Are you joking?

Of course. So I guessed.

The Royal Theatre of Copenhagen.

Premiere!

Come to the premiere!

Mama, the theatre!

Theatre people are the worst!

I washed an actress's clothes.

She just left without even playing.

Oh, my beloved King!

Will you charge off to battle with the Saracens

on an elephant, a lion, or a rhinoceros?

Oh, my beloved Lady Anna,

on a lion, naturally. I'm Richard the Lion-Heart after all!

The Saracens will see the lion

and scatter and flee in fear.

Lady Anna is on the balcony.

O, my beloved Richard the Lion-Heart!

I will wait for you, while you are off to the wars.

Battling the infidels to free the Holy Sepulchre.

Oh, my beloved Lady Anna.

Are you playing with puppets?

Those aren't puppets, but actors!

They're putting on my play. That's funny.

Who're you? You don't know me.

They hyou because I'm a robber-woman.

And why haven't you robbed from us yet?

What've you go worth robbing?

Except may this lame old crow.

Her name's Clara. She's my friend.

You see?

Did you know that your house is also my house—a little?

And that your Mama's also my mother??

I don't understand. I'm your sister.

By a different man,

we had different fathers, you get it? Mama never said anything.

Nobody loves me in this house, and they try to pretend I don't exist.

Mama left me in an orphanage, and now I look after other people's kids,

and sometimes I thieve.

Well, I just came to meet you. And now I've met you, so I'll go.

Is it true your father went to the wars in place of a rich man?

What did he need the money for, if he died there?

Was he an idiot? You're the idiot!

We lived for three years on that money.

Please leave. Don't get angry, I'm leaving.

My name's Karen. And do you really thieve?

This is ours.

Come, choose whatever you want, and I'll take it, and it's be your present from me.

You're my brother. It's great to have a brother.

Karen.

Well, OK. OK.

Let's go.

Karen, Karen!

Stealing is wrong. I don't want. I wanted to take that pretty notebook.

Aha! And you like to write things too?

Stay here.

Hello! Good morning!

Where are you going! Beast!

I'll get you to stop stealing!

Fire!

Mama, what's happening! We're in fire!

My actors!

My plays! My poems!

Daddy's books!

Mama! I'm still in here.

Out into the courtyard, quick!

This laundry is too dirty, we'll need to wash it again.

Yes, these Karlssons are a dreadful family.

Something's gotten into the chimney.

That lame raven looks to be neither here nor there.

My Clara? I don't know. Probably.

Where are you going? Come back!

My boy, did you get burned?

I messed up my only suit due to some lame raven.

Get out of there! Are you deaf Hey! I'm talking to you!

Who's Karen's father?

Once upon a time there was a soldier

who met a washerwoman.

The soldier was very hungry

and the good washerwoman pitied him and put him up in her house.

And so... Karen was born. And that's it!

For a long time I concealed my growing belly.

But then, when it was impossible to conceal my pregnancy any longer,

rocks were thrown at me.

I don't love your sister.

I love you.

She brings up bad memories for me.

Write about that when you become a writer.

Why on earth are you home so late?

You ran off to the theatre again? Where's the other shoe?

Give me your leg.

Where'd you leave the other shoe?

Were the other kids picking on you again? Answer me!

Don't you dare kick this door.

Give me your foot.

Last time, you had a tooth knocked in!

Before that hey beat you up black and blue!

All because he's wandering around aimlessly, while other kids his age

are breaking their backs to bring money home to their families!

But not him! “No!” he says, “Can't you see I'm an artist, a singer, a poet!!”

You should have given him a good smacking!

You'll see! One day he'll come home

with his ears or nose cut off!

Come to think of it, a nose like his could use shortening!

Enough! He's my son, not yours!

Well, I'm leaving.

Hey, shoemaker-you really ought to make some shoes for that boy.

Ah, if only his father were alive!

Why did you le down in your trousers? Take them off! I'm so tired today.

I just don't feel like it.

Come on, take them off, and come here to me. The boy's not sleeping.

None of your business.

Turn out the light! Enough reading!

Come on!

What do you mean,”come on”? I said, come on!

You just can't stop, can you?

Come on, get in,

I'll teach you to hang out with hookers!

Bastard!

As you asked, here's your letter of reference,

Thanks so much, Colonel! I did my best.

Bye now! Good luck!

Don't be stupid! Come here!

Here's your favorite apple pie.

May life in the capital be sweet for you!

Thank you, Colonel!

When you get rich, buy Grandpa a pair of black shoes.

One foot of his is half a toe bigger than the other foot!

Hans, go find Karen over there, she's become a governess.

It's crazy to let you go off alone to such a big city,

as a child, who knows not a soul there, and his teeth hurt!

I won't have it!

You're not going anywhere! I have a bad feeling about this.

Mom, you said I could go!

Feel this, Uncle Karl!

Forgive me, Mama, Grandma!

Everything will be fine. I'll write to you.

I must say, I've generally found the subjects for my tales all over.

Once I remembered a book about a man who sold his shadow

by my German colleague.

I rewrote the plot in my own way, and so we have the tale The Shadow.

One writer from the cold northern lands

came to the warm south to do his writing.

He had recently been pondering the qualities of the human shadow.

In the house opposite him, the balcony door was always closed.

Supposedly no one lived there, but occasionally you could hear sad singing coming from within.

Also, somebody was watering fresh flowers on the balcony.

One day, taking a break from writing,

he amused himself by showing some shadow-figures on the walls.

Little did he suspect just what these seemingly

innocent amusements might lead to...

Good evening, signorina!

Forgive me for daring to speak to you, but

it seems to me that I understand your thoughts, which are as beautiful

as the moonlight on the sea,

or the smell of jasmine!

Who are you?

You words are like poetry.

Your voice is so beautiful it overwhelms me:

My head is spinning.

You have a very strange face. An ugly one.

No, not at all.

When you speak, it seems you're

not lying.

Yet I know for sure that everybody lies.

Have you been hurt by someone you love?

You're too quick, Signore.

Farewell.

Hey! Are you a ghost or what? Don't just stand there!

Run after her, find out what her name is.

Who is she? And who hurt her?

Ciao!

That's a bad phrase.

Don't you recognize me?

It really is a bad phrase. But we've lived so many years together.

I sense that I've seen you before, but where? And when?

I am someone who has followed you constantly all your life.

Then are you? Yes, I am your shadow.

But why are you looking at me so untrustingly?

I sometimes write fairy tales

but I never imagined that I'd become

not just the author, but the hero of one.

Yes, this scene is a bit out of the ordinary,

But then you are hardly part of the ordinary crowd yourself.

Is I really you? My friend, I'm very glad to see you.

Tell me please, what did you see in that house opposite us?

Fine,

but you must give me your word

never to tell anyone I was your shadow.

I promise. I'll always remember this.

In the house to which I was sent

there lived a Russian princess incognito. She was the daughter of the Tsar's brother.

She seemed very unhappy to me.

Yes, she had had some very unfortunate affair.

And she was here healing the wounds of her heart.

As I was taking refuge at the Princess' home, I gradually began to mature

and finally I became

a man.

I usually went out on moonlight nights.

I stretched myself out all the way on walls

I peeped through windows,

and I learned how base this world really is.

Where are you dragging me?

I learned of secret sins.

What are you doing? Let go of me?

I'm sick of your doubtful conjectures.

I want a full report about the Russian princess.

A full report?

Tomorrow the princess is returning to St. Petersburg.

I happen to be a court chamberlain. I'm so eager to see her.

That's easily enough arranged. I'd do anything just to see her!

Stop!

What's wrong with you?? You've just been run over by a carriage.

Never mind. It was nothing. Anyway,

I can arrange your trip easily.

Naturally, I am also going to the capital of Russia.

And I could take you with me. I'd be eternally grateful.

Lord! How light you are!

In your capacity as my shadow.

Not that's too much.

Don't ever dare to dip your filthy cigar

into my inkwell, you understand?

Filthy habit!

I always want to copy his movements.

You're really rather strange, you never shale off your shadow, for instance.

Look, I've got a shadow, everybody else has one, and only you don't!

I already told you; I sent my shadow off on a foreign visit.

However, I have received a dispatch that my shadow will be back soon.

How interesting! You really must acquaint the two of us.

I absolutely will carry out your command, Your Highness.

And now I will tell you your dreams.

My dreams?

Yes, on the third...

You dreamed you were galloping on a stallion in a field

and the grass as you galloped was growing higher and higher

until it grew as high as the trees. You started to weep

and awoke in tears.

How do you know? I never told anyone that dream!

Love works wonders.

Love? Yes.

I love you, Your Highness.

Aha! Valet!

No, I don't need anything

You wanted him to call his guard,

but then yourself not knowing why told him you didn't need anything.

I'm surprised myself.

People don't understand the shadowy side of things.

But is only in the shade, the shadows,

and the murky depths that our keenest feelings are hid.

I am in the very depths of your soul.

You don't let me forget that.

But what if you seek wealth and power and don't love me at all?

But how did I know your dreams?

Your thoughts?

Only love works such miracles.

Yes, that's true.

Silence, gentlemen! Her Highness!

I've seen you before.

We've stood together on balconies, remember?

And had charming conversations.

Those were the happiest moments of my life.

I should mention, we're engaged to Her Highness.

We're getting married tomorrow.

Don't do that! You're ruining your life!

How dare you? He has no soul — And never will have one.

He doesn't love you and never will. He doesn't even know how to love.

How dare you? You're just the shadow

of that great man. He's deceiving you.

He's actually my shadow, dressed in human clothes.

You're lying. I happen to invent now and then, but I never lie.

I'll prove it's true right now.

Orchestra! Music!

I must, after all

Wean myself from this dependency.

Will you allow me, Lord Admiral?

You seem to have forgotten

that if I die,

at the same moment you too cease to exist.

You live because I live,

because you're my shadow.

My shadow!

Know your place.

Please let me take my cutlass.

Your Highness -

I'm very sorry that things turned out like this.

But maybe it's all for the best.

Have the sleighs loaded. I'm returning to my country.

I'll remember you

all my life.

Farewell.

Follow me, shadow!

Hello, Copenhagen!

Copenhagen, I'm here!

I'm here to see Mlle. Challe. The mistress is entertaining guests.

I have a letter of introduction from Colonel Gulberg.

But I don't know any Mr. Gulberg.

Ah, but he knows you! He saw you perform in our theatre.

Listen. “Dear Mademoiselle Challe.

I'm sure you'll be convinced of the exceptional talent of

this versatile young man. He is gifted in many ways,

but the main thing is he loves the theatre.

It's a very powerful letter.

I even helped the Colonel write it myself.

Don't miss your opportunity to assist a real talent, a genius, I nearly said.

You go too far!

Have no fear, Mlle., all will be just as you please.

You'll see! I'll become a genius. Brother, have you no sense of shame?

So you really dream of becoming an artist? Yes, I really do.

My dream is to die in the theatre.

Doubtless that's the best thing you could do to help the theatre.

You need talent to make it in the theatre. I have many talents.

Now I'll read you a play which I've just finished.

The hero of the play is a black man who strangles his wife

out of jealousy.

The bedroom scene before he strangles her.

I fear you; for you are fatal then

when your eyes roll so: why I should fear I know not,

yet I feel fear.”

Moor: “Think on thy sins!”

“They are all loves I bear to you.”

“'Aye, and for that, thou diest!”

“That death's unnatural that kills for loving.”

'Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip? What is the matter?”

“Where is that handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee”?—"

Excuse me,

but that's Shakespeare!

Othello.

I personally translated that play into Danish from English.

I didn't know that.

Forgive me if you translated it, but I personally know that that play's Shakespeare!

He already wrote that play, and way before you did!

But it's such a grand story that I decided to write it again.

In my own words. Only this time in verse.

And do you think your verse is better than Shakespeare's?

I didn't think about it.

Shakespeare's words may be better than mine, I admit

but I'll get better. So you write poetry?

Of course. Lots of poetry.

Here's a rather small ode. We believe you, young man,

but you needn't inflict it on us. Come to the kitchen and have something to eat.

Just don't lie, young man.

The fact that you've not eaten for a long while is written all over your face.

Elisa, bring Mr. Andersen into the kitchen.

Listen, I know how to whistle, to cry out in terror,

I can work with puppets!

Please, sirs!

Please don't leave, sirs, I beg you!

I can sing too! What can you sing?

The folksong “The First Blacksmith”.

Shall we not shut him up and pity our incomparable hostess?

No, let him sing. Give the poor boy a chance.

Maestro, please accompany this budding genius.

I rode all round the world on a furious steed

I've been looking for love at a strange land.

Rode through mountains, and cities, and plains

And I sought out my true love, seen only in dreams

How sad I feel!

I never did once stop to reshoe my horse

And I never did once

Ever meet my true love.

In my neighboring village once I had come home

I found my true love whom I sought round the world

Stupid idiot!

And I sought my love out

And I told her the truth

And in her shining eyes

A tear shined like a jewel.

I became the head blacksmith

Of that little place.

And I fathered ten sons

And lived life out in grace.

Ten sons!

How happy I am!

I happen to be director of the Conservatory.

And I'm amazed!

Say, who were your parents?

My father's dead. He was a cobbler.

And your mother? Is she still alive?

Yes, she's a washerwoman.

Well listen: your voice is your wealth.

Why bother dancing or writing?

You have a nightingale in your throat.

Young perhaps, and untrained, but still—a nightingale!

This is unexpected!

Elisa, take him to the kitchen and feed him.

He already ate everything. Feed him something tasty.

Meanwhile we'll figure out how to help you.

Smash those Yid's shops into pieces!

Kabbalah! Black magic! They'll cast a spell on us!

Beat them up! Beat up the Yids!

Hey, Jew! Stop! Beat him up!

Beat up those shopkeepers! They deserve it!

Beat up those salesmen! Hold him, he's getting away!

Catch that kike-trash!

Take their furs! Hey! I found some silverware!

My God!

What is this? Are these your dolls?

My dolls!

You make them yourself? I make them myself, and then I sell them.

And now what've they done?

And I thought you were one of those tradesmen!

And I saw you! You were throwing rocks!

Why'd you do that? Everyone was throwing rocks, so I did too.

Never just do whatever everyone else is doing.

Lord, how awful! What is all this??

This is probably yours. Take it.

And what's this? It's a Torah.

What you folks would call a Bible.

And may I please take this tin soldier with one leg? Take him.

Why would you want a cripple?

Let's say he lost his leg in a battle.

Well, I suppose that's true, if you think about it.

But why do they hate you so?

Probably because we're not like everyone else.

You're people... like everyone else.

Just like us.

And tomorrow, where they've smashed up the old shop

we'll open a new one.

So those were your father and mother.

All these horrible things happened on the day I got to Copenhagen.

I was just 14 and a half.

I was just a little boy

And I don't remember anything.

My parents later told me about that horrible day.

And I, who threw a rock at your house

now live in it.

Try not believing in Fate after that. My dear friend,

come, I'll show you something. It's my little toy theatre.

And in it live all the heroes of your fairy tales.

And this is a nightingale. Just listen to him sing!

And look: here's our favorite!

The ugly duckling!

Looks just like me!

What great friends you are!

I'll tell you a little secret.

On that day, I picked up a one-legged tin soldier

By the broken window.

I wrote a fairy tale about him:

The Steadfast Tin Soldier.

And I've never parted with him all these years. He's been a good luck charm for me.

But it's time for that brave soldier to return to his regiment.

He should stay with you, my dear friend.

That old warrior has certainly had a unique fate.

You know, he's just a lowly private,

a foot soldier, but thanks to you he's gone down in history.

Excuse me, could you please tell me if this is the house of Admiral Wulf?

Can't you see?

Hello, Miss! Good day to you.

I wanted to ask you. The thing is...

I'm in a bit of a situation... One moment.

Here, take this.

Are you serious?

I'm a playwright. I've brought my play and wanted to read it to Admiral Wulf.

Please do forgive me, it's all quite inopportune.

I'll go tell my Dad you're here.

Well, you may begin.

The tragedy is called: The Robbers of Wissenberg.

Act One.

Knut, Hening, Ulrich, and Roller

are sitting round a table, on which there is a bottle of rum

and glasses.

Jorgen Klopp is warming himself by the fireplace

with a glass of rum in his hand. All of them are robbers.

It's hard for me to just listen to a text.

Maybe you'll leave me your manuscript?

I promise, I'll read it quickly.

But my handwriting's terrible, and there's probably a thousand errors in it.

I want to send the play to the theatre

but the opinion of Shakespeare's translator is very inportant to me.

I'll have it copied later, although I don't have money to get it copied.

Why don't you have breakfast with me?

No thanks, I'm in a hurry; I've got things to do.

Henrietta! I

This is my daughter.

She has excellent handwriting.

She also writes without mistakes.

Why don't you ask her to help?

Maybe she'll copy your play.

For free?

Forgive me.

Everything depends on how I like your tragedy.

If it's miserably boring, I'll quit.

Please help yourself.

Bon appetit, Papa!

And where does your play take place? Near Odense.

I heard this legend from my grandmother, but I made up a lot of it myself.

So there's this girl who is in the robber's den,

and when they go off on their next marauding expedition

she finds a whole bunch of gold and jewels.

Don't tell me anymore. Otherwise it'll spoil my suspense in copying.

So you agree to do it?

I'll copy it, but not for free.

You must agree to have breakfast with me,

even though you're in such a rush and have so much to do. Agreed?

Well, here's the manuscript. Thanks. I've got to run.

All right, go. But I'll shoot at you from this cannon.

From this one? It isn't real.

Uncle Martin, give me the hot cannon-rod.

Cover your ears.

Not my ears!

I give up!

Let's go have breakfast, Mister playwright!

Hello, old-timer!

Pity you can't talk. What tales you would tell if you could!

Tomorrow in the City Hall they're deciding my fate.

The City Fathers will either exile me from town

to bring enlighten the countryside, or will forcibly retire me.

I'm going to be remade...

If I survive, come see me.

I'll tell you lots of stories. Excellent!

I'll definitely come see you!

Good luck to you! Come visit! I'll be delighted!

Ma'am, you've dropped something from your basket.

A potato. Thank you, young man.

I wish you a Merry Christmas!

Uncle Glazer!

You can't come in. The theatre's closed, nobody's here!

Uncle Glazer, it's me, Andersen! Please let me come in.

Have you got no place to sleep again? None—and it's very cold out.

All right, come in, but don't breathe a word to a soul

you"ve been fired. And if the director finds out, I'll be fired too.

Has your voice not come back? No, it's gone completely

that often happens to young men your age.

Can I walk the stage? What are you? Crazy?

It's forbidden. What of the director finds out?

I'll just pray, that's all. All right, go ahead.

Lord, help me!

I desperately want to act on that stage!

I must have a salary!

Otherwise, I'll just...

Lord, please help me get onto that stage!

Help me!

Hans Christian!

Come here!

I congratulate you

on your premiere and want to give you a gift.

Wishing you good luck I want to introduce you to

Jennie Lind.

The best singer there is. Indeed

they say a voice like hers is born only once a century.

Don't listen to Henrietta.

That's just what the newspapers and idle scribblers say

but we all know what liars they are.

What's with you?

Your voice has totally smitten me.

This must be the only case ever where the journalists wrote the truth.

Why do you frighten us!

Jennie came here to Denmark on a concert tour.

I'll be happy to see you at our concert.

I adored your novel The Improviser.

You read Danish? It was translated into our language.

And it was wildly popular.

No I understand why I love Sweden so much.

Anyway, I won't distract you from the premiere.

Hey!

I see you're not nervous at all? Are you kidding? I'm a nervous wreck!

Good luck, Mister Writer!

Let's go!

Au revoir!

What's wrong? The prompter's ill with dysentery.

What a disaster! We have two new actors tonight!

And as if that weren't enough. What else?

The King and Queen are here tonight!

He made time to attend? Yes.

Oh dear! I'm going to faint!

We need someone who knows the whole play by heart.

You do. But I'm already busy acting my role.

There is one more person I know

but then, please bring the following items into the prompter's booth:

drops to calm heart palpitations and something against stomach disorders.

Dysentery is contagious.

Hans Christian Andersen.

The Tinder Box, Act 4.

For attempted assaults on the dignity of the heiress to the throne

“In the form of kisses”

In the form of kisses

“And other amorous attentions"

and other amorous attentions, the soldier is hereby sentenced

“...To execution by hanging”

The soldier is sentenced to execution by hanging.

How dare you? I love him!

Princess, I love you too.

Executioner, carry out the sentence!

But before someone is executed,

it's customary always to carry out his last request.

Will you please let me have a smoke on my pipe?

My last smoke in this life? All right, smoke.

But hurry up! Release his hands.

One!

Two!

Three!

Bravo!

Darling, you show him!

What are you talking about, dear? I'll show 'em now!

And now, my friends,

save me from the gallows!

Stop that rebellion!

Give back the crown! Swallow it for all I care!

Try it on!

Soldier, be our king!

Marry the fair princess!

That's our wish! Thank you, our people!

Thank you!

Mr. Andersen, what a lovely play!

Hans Christian, that was magnificent—oh!

My God! Is that for me?

Hans Christian, please let me kiss you.

That was wonderful! May 1?

Thank you! Your Tinder-Box is simply wonderful.

And what do you think, my dear friend?

You didn't like it?

How can you say such a thing? I'm enthralled.

I just need to collect my thoughts.

Mr. Andersen,

His Majesty wises to see you.

Mr. Meisling,

Mr. Andersen. I hope you've met?

Mr. Meisling has been appointed Chief Censor.

My congratulations, Mr. Chief Censor.

They're waiting for you.

I formy part, sir, cannot congratulate you at all.

Yours is a nasty little work.

I'm sure. There's no way you could have liked it.

Excuse me, His Majesty is waiting for me.

Hans Christian, you've simply lost your mind.

In Europe many kings can barely keep the crowns on their heads.

Your play is sewing the seeds of rebellion.

Whom do you have in mind by those awful hounds?

Carbonari? Violent mobs?

I've heard in Russia they exile improper authors to Siberia.

We plan to exile ours to Greenland.

Over there even ink freezes.

Your humor is inappropriate. Thank goodness we're not in Russia.

We're an enlightened monarchy.

Are you really going to ban my novel? Certainly not!

My job is merely to advise... actually, not even to advise,

just to recommend... actually, not even to recommend,

but not to actually forbid... You're keeping people waiting.

And what is it that you're not advising me?

I'm not advising you, shall we say,

to write plays like the one we just saw.

It leads to a unhealthy stirring of discontent

already brewing in our society.

Get lost, you hear?

Your Majesty,

Permit me to present my protege,

the playwright Mr. Andersen.

Help yourself, Andersen. Thanks, Your Majesty.

I'm not hungry.

And you eat only when you're hungry? Yes, Your Majesty.

Why, Andersen, you're just like an animal.

It's a great honor for me to be compared with an animal.

Bravo, Andersen.

I liked your play.

It was written in the spirit of

contemporary notions

of all people being equal.

I approve.

I laughed.

A charming little thing. And truly, love conquers all.

In this matter, Andersen, one must be reasonable.

It's a very troubled uneasy time, you understand,

one needn't go too far. I understand, Your Majesty.

Too much can be as bad sometimes

As too little.

Very smart.

It seems to me I've seen you before, Andersen.

Am I wrong. You're never wrong.

You have a superlative visual memory.

It was so long ago. You were still the heir to the throne,

the governor of Odense, and a certain Colonel

A Colonel Gulberg, he was a wonderful man!

Colonel Gulberg introduced you to a gangly adolescent

and that was Mister Andersen.

And whom do you wish to become?

The Colonel thinks I should study in the academy

but I want to become a poet and an actor.

That's not serious. I too love to write, you know,

and to sing now and then, and even to act in amateur theatrics

but that's not real work, you know. It's just a lark, a hobby.

And you need to work and help your parents.

All actors and poets are good for nothings.

You're the son of a stable-keeper, right?

Dad was a shoemaker. Would you like me to help you become a tailor?

Imagine what an honor, to become the Royal Tailor!

Or else you could be the Royal Baker! You'll be the Court Baker.

But I don't want to be the court baker.

Your Highness,

It seems to be that this boy has a talent for storytelling.

And for our Fatherland, for Denmark.

Oho! And what about you, Morton?

Your young talent's manners and speech

Reek of boot polish.

You were right about his talent, my dear Colonel.

I had no idea you were such a connoisseur of the arts.

The Colonel's just the man we need. I've no doubt of that.

If a man has talent, he'll develop himself.

And I will become a poet or actor,

Your Highness.

You see, Andersen?

Even princes can be wrong.

I'm glad you didn't listen to me.

I know you write fairy tales.

And it would be rather nice, let's say

if tomorrow you would read some to me in the palace tomorrow.

I didn't know that one must dress up in a frock coat to perform before the King.

I had not time to get it sewn before my performance,

and I had to borrow a frock coat from a friend.

It was a bit tight on me, but I didn't mind:

I was proud and happy.

Good evening, Your Majesty!

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!

I cannot bear that conceited fop!

I will now read you my new fairy tale

The Princess and the Pea.

Once upon a time there was a prince

and he wanted to marry a princess, but she would have to be a real princess.

He traveled the whole wide world, but he could not find a real one.

There were plenty of princesses...

Plenty, plenty of princesses!

But how could he find out if they were real?

One evening a terrible storm came on.

There was thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in torrents.

Idiot!

In his place I'd have done the same.

So help him, Your Majesty.

I'll help.

Please, continue. Thanks.

You're excellent, Your Majesty.

I've known him a long time.

Since he was a young numbskull

and had no clue of anything.

Where's Copenhagen?

On the map, you fool!

What an idiot!

Where is the town of Copenhagen?

It happens to be the capital of the country

of which you happen to be a subject, you nitwit!

Hands on your desks, everyone!

I'm asking you about the very town you live in!

The town in which our dearly beloved King lives -

Our dear king who gave you the scholarship thanks to which you're here!

And you're standing by the map, and can't even find our city?

Sit down!

Andersen, when was the last time you washed?

Not long ago, Mr. Dean. Not long ago? When, exactly?

On Saturday.

Today's Thursday.

He's not washed for 5 days!

You must wash

every day!

Forgive me, I didn't know!

And this man wants to be a poet!

Children!

A poet is a person

who should be an example to everyone,

for everyone, I repeat,

and in everything!

And you stink of sweat!

And what is this you have?

These are my silhouette figures. I made them myself.

Who taught you to do this?

Today's your birthday, April 2nd.

Have you ever celebrated your birthday?

No, never. Today we will celebrate it.

Because for Simon and me

our birthdays and those of our dear ones

are extremely important!

They're holidays.

Simon looked at the calendar, saw it was April 2nd

and said, go to Hans Christian. No doubt he's lonely.

Let's celebrate his birthday.

Is that what he said. Yes. Sit, sit!

You should be glad to live here with us.

The landladies of our town

would have gouged you so much

that even a royal scholarship wouldn't have been enough to pay them.

Well? - Well...

By the way,

I forgot. Susan mentioned it"s your birthday?

Good health to you, lad!

Well, time to blow out the candles, mistress! It's late already.

Andersen, due to you, we're consuming too many candles.

What's wrong?

What the hell is is?

Leave. You frolicked on your birthday, and that's enough.

If you don't love him already

And can barely put up with him in the academy

Why's he here in our home?

My dear,

you do need a new corset, don't you. Of course.

And you need a new bedwarmer? Yes.

That royal stipend is a fine corset, and a bed warmer.

Poems again?

Don't tell the Dean.

Why does he get mad about that?

He's envious. Of whom? Of you.

Of me? For what?

I'll tell you a little secret.

He's also a poet.

A failure.

He keeps scribbling one poem over and over for seven years now.

At least you're always writing something new.

That bothers him a lot.

Shall we talk a bit?

Why are you sloggin over your verses, your Latin, etc?

How about love? Why not chase some ladies?

What ladies? Why do you mean, what ladies?

Am I not a lady?

You are a lady.

Thanks, you're a lady, Mrs.Meisling.

Absolutely a Lady. So stop calling me Mrs. Meisling.

I have a name — Susan.

All right, I'll call you Aunt Susan.

I'm not your aunt — no way!

Well?

Don't you want to revenge yourself on Meisling?

For what? For everything.

Do you really want this?

You have a chance to get even?

Get even? How?

Stop playing games. You're already 21 years old.

Come on, come on! Make a cuckold of him!

You don't like the Dean, Aunt Susan?

Stop calling me “Aunt”

Come, my dear little fool! Go on!

I want don't want to. I don't want to give myself up this way,

and it's a crime, like theft!

You horrid little beast!

You're not a man.

And you never will be.