Thumbelina – A Bedtime Tale from the Silbenwald

Once upon a time, there was a woman who longed with her whole heart for a child — a child of her very own, no matter how small. Every evening she would tilt her face up to the starry sky and whisper, "Please, please, send me a child — however tiny that child might be." Then one morning she found a little flower bud on her doorstep, so delicate it trembled in the gentlest breath of air. She carried it inside, nestled it carefully in a small pot and watered it with warm, gentle drops. She waited. And then, oh so slowly, the petals parted — and sitting right in the heart of the blossom was the tiniest girl you ever saw, scarcely bigger than a thumb. The woman laughed with pure delight and called her Thumbelina.

Thumbelina grew up like a little miracle. Her bed was a polished walnut shell, her mattress was made of soft violet leaves, and her blanket was a single rose petal — silky and sweetly scented. During the day she played on the kitchen table, dancing on a plate filled with water that she called her lake, with a broad green leaf for a sailing boat. She sang as she danced — a bright, clear little song — and even the butterflies would pause in the air to listen. The world around her was enormous and she herself was very, very small, yet her joy was every bit as big as any child's joy could ever be.

One night, while Thumbelina lay peacefully asleep in her walnut shell, an old toad came hopping through the open window. She was not a wicked toad — only a rather lonely one, who was hoping to find a friend for her son. She spotted Thumbelina, blinked her great round eyes at the tiny sleeping girl, and thought, "What a wonderful creature." Very carefully she lifted Thumbelina up, carried her out to the river and set her down on a broad, flat lily pad, right in the middle of the water. Thumbelina woke and gazed all around her in wonder. The water sparkled. Fireflies glowed along the bank. It was beautiful — though Thumbelina felt, just a little, the soft ache of missing home.

The small fish in the river had been watching Thumbelina, and they liked her straight away. They swam beneath the lily pad and nibbled ever so gently at its stalk, until it came free and began to carry Thumbelina away down the river — far from the toad and out into the wide world. Thumbelina dipped her little foot into the cool water and smiled. A white butterfly came fluttering close, and she tied her sash around it and held on tight to the other end, so the lily pad glided along even faster. Everything shimmered and shone. The Silbenwald glowed warmly all along the bank, and Thumbelina sailed on through the light.

At last the lily pad drifted to the bank, and Thumbelina stepped out onto the meadow. The summer was glorious. She built herself a little house from blades of grass and leaves, drank the sweet dew from the flowers and ate tiny sips of it from a single dewdrop. The birds sang for her, and every evening the fireflies lit up her little garden like the tiniest lanterns you can imagine. Thumbelina was brave and wonderfully resourceful — when it rained she rolled a clover leaf into an umbrella, and when the nights grew cool she snuggled into a scrap of soft wool she had found caught on a fence. The Silbenwald rustled gently all around her and kept her warm.

When autumn came and the air grew colder, Thumbelina discovered a little swallow lying exhausted on the ground, one wing bent and hurting. Thumbelina brought her something to drink each day and tucked a soft pillow of moss beneath her wing to help it heal. The swallow was so grateful. She looked at Thumbelina with her quiet, gentle eyes and chirped softly. And so the two became dear friends — a tiny girl and a bird many times her size. Some evenings they sat together in the hush of dusk, while the lanterns of the Silbenwald came on one by one and the fireflies drew slow, lazy circles in the air.

When winter arrived it grew very cold indeed, and Thumbelina took shelter with a kind old field mouse who lived in a snug little home beneath the ground. The field mouse was warm-hearted and generous — she gave Thumbelina plenty to eat and a cosy place to sleep. Before long, however, she began to talk of her neighbour, an old mole who had a great house full of stores. The mole was quiet and meant no harm, but he could not bear the sunshine or the flowers — and those were the two things Thumbelina loved most in all the world. She stayed polite and grateful, as was her way, but deep inside her heart she dreamt of light and warmth.

Deep in one of the mole's long tunnels, where it was dark and very still, lay Thumbelina's dear friend — the little swallow, who had curled up there to sleep through the winter. Thumbelina crept to her every night and laid a tiny tuft of wool over her like a blanket, whispering, "Sleep well, dear swallow — spring will come soon." And the swallow seemed, even in her deep sleep, to smile the tiniest smile. As the long winter nights slowly drew towards their end and a first pale thread of light crept in through a crack in the earth, Thumbelina felt it in her heart: everything will be all right. Spring never forgets anyone.

Spring came, and with it the swallow stirred. She stretched her wings, shook herself and looked at Thumbelina with shining eyes. Then a gap opened in the earth above them and light came pouring in like golden water. The swallow lifted Thumbelina gently onto her back and said, "I shall carry you to a place where the sun always shines." And off they flew together — over forests, over meadows, over wide rivers. Thumbelina held on to the soft warm feathers and watched the world from high above: tiny and vast all at once, stretching away in every direction, breathtakingly beautiful. Deep below, the Silbenwald gleamed, its lanterns glowing, its fireflies waving them goodbye. Thumbelina laughed out loud with joy.

The swallow brought Thumbelina to a wonderful land full of blossoms and warm golden sunshine. And there, at the very heart of a great white flower, lived a little flower spirit — exactly her own size, with gentle eyes and a smile like a summer morning. His name was Oberon, the little flower prince. He reached out both his hands to Thumbelina and said, "I have waited such a long time for someone just like you. Will you stay here with us?" Thumbelina smiled with her whole heart. And from that day on she was never alone again — she had found her place in the world, right there in the warmth and the light, where she had always belonged.