The Naughty Boy

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A long time ago, they lived in 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 corner, where

the fire blazed and the roasting apple hissed.

Those who have not a roof over their heads will be wedded to the skins of the Old Poet.

Let me in, let me in, I am cold, I am so wet, exclaim 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, and he went and opened 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 the warm room he most certainly would

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.

Now shall have wine and roasted apples, but 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 coloured 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, and he jumped down from the lap where

he was sitting, and danced around the kind Old Poet.

You are a Maryfellow, said the Old Man, what's your name?

My name is Cupid, answer the boy, don't you know me?

They allies my bow, it shoots well, I can assure you.

Look, the weather is now clearing up in the moon, is shining clear again through the window.

Why your bow was quite spoiled, said the Old Poet.

That were said and deeds of the boy, and he took the bow in his hand and examined it

on every side.

Oh, it is dry again, and it is not heard 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 is not spoiled, he said, 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,

he 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.

Fye, he said, how naughty a boy Cupid is, I will tell all children about him that they

may take care and not play with him, but he will only cause them sorrow and many heartache.

And all good children to whom he related this story to great heat 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 and arm

as if he too were a student like themselves, and then unperceived, he thrusts an arrow into

their bosom.

When the young maidens come from being examined by the clergyman, we'll 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 his 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, fine, naughty Cupid, but now you know him

and you know too how ill-behaved he is.

This is the end of the naughty boy by Hans Christian Andersen.