Hans Christian Andersen Page #2

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Two years ago, I took you

out of the orphanage

and promised them I'd make you

into a good cobbler. Two whole years.

Look at that shoe - glue all smeared

and nails in crooked.

Two years an apprentice,

and still the nails go in crooked.

I'm not that bad, am I? You're not going to

send me back to the orphanage, are you?

Aha! A new worry appears in the sky.

Never mind, Peter. Let's go home.

Two and two are four

Four and four are eight

Eight and eight are sixteen

Sixteen and sixteen are thirty-two

Two and two are four

Four and four are eight

Eight and eight are sixteen

Sixteen and sixteen are thirty-two...

An inchworm. The first one of the year!

Four and four are eight

Eight and eight are sixteen

Sixteen and sixteen are thirty-two...

Inchworm

Inchworm

Measuring the marigolds

You and your arithmetic

You'll probably go far

Inchworm

Inchworm

Measuring the marigolds

Seems to me

You stop and see

How beautiful they are

Two and two are four

Four and four are eight

Eight and eight are sixteen

Sixteen and sixteen are thirty-two

Good morning, schoolmaster.

Oh, Hans.

- Let me explain...

- Out of my way!

I am talking sense,

and that is exactly what I want.

Either Hans Christian Andersen

leaves this town or I do.

Surely, schoolmaster, a little story

now and then - not during school hours.

It is not just now and then, it is all the time.

When they are late,

he gives them excuses.

"The snow queen took me

to see the king of the mountain!"

That is true.

I asked my Gerda what time it was.

She said the minute hand and the hour

hand were not speaking to each other.

They were both in love

with the second hand.

They wouldn't meet till 12 o'clock,

and no one could tell the time until then.

- I like that.

- Like it?

We pay our taxes for the school, not for

Hans to fill their heads with foolishness.

But Hans's stories are good.

The children learn from them.

- They are not foolish stories.

- I would like to know now.

I would like to pack up tonight.

Tomorrow, you'll be looking

for a new cobbler or a new teacher.

Gentlemen...

It is decided. The cobbler must leave.

- But...

- Quiet!

I'll tell Hans myself. It will not be pleasant,

but I see it has to be done.

Perhaps it's all for the best.

Tell Hans to wait in the shop for me.

I'll talk to him before supper.

Come, gentlemen.

- Hello, Hans.

- Hello, Peter.

- Was it nice by the river?

- Just perfect.

Did we have any customers today?

Not one. It just gets slower and slower.

Don't you think we should go to a larger

city where shoes wear out faster?

And be stuck in the shop all day?

No, sir. I like business to be a little slow.

There's time enough for everything here.

That's what I mean, Hans. No shoes

wear out. No one ever leaves.

Not one person in this village

has ever been to Copenhagen, have they?

That's true, but why should they?

I never think about Copenhagen - do you?

Do I? What do you suppose

Copenhagen is really like?

It's a funny thing, now that you mention it.

I used to think about Copenhagen a lot.

I used to make up the most wonderful

stories about going there.

I used to think about Copenhagen

a lot when I was your age.

My husband says the shoes hurt.

- They squeak and the left one doesn't fit.

- That's all? That's not too bad, Mrs Burda.

I sometimes think

that shoes have a life of their own.

The ones that squeak

don't like to leave the shop,

and the ones that hurt

don't like whoever's wearing them.

Please, Hans, just fix the shoes.

I've got my own life to worry about.

When Mr Burda's feet hurt,

he drives the whole house crazy.

Hans, tell me. What kind of stories

did you make up about Copenhagen?

Oh... I used to dream about having

the finest cobbler shop in Copenhagen.

I wasn't just an ordinary cobbler.

I only saw people by appointment.

First I looked at them

before I even looked at their shoes,

and if I didn't like them, no shoes.

Do you know that peop...?

Where are you going?

Don't you want to hear the rest of it?

- What's that?

- Your bag. It's all packed, Hans.

- My bag?

- Go to Copenhagen now. Right now.

Are you crazy, Peter?

That was a story I was telling.

Didn't you understand that?

Of course I understood,

but part of it must be like you imagined,

and maybe even great carriages

with fine horses,

beautiful houses three storeys high.

Don't you want to see it for yourself? It's

not so far from here - your bag's packed.

All you have to do is walk out of that door.

Quick! Before you change your mind.

Before I change my mind? Who said

I was going? Just like that, this afternoon?

What's got into you, Peter, anyway?

You forgot about Copenhagen

all these years.

You may forget about it again

until you're too old to go.

No, some day I'm really going

to Copenhagen.

- That's the one thing I'm sure of.

- Who knows?

Has anyone from this village gone

to Copenhagen before? Of course not.

They keep putting it off.

Imagine, Hans, you'll be the first.

What a to-do there'll be tomorrow.

They'll talk of nothing else for days.

"Hans has gone to Copenhagen!"

"Hans has gone to Copenhagen. "

Yes!

What a sign it would make! "Hans

Christian Andersen, gone to Copenhagen"

with little shoes pointing

the way out of town!

I'll make the sign tonight. I see it exactly

as you do - the little shoes, everything!

Goodbye, Hans. Aren't you excited?

Excited? You mean

I really should go, Peter?

Why not? It's only a few days away.

You stay a little while and then come

back, but you've been to Copenhagen.

But it's a big step, Peter.

Still, what's to stop me?

My goodness, I am getting excited!

Hans!

If anyone had told me this morning

that I'd decide to go to Copenhagen...

- Start walking!

- Imagine, Peter.

I've decided to go to Copenhagen,

just like I made it up in a story.

- Goodbye, Hans.

- Goodbye, Peter.

Goodbye, Peter, and take care of yourself.

I'll only be gone a few days.

- Tell the children goodbye for me.

- I will.

Imagine, Peter - Copenhagen!

Goodbye, Peter.

Hello.

Oh, my goodness. My feet hurt.

I cannot understand

why these shoes hurt me so.

I made them myself. You're lucky.

You don't have to wear shoes.

I can never understand why people

use that expression "A dog's life".

Every dog I ever knew

seemed to have a very nice life indeed.

You've no idea, and maybe

it's just as good you don't.

Back in the village, if people

saw me talking to you like this,

do you know what would happen?

Every head would shake for a week,

and yet how pleasant this is!

I can say anything I want to, and there's

no sound except the wag of your tail.

And people do the strangest things, too.

Oh, yes, my friend.

Even me. Myself included.

For instance, if you were to ask me

what I was doing on the road

to Copenhagen, do you know something?

I couldn't tell you.

I was trying to figure it out a little

while ago - what Peter said, what I said.

All of a sudden, I find myself

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