around the castle, almost under the very windows, to see the princess
receive the suitors; and as each stepped into the hall, his power of
speech seemed to desert him, like the light of a candle that is blown
out. Then the princess would say, "He is of no use! away with him out
of the hall!"
At last the turn came for that brother who knew the dictionary by
heart; but he did not know it now; he had absolutely forgotten it
altogether; and the boards seemed to re-echo with his footsteps, and
the ceiling of the hall was made of looking-glass, so that he saw
himself standing on his head; and at the window stood three clerks and
a head clerk, and every one of them was writing down every single word
that was uttered, so that it might be printed in the newspapers, and
sold for a penny at the street corners. It was a terrible ordeal, and
they had moreover made such a fire in the stove, that the room seemed
quite red hot.
"It is dreadfully hot here!" observed the first brother.
"Yes," replied the princess, "my father is going to roast young
pullets to-day."
"Baa!" there he stood like a baa-lamb. He had not been prepared for a
speech of this kind; and had not a word to say, though he intended to
say something witty. "Baa!"
"He is of no use!" said the princess. "Away with him."
And he was obliged to go accordingly. And now the second brother came
in.
"It is terribly warm here!" he observed.
"Yes, we're roasting pullets to-day," replied the princess.
"What--what were you--were you pleased to ob----" stammered he--and
all the clerks wrote down, "pleased to ob----"
"He is of no use!" said the princess. "Away with him!"
Now came the turn of Jack the Dullard. He rode into the hall on his
goat.
"Well, it's most abominably hot here."
"Yes, because I'm roasting young pullets," replied the princess.
"Ah, that's lucky!" exclaimed Jack the Dullard, "for I suppose you'll
let me roast my crow at the same time?"
"With the greatest pleasure," said the princess. "But have you
anything you can roast it in? for I have neither pot nor pan."
"Certainly I have!" said Jack. "Here's a cooking utensil with a tin
handle." And he brought out the old wooden shoe, and put the crow into
it.
"Well, that _is_ a famous dish!" said the princess. "But what shall we
do for sauce?"
"Oh, I have that in my pocket," said Jack: "I have so much of it, that
I can afford to throw some away;" and he poured some of the clay out
of his pocket.
"I like that!" said the princess. "You can give an answer, and you
have something to say for yourself, and so you shall be my husband.
But are you aware that every word we speak is being taken down, and
will be published in the paper to-morrow? Look yonder, and you will
see in every window three clerks and a head clerk; and the old head
clerk is the worst of all, for he can't understand anything." But she
only said this to frighten Jack the Dullard: and the clerks gave a
great crow of delight, and each one spurted a blot out of his pen on
to the floor.
"Oh, those are the gentlemen, are they?" said Jack; "then I will give
the best I have to the head clerk." And he turned out his pockets, and
flung the wet clay full in the head clerk's face.
"That was very cleverly done," observed the princess. "I could not
have done that; but I shall learn in time."
And accordingly Jack the Dullard was made a king, and received a crown
and a wife, and sat upon a throne. And this report we have wet from
the press of the head clerk and the corporation of printers--but they
are not to be depended upon in the least!
SOMETHING.
"I want to be something!" said the eldest of five brothers. "I want to
do something in the world. I don't care how humble my position may be
in society, if I only effect some good, for that will really be
something. I'll make bricks, for they are quite indispensable things,
and then I shall truly have done something."
"But that _something_ will not be enough!" quoth the second brother.
"What you intend doing is just as much as nothing at all. It is
journeyman's work, and can be done by a machine. No, I would rather be
a bricklayer at once, for that _is_ something real; and that's what I
will be. That brings rank; as a bricklayer one belongs to a guild, and
is a citizen, and has one's own flag and one's own house of call. Yes,
and if all goes well, I will keep journeymen. I shall become a master
bricklayer, and my wife will be a master's wife--that is what _I_ call
something."
"That's nothing at all!" said the third. "That is beyond the pale of
the guild, and there are many of those in a town that stand far above
the mere master artizan. You may be an honest man; but as a 'master'
you will after all only belong to those who are ranked among common
men. I know something better than that. I will be an architect, and
will thus enter into the territory of art and speculation. I shall be
reckoned among those who stand high in point of intellect. I shall
certainly have to serve up from the pickaxe, so to speak; so I must
begin as a carpenter's apprentice, and must go about as an assistant,
in a cap, though I am accustomed to wear a silk hat. I shall have to
fetch beer and spirits for the common journeymen, and they will call
me 'thou,' and that is insulting! But I shall imagine to myself that
the whole thing is only acting, and a kind of masquerade.
To-morrow--that is to say, when I have served my time--I shall go my
own way, and the others will be nothing to me. I shall go to the
academy, and get instructions in drawing, and shall be called an
architect. _That's something!_ I may get to be called 'sir,' and even
'worshipful sir,' or even get a handle at the front or at the back of
my name, and shall go on building and building, just as those before
me have built. That will always be a thing to remember, and that's
what I call something!"
"But I don't care at all for _that_ something," said the fourth. "_I_
won't sail in the wake of others, and be a copyist. I will be a
genius; and will stand up greater than all the rest of you together. I
shall be the creator of a new style, and will give the plan of a
building suitable to the climate and the material of the country, for
the nationality of the people, for the development of the age--and an
additional storey for my own genius."
"But supposing the climate and the material are bad," said the fifth,
"that would be a disastrous circumstance, for these two exert a great
influence! Nationality, moreover, may expand itself until it becomes
affectation, and the development of the century may run wild with your
work, as youth often runs wild. I quite realise the fact that none of
you will be anything real, however much you may believe in yourselves.
But, do what you like, I will not resemble you: I shall keep on the
outside of things, and criticise whatever you produce. To every work
there is attached something that is not right--something that has gone
wrong; and I will ferret that out and find fault with it; and _that_
will be doing _something_!"
And he kept his word; and everybody said concerning this fifth
brother, "There is certainly something in him; he has a good head; but
he does nothing." And by that very means they thought _something_ of
him!
Now, you see, this is only a little story; but it will never end so
long as the world lasts.
But what became of the five brothers? Why, this is _nothing_, and not
_something_.
Listen, it is a capital story.
The eldest brother, he who manufactured bricks, soon became aware of
the fact that every brick, however small it might be, produced for him
a little coin, though this coin was only copper; and many copper
pennies laid one upon the other can be changed into a shining dollar;
and wherever one knocks with such a dollar in one's hand, whether at
the baker's, or the butcher's, or the tailor's--wherever it may be,
the door flies open, and the visitor is welcomed, and gets what he
wants. You see that is what comes of bricks. Some of those belonging
to the eldest brother certainly crumbled away, or broke in two, but
there was a use even for these.
On the high rampart, the wall that kept out the sea, Margaret, the
poor woman, wished to build herself a little house. All the faulty
bricks were given to her, and a few perfect ones into the bargain, for
the eldest brother was a good-natured man, though he certainly did not
achieve anything beyond the manufacture of bricks. The poor woman put
together the house for herself. It was little and narrow, and the
single window was quite crooked. The door was too low, and the
thatched roof might have shown better workmanship. But after all it
was a shelter; and from the little house you could look far across the
sea, whose waves broke vainly against the protecting rampart on which
it was built. The salt billows spurted their spray over the whole
house, which was still standing when he who had given the bricks for
its erection had long been dead and buried.
The second brother knew better how to build a wall, for he had served
an apprenticeship to it. When he had served his time and passed his
examination he packed his knapsack and sang the journeyman's song:
"While I am young I'll wander, from place to place I'll roam,
And everywhere build houses, until I come back home;
And youth will give me courage, and my true love won't forget:
Hurrah then for a workman's life! I'll be a master yet!"
And he carried his idea into effect. When he had come home and become
a master, he built one house after another in the town. He built a
whole street; and when the street was finished and became an ornament
to the place, the houses built a house for him in return, that was to
be his own. But how can houses build a house? If you ask them they
will not answer you, but people will understand what is meant by the
expression, and say, 'certainly, it was the street that built his
house for him.' It was little, and the floor was covered with clay;
but when he danced with his bride upon this clay floor, it seemed to
become polished oak; and from every stone in the wall sprang forth a
flower, and the room was gay, as if with the costliest paper-hanger's
work. It was a pretty house, and in it lived a happy pair. The flag of
the guild fluttered before the house, and the journeymen and
apprentices shouted hurrah! Yes, he certainly was _something_! And at
last he died; and _that_ was something too.
Now came the architect, the third brother, who had been at first a
carpenter's apprentice, had worn a cap, and served as an errand boy,
but had afterwards gone to the academy, and risen to become an
architect, and to be called "honoured sir." Yes, if the houses of the
street had built a house for the brother who had become a bricklayer,
the street now received its name from the architect, and the
handsomest house in it became his property. _That_ was something, and
_he_ was something; and he had a long title before and after his name.
His children were called _genteel_ children, and when he died his
widow was "a widow of rank," and _that_ is something!--and his name
always remained at the corner of the street, and lived on in the
mouth of every one as the street's name--and _that_ was something!
Now came the genius of the family, the fourth brother, who wanted to
invent something new and original, and an additional storey on the top
of it for himself. But the top storey tumbled down, and he came
tumbling down with it, and broke his neck. Nevertheless he had a
splendid funeral, with guild flags and music; poems in the papers, and
flowers strewn on the paving-stones in the street; and three funeral
orations were held over him, each one longer than the last, which
would have rejoiced him greatly, for he always liked it when people
talked about him; a monument also was erected over his grave. It was
only one storey high, but still it was _something_.
Now he was dead like the three other brothers; but the last, the one
who was a critic, outlived them all: and that was quite right, for by
this means he got the last word, and it was of great importance to him
to have the last word. The people always said he had a good head of
his own. At last his hour came, and he died, and came to the gates of
Paradise. There souls always enter two and two, and he came up with
another soul that wanted to get into Paradise too; and who should this
be but old dame Margaret from the house upon the sea wall.
"I suppose this is done for the sake of contrast, that I and this
wretched soul should arrive here at exactly the same time!" said the
critic. "Pray who are you, my good woman?" he asked. "Do you want to
get in here too?"
And the old woman curtsied as well as she could: she thought it must
be St. Peter himself talking to her.
"I'm a poor old woman of a very humble family," she replied. "I'm old
Margaret that lived in the house on the sea wall."
"Well, and what have you done? what have you accomplished down there?"
"I have really accomplished nothing at all in the world: nothing that
I can plead to have the doors here opened to me. It would be a real
mercy to allow me to slip in through the gate."
"In what manner did you leave the world?" asked he, just for the sake
of saying something; for it was wearisome work standing there and
saying nothing.
"Why, I really don't know how I left it. I was sick and miserable
during my last years, and could not well bear creeping out of bed, and
going out suddenly into the frost and cold. It was a hard winter, but
I have got out of it all now. For a few days the weather was quite
calm, but very cold, as your honour must very well know. The sea was
covered with ice as far as one could look. All the people from the
town walked out upon the ice, and I think they said there was a dance
there, and skating. There was beautiful music and a great feast there
too; the sound came into my poor little room, where I lay ill. And it
was towards the evening; the moon had risen beautifully, but was not
yet in its full splendour; I looked from my bed out over the wide sea,
and far off, just where the sea and sky join, a strange white cloud
came up. I lay looking at the cloud, and I saw a little black spot in
the middle of it, that grew larger and larger; and now I knew what it
meant, for I am old and experienced, though this token is not often
seen. I knew it, and a shuddering came upon me. Twice in my life I
have seen the same thing; and I knew there would be an awful tempest,
and a spring flood, which would overwhelm the poor people who were now
drinking and dancing and rejoicing--young and old, the whole city had
issued forth--who was to warn them, if no one saw what was coming
yonder, or knew, as I did, what it meant? I was dreadfully alarmed,
and felt more lively than I had done for a long time. I crept out of
bed, and got to the window, but could not crawl farther, I was so
exhausted. But I managed to open the window. I saw the people outside
running and jumping about on the ice; I could see the beautiful flags
that waved in the wind. I heard the boys shouting 'hurrah!' and the
servant men and maids singing. There were all kinds of merriment going
on. But the white cloud with the black spot! I cried out as loud as I
could, but no one heard me; I was too far from the people. Soon the
storm would burst, and the ice would break, and all who were upon it
would be lost without remedy. They could not hear me, and I could not
come out to them. Oh, if I could only bring them ashore! Then kind
Heaven inspired me with the thought of setting fire to my bed, and
rather to let the house burn down, than that all those people should
perish so miserably. I succeeded in lighting up a beacon for them. The
red flame blazed up on high, and I escaped out of the door, but fell
down exhausted on the threshold, and could get no farther. The flames
rushed out towards me, flickered through the window, and rose high
above the roof. All the people on the ice yonder beheld it, and ran as
fast as they could, to give aid to a poor old woman who, they thought,
was being burned to death. Not one remained behind. I heard them
coming; but I also became aware of a rushing sound in the air; I heard
a rumbling like the sound of heavy artillery; the spring-flood was
lifting the covering of ice, which presently cracked and burst into a
thousand fragments. But the people succeeded in reaching the
sea-wall--I saved them all! But I fancy I could not bear the cold and
the fright, and so I came up here to the gates of Paradise. I am told
they are opened to poor creatures like me--and now I have no house
left down upon the rampart: not that I think this will give me
admission here."
Then the gates of heaven were opened, and the angel led the old woman
in. She left a straw behind her, a straw that had been in her bed when
she set it on fire to save the lives of many; and this straw had been
changed into the purest gold--into gold that grew and grew, and spread
out into beauteous leaves and flowers.
[Illustration: DAME MARGERY FIRES HER BED FOR A BEACON.]
"Look, this is what the poor woman brought," said the angel to the
critic. "What dost _thou_ bring? I know that thou hast accomplished
nothing--thou hast not made so much as a single brick. Ah, if thou
couldst only return, and effect at least so much as that! Probably the
brick, when thou hadst made it, would not be worth much; but if it
were made with good-will, it would at least be _something_. But thou
canst not go back, and I can do nothing for thee!"
Then the poor soul, the old dame who had lived on the dyke, put in a
petition for him. She said,
"His brother gave me the bricks and the pieces out of which I built up
my house, and that was a great deal for a poor woman like me. Could
not all those bricks and pieces be counted as a single brick in his
favour? It was an act of mercy. He wants it now; and is not this the
very fountain of mercy?"
Then the angel said:
"Thy brother, him whom thou hast regarded as the least among you all,
he whose honest industry seemed to thee as the most humble, hath given
thee this heavenly gift. Thou shalt not be turned away. It shall be
vouchsafed to thee to stand here without the gate, and to reflect, and
repent of thy life down yonder; but thou shalt not be admitted until
thou hast in real earnest accomplished _something_."
"I could have said that in better words!" thought the critic, but he
did not find fault aloud; and for him, after all, that was
"SOMETHING!"
UNDER THE WILLOW TREE.
The region round the little town of Kjoege is very bleak and bare. The
town certainly lies by the sea shore, which is always beautiful, but
just there it might be more beautiful than it is: all around are flat
fields, and it is a long way to the forest. But when one is very much
at home in a place, one always finds something beautiful, and
something that one longs for in the most charming spot in the world
that is strange to us. We confess that, by the utmost boundary of the
little town, where some humble gardens skirt the streamlet that falls
into the sea, it must be very pretty in summer; and this was the
opinion of the two children from neighbouring houses, who were playing
there, and forcing their way through the gooseberry bushes, to get to
one another. In one of the gardens stood an elder tree, and in the
other an old willow, and under the latter the children were especially
very fond of playing; they were allowed to play there, though, indeed,
the tree stood close beside the stream, and they might easily have
fallen into the water. But the eye of God watches over the little
ones; if it did not, they would be badly off. And, moreover, they were
very careful with respect to the water; in fact, the boy was so much
afraid of it, that they could not lure him into the sea in summer,
when the other children were splashing about in the waves.
Accordingly, he was famously jeered and mocked at, and had to bear
the jeering and mockery as best he could. But once Joanna, the
neighbour's little girl, dreamed she was sailing in a boat, and Knud
waded out to join her till the water rose, first to his neck, and
afterwards closed over his head, so that he disappeared altogether.
From the time when little Knud heard of this dream, he would no longer
bear the teasing of the other boys. He might go into the water now, he
said, for Joanna had dreamed it. He certainly never carried the idea
into practice, but the dream was his great guide for all that.
Their parents, who were poor people, often took tea together, and Knud
and Joanna played in the gardens and on the high-road, where a row of
willows had been planted beside the skirting ditch; these trees, with
their polled tops, certainly did not look beautiful, but they were not
put there for ornament, but for use. The old willow tree in the garden
was much handsomer, and therefore the children were fond of sitting
under it. In the town itself there was a great market-place, and at
the time of the fair this place was covered with whole streets of
tents and booths, containing silk ribbons, boots, and everything that
a person could wish for. There was great crowding, and generally the
weather was rainy; but it did not destroy the fragrance of the
honey-cakes and the gingerbread, of which there was a booth quite
full; and the best of it was, that the man who kept this booth came
every year to lodge during the fair-time in the dwelling of little
Knud's father. Consequently there came a present of a bit of
gingerbread every now and then, and of course Joanna received her
share of the gift. But, perhaps the most charming thing of all was
that the gingerbread dealer knew all sorts of tales, and could even
relate histories about his own gingerbread cakes; and one evening, in
particular, he told a story about them which made such a deep
impression on the children that they never forgot it; and for that
reason it is perhaps advisable that we should hear it too, more
especially as the story is not long.
"On the shop-board," he said, "lay two gingerbread cakes, one in the
shape of a man with a hat, the other of a maiden without a bonnet;
both their faces were on the side that was uppermost, for they were to
be looked at on that side, and not on the other; and, indeed, most
people have a favourable side from which they should be viewed. On the
left side the man wore a bitter almond--that was his heart; but the
maiden, on the other hand, was honey-cake all over. They were placed
as samples on the shop-board, and remaining there a long time, at last
they fell in love with one another, but neither told the other, as
they should have done if they had expected anything to come of it.
"'He is a man, and therefore he must speak first,' she thought; but
she felt quite contented, for she knew her love was returned.
"His thoughts were far more extravagant, as is always the case with a
man. He dreamed that he was a real street boy, that he had four
pennies of his own, and that he purchased the maiden, and ate her up.
So they lay on the shop-board for weeks and weeks, and grew dry and
hard, but the thoughts of the maiden became ever more gentle and
maidenly.
"'It is enough for me that I have lived on the same table with him,'
she said, and crack! she broke in two.
"'If she had only known of my love, she would have kept together a
little longer,' he thought.
"And that is the story, and here they are, both of them," said the
baker in conclusion. "They are remarkable for their curious history,
and for their silent love, which never came to anything. And there
they are for you!" and, so saying, he gave Joanna the man who was yet
entire, and Knud got the broken maiden; but the children had been so
much impressed by the story that they could not summon courage to eat
the lovers up.
On the following day they went out with them to the churchyard, and
sat down by the church wall, which is covered, winter and summer, with
the most luxuriant ivy as with a rich carpet. Here they stood the two
cake figures up in the sunshine among the green leaves, and told the
story to a group of other children; they told them of the silent love
which led to nothing. It was called _love_ because the story was so
lovely, on that they all agreed. But when they turned to look again at
the gingerbread pair, a big boy, out of mischief, had eaten up the
broken maiden. The children cried about this, and afterwards--probably
that the poor lover might not be left in the world lonely and
desolate--they ate him up too; but they never forgot the story.