THE OLD STREET LAMP

                                  1872

                 FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

                          THE OLD STREET LAMP

                       by Hans Christian Andersen



DID you ever hear the story of the old street lamp? It is not

remarkably interesting, but for once in a way you may as well listen

to it. It was a most respectable old lamp, which had seen many, many

years of service, and now was to retire with a pension. It was this

evening at its post for the last time, giving light to the street. His

feelings were something like those of an old dancer at the theatre,

who is dancing for the last time, and knows that on the morrow she

will be in her garret, alone and forgotten. The lamp had very great

anxiety about the next day, for he knew that he had to appear for

the first time at the town hall, to be inspected by the mayor and

the council, who were to decide if he were fit for further service

or not;- whether the lamp was good enough to be used to light the

inhabitants of one of the suburbs, or in the country, at some factory;

and if not, it would be sent at once to an iron foundry, to be

melted down. In this latter case it might be turned into anything, and

he wondered very much whether he would then be able to remember that

he had once been a street lamp, and it troubled him exceedingly.

Whatever might happen, one thing seemed certain, that he would be

separated from the watchman and his wife, whose family he looked

upon as his own. The lamp had first been hung up on that very

evening that the watchman, then a robust young man, had entered upon

the duties of his office. Ah, well, it was a very long time since

one became a lamp and the other a watchman. His wife had a little

pride in those days; she seldom condescended to glance at the lamp,

excepting when she passed by in the evening, never in the daytime. But

in later years, when all these,- the watchman, the wife, and the lamp-

had grown old, she had attended to it, cleaned it, and supplied it

with oil. The old people were thoroughly honest, they had never

cheated the lamp of a single drop of the oil provided for it.

This was the lamp's last night in the street, and to-morrow he

must go to the town-hall,- two very dark things to think of. No wonder

he did not burn brightly. Many other thoughts also passed through

his mind. How many persons he had lighted on their way, and how much

he had seen; as much, very likely, as the mayor and corporation

themselves! None of these thoughts were uttered aloud, however; for he

was a good, honorable old lamp, who would not willingly do harm to any

one, especially to those in authority. As many things were recalled to

his mind, the light would flash up with sudden brightness; he had,

at such moments, a conviction that he would be remembered. "There

was a handsome young man once," thought he; "it is certainly a long

while ago, but I remember he had a little note, written on pink

paper with a gold edge; the writing was elegant, evidently a lady's

hand: twice he read it through, and kissed it, and then looked up at

me, with eyes that said quite plainly, 'I am the happiest of men!'

Only he and I know what was written on this his first letter from

his lady-love. Ah, yes, and there was another pair of eyes that I

remember,- it is really wonderful how the thoughts jump from one thing

to another! A funeral passed through the street; a young and beautiful

woman lay on a bier, decked with garlands of flowers, and attended

by torches, which quite overpowered my light. All along the street

stood the people from the houses, in crowds, ready to join the

procession. But when the torches had passed from before me, and I

could look round, I saw one person alone, standing, leaning against my

post, and weeping. Never shall I forget the sorrowful eyes that looked

up at me." These and similar reflections occupied the old street lamp,

on this the last time that his light would shine. The sentry, when

he is relieved from his post, knows at least who will succeed him, and

may whisper a few words to him, but the lamp did not know his

successor, or he could have given him a few hints respecting rain,

or mist, and could have informed him how far the moon's rays would

rest on the pavement, and from which side the wind generally blew, and

so on.

On the bridge over the canal stood three persons, who wished to

recommend themselves to the lamp, for they thought he could give the

office to whomsoever he chose. The first was a herring's head, which

could emit light in the darkness. He remarked that it would be a great

saving of oil if they placed him on the lamp-post. Number two was a

piece of rotten wood, which also shines in the dark. He considered

himself descended from an old stem, once the pride of the forest.

The third was a glow-worm, and how he found his way there the lamp

could not imagine, yet there he was, and could really give light as

well as the others. But the rotten wood and the herring's head

declared most solemnly, by all they held sacred, that the glow-worm

only gave light at certain times, and must not be allowed to compete

with themselves. The old lamp assured them that not one of them

could give sufficient light to fill the position of a street lamp; but

they would believe nothing he said. And when they discovered that he

had not the power of naming his successor, they said they were very

glad to hear it, for the lamp was too old and worn-out to make a

proper choice.

At this moment the wind came rushing round the corner of the

street, and through the air-holes of the old lamp. "What is this I

hear?" said he; "that you are going away to-morrow? Is this evening

the last time we shall meet? Then I must present you with a farewell

gift. I will blow into your brain, so that in future you shall not

only be able to remember all that you have seen or heard in the

past, but your light within shall be so bright, that you shall be able

to understand all that is said or done in your presence."

"Oh, that is really a very, very great gift," said the old lamp;

"I thank you most heartily. I only hope I shall not be melted down."

"That is not likely to happen yet," said the wind; "and I will

also blow a memory into you, so that should you receive other

similar presents your old age will pass very pleasantly."

"That is if I am not melted down," said the lamp. "But should I in

that case still retain my memory?"

"Do be reasonable, old lamp," said the wind, puffing away.

At this moment the moon burst forth from the clouds. "What will

you give the old lamp?" asked the wind.

"I can give nothing," she replied; "I am on the wane, and no lamps

have ever given me light while I have frequently shone upon them." And

with these words the moon hid herself again behind the clouds, that

she might be saved from further importunities. Just then a drop fell

upon the lamp, from the roof of the house, but the drop explained that

he was a gift from those gray clouds, and perhaps the best of all

gifts. "I shall penetrate you so thoroughly," he said, "that you

will have the power of becoming rusty, and, if you wish it, to crumble

into dust in one night."

But this seemed to the lamp a very shabby present, and the wind

thought so too. "Does no one give any more? Will no one give any

more?" shouted the breath of the wind, as loud as it could. Then a

bright falling star came down, leaving a broad, luminous streak behind

it.

"What was that?" cried the herring's head. "Did not a star fall? I

really believe it went into the lamp. Certainly, when such high-born

personages try for the office, we may as well say 'Good-night,' and go

home."

And so they did, all three, while the old lamp threw a wonderfully

strong light all around him.

"This is a glorious gift," said he; "the bright stars have

always been a joy to me, and have always shone more brilliantly than I

ever could shine, though I have tried with my whole might; and now

they have noticed me, a poor old lamp, and have sent me a gift that

will enable me to see clearly everything that I remember, as if it

still stood before me, and to be seen by all those who love me. And

herein lies the truest pleasure, for joy which we cannot share with

others is only half enjoyed."

"That sentiment does you honor," said the wind; "but for this

purpose wax lights will be necessary. If these are not lighted in you,

your particular faculties will not benefit others in the least. The

stars have not thought of this; they suppose that you and every

other light must be a wax taper: but I must go down now." So he laid

himself to rest.

"Wax tapers, indeed!" said the lamp, "I have never yet had

these, nor is it likely I ever shall. If I could only be sure of not

being melted down!"

The next day. Well, perhaps we had better pass over the next

day. The evening had come, and the lamp was resting in a grandfather's

chair, and guess where! Why, at the old watchman's house. He had

begged, as a favor, that the mayor and corporation would allow him

to keep the street lamp, in consideration of his long and faithful

service, as he had himself hung it up and lit it on the day he first

commenced his duties, four-and-twenty years ago. He looked upon it

almost as his own child; he had no children, so the lamp was given

to him. There it lay in the great arm-chair near to the warm stove. It

seemed almost as if it had grown larger, for it appeared quite to fill

the chair. The old people sat at their supper, casting friendly

glances at the old lamp, whom they would willingly have admitted to

a place at the table. It is quite true that they dwelt in a cellar,

two yards deep in the earth, and they had to cross a stone passage

to get to their room, but within it was warm and comfortable and

strips of list had been nailed round the door. The bed and the

little window had curtains, and everything looked clean and neat. On

the window seat stood two curious flower-pots which a sailor, named

Christian, had brought over from the East or West Indies. They were of

clay, and in the form of two elephants, with open backs; they were

hollow and filled with earth, and through the open space flowers

bloomed. In one grew some very fine chives or leeks; this was the

kitchen garden. The other elephant, which contained a beautiful

geranium, they called their flower garden. On the wall hung a large

colored print, representing the congress of Vienna, and all the

kings and emperors at once. A clock, with heavy weights, hung on the

wall and went "tick, tick," steadily enough; yet it was always

rather too fast, which, however, the old people said was better than

being too slow. They were now eating their supper, while the old

street lamp, as we have heard, lay in the grandfather's arm-chair near

the stove. It seemed to the lamp as if the whole world had turned

round; but after a while the old watchman looked at the lamp, and

spoke of what they had both gone through together,- in rain and in

fog; during the short bright nights of summer, or in the long winter

nights, through the drifting snow-storms, when he longed to be at home

in the cellar. Then the lamp felt it was all right again. He saw

everything that had happened quite clearly, as if it were passing

before him. Surely the wind had given him an excellent gift. The old

people were very active and industrious, they were never idle for even

a single hour. On Sunday afternoons they would bring out some books,

generally a book of travels which they were very fond of. The old

man would read aloud about Africa, with its great forests and the wild

elephants, while his wife would listen attentively, stealing a

glance now and then at the clay elephants, which served as

flower-pots.

"I can almost imagine I am seeing it all," she said; and then

how the lamp wished for a wax taper to be lighted in him, for then the

old woman would have seen the smallest detail as clearly as he did

himself. The lofty trees, with their thickly entwined branches, the

naked negroes on horseback, and whole herds of elephants treading down

bamboo thickets with their broad, heavy feet.

"What is the use of all my capabilities," sighed the old lamp,

"when I cannot obtain any wax lights; they have only oil and tallow

here, and these will not do." One day a great heap of wax-candle

ends found their way into the cellar. The larger pieces were burnt,

and the smaller ones the old woman kept for waxing her thread. So

there were now candles enough, but it never occurred to any one to put

a little piece in the lamp.

"Here I am now with my rare powers," thought the lamp, "I have

faculties within me, but I cannot share them; they do not know that

I could cover these white walls with beautiful tapestry, or change

them into noble forests, or, indeed, to anything else they might

wish for." The lamp, however, was always kept clean and shining in a

corner where it attracted all eyes. Strangers looked upon it as

lumber, but the old people did not care for that; they loved the lamp.

One day- it was the watchman's birthday- the old woman approached

the lamp, smiling to herself, and said, "I will have an illumination

to-day in honor of my old man." And the lamp rattled in his metal

frame, for he thought, "Now at last I shall have a light within me,"

but after all no wax light was placed in the lamp, but oil as usual.

The lamp burned through the whole evening, and began to perceive too

clearly that the gift of the stars would remain a hidden treasure

all his life. Then he had a dream; for, to one with his faculties,

dreaming was no difficulty. It appeared to him that the old people

were dead, and that he had been taken to the iron foundry to be melted

down. It caused him quite as much anxiety as on the day when he had

been called upon to appear before the mayor and the council at the

town-hall. But though he had been endowed with the power of falling

into decay from rust when he pleased, he did not make use of it. He

was therefore put into the melting-furnace and changed into as elegant

an iron candlestick as you could wish to see, one intended to hold a

wax taper. The candlestick was in the form of an angel holding a

nosegay, in the centre of which the wax taper was to be placed. It was

to stand on a green writing table, in a very pleasant room; many books

were scattered about, and splendid paintings hung on the walls. The

owner of the room was a poet, and a man of intellect; everything he

thought or wrote was pictured around him. Nature showed herself to him

sometimes in the dark forests, at others in cheerful meadows where the

storks were strutting about, or on the deck of a ship sailing across

the foaming sea with the clear, blue sky above, or at night the

glittering stars. "What powers I possess!" said the lamp, awaking from

his dream; "I could almost wish to be melted down; but no, that must

not be while the old people live. They love me for myself alone,

they keep me bright, and supply me with oil. I am as well off as the

picture of the congress, in which they take so much pleasure." And

from that time he felt at rest in himself, and not more so than such

an honorable old lamp really deserved to be.

                        THE END

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