SOMETHING

                                  1872

                 FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

                               SOMETHING

                       by Hans Christian Andersen

SOMETHING

"I MEAN to be somebody, and do something useful in the world,"

said the eldest of five brothers. "I don't care how humble my position

is, so that I can only do some good, which will be something. I intend

to be a brickmaker; bricks are always wanted, and I shall be really

doing something."

"Your 'something' is not enough for me," said the second

brother; "what you talk of doing is nothing at all, it is journeyman's

work, or might even be done by a machine. No! I should prefer to be

a builder at once, there is something real in that. A man gains a

position, he becomes a citizen, has his own sign, his own house of

call for his workmen: so I shall be a builder. If all goes well, in

time I shall become a master, and have my own journeymen, and my

wife will be treated as a master's wife. This is what I call

something."

"I call it all nothing," said the third; "not in reality any

position. There are many in a town far above a master builder in

position. You may be an upright man, but even as a master you will

only be ranked among common men. I know better what to do than that. I

will be an architect, which will place me among those who possess

riches and intellect, and who speculate in art. I shall certainly have

to rise by my own endeavors from a bricklayer's laborer, or as a

carpenter's apprentice- a lad wearing a paper cap, although I now wear

a silk hat. I shall have to fetch beer and spirits for the journeymen,

and they will call me 'thou,' which will be an insult. I shall

endure it, however, for I shall look upon it all as a mere

representation, a masquerade, a mummery, which to-morrow, that is,

when I myself as a journeyman, shall have served my time, will vanish,

and I shall go my way, and all that has passed will be nothing to

me. Then I shall enter the academy, and get instructed in drawing, and

be called an architect. I may even attain to rank, and have

something placed before or after my name, and I shall build as

others have done before me. By this there will be always 'something'

to make me remembered, and is not that worth living for?"

"Not in my opinion," said the fourth; "I will never follow the

lead of others, and only imitate what they have done. I will be a

genius, and become greater than all of you together. I will create a

new style of building, and introduce a plan for erecting houses

suitable to the climate, with material easily obtained in the country,

and thus suit national feeling and the developments of the age,

besides building a storey for my own genius."

"But supposing the climate and the material are not good for

much," said the fifth brother, "that would be very unfortunate for

you, and have an influence over your experiments. Nationality may

assert itself until it becomes affectation, and the developments of

a century may run wild, as youth often does. I see clearly that none

of you will ever really be anything worth notice, however you may

now fancy it. But do as you like, I shall not imitate you. I mean to

keep clear of all these things, and criticize what you do. In every

action something imperfect may be discovered, something not right,

which I shall make it my business to find out and expose; that will be

something, I fancy." And he kept his word, and became a critic.

People said of this fifth brother, "There is something very

precise about him; he has a good head-piece, but he does nothing." And

on that very account they thought he must be something.

Now, you see, this is a little history which will never end; as

long as the world exists, there will always be men like these five

brothers. And what became of them? Were they each nothing or

something? You shall hear; it is quite a history.

The eldest brother, he who fabricated bricks, soon discovered that

each brick, when finished, brought him in a small coin, if only a

copper one; and many copper pieces, if placed one upon another, can be

changed into a shining shilling; and at whatever door a person knocks,

who has a number of these in his hands, whether it be the baker's, the

butcher's, or the tailor's, the door flies open, and he can get all he

wants. So you see the value of bricks. Some of the bricks, however,

crumbled to pieces, or were broken, but the elder brother found a

use for even these.

On the high bank of earth, which formed a dyke on the sea-coast, a

poor woman named Margaret wished to build herself a house, so all

the imperfect bricks were given to her, and a few whole ones with

them; for the eldest brother was a kind-hearted man, although he never

achieved anything higher than making bricks. The poor woman built

herself a little house- it was small and narrow, and the window was

quite crooked, the door too low, and the straw roof might have been

better thatched. But still it was a shelter, and from within you could

look far over the sea, which dashed wildly against the sea-wall on

which the little house was built. The salt waves sprinkled their white

foam over it, but it stood firm, and remained long after he who had

given the bricks to build it was dead and buried.

The second brother of course knew better how to build than poor

Margaret, for he served an apprenticeship to learn it. When his time

was up, he packed up his knapsack, and went on his travels, singing

the journeyman's song,-

         "While young, I can wander without a care,

         And build new houses everywhere;

         Fair and bright are my dreams of home,

         Always thought of wherever I roam.



         Hurrah for a workman's life of glee!

         There's a loved one at home who thinks of me;

         Home and friends I can ne'er forget,

         And I mean to be a master yet."

And that is what he did. On his return home, he became a master

builder,- built one house after another in the town, till they

formed quite a street, which, when finished, became really an ornament

to the town. These houses built a house for him in return, which was

to be his own. But how can houses build a house? If the houses were

asked, they could not answer; but the people would understand, and

say, "Certainly the street built his house for him." It was not very

large, and the floor was of lime; but when he danced with his bride on

the lime-covered floor, it was to him white and shining, and from

every stone in the wall flowers seemed to spring forth and decorate

the room as with the richest tapestry. It was really a pretty house,

and in it were a happy pair. The flag of the corporation fluttered

before it, and the journeymen and apprentices shouted "Hurrah." He had

gained his position, he had made himself something, and at last he

died, which was "something" too.

Now we come to the architect, the third brother, who had been

first a carpenter's apprentice, had worn a cap, and served as an

errand boy, but afterwards went to the academy, and risen to be an

architect, a high and noble gentleman. Ah yes, the houses of the new

street, which the brother who was a master builder erected, may have

built his house for him, but the street received its name from the

architect, and the handsomest house in the street became his property.

That was something, and he was "something," for he had a list of

titles before and after his name. His children were called "wellborn,"

and when he died, his widow was treated as a lady of position, and

that was "something." His name remained always written at the corner

of the street, and lived in every one's mouth as its name. Yes, this

also was something."

And what about the genius of the family- the fourth brother- who

wanted to invent something new and original? He tried to build a lofty

storey himself, but it fell to pieces, and he fell with it and broke

his neck. However, he had a splendid funeral, with the city flags

and music in the procession; flowers were strewn on the pavement,

and three orations were spoken over his grave, each one longer than

the other. He would have liked this very much during his life, as well

as the poems about him in the papers, for he liked nothing so well

as to be talked of. A monument was also erected over his grave. It was

only another storey over him, but that was "something," Now he was

dead, like the three other brothers.

The youngest- the critic- outlived them all, which was quite right

for him. It gave him the opportunity of having the last word, which to

him was of great importance. People always said he had a good

head-piece. At last his hour came, and he died, and arrived at the

gates of heaven. Souls always enter these gates in pairs; so he

found himself standing and waiting for admission with another; and who

should it be but old dame Margaret, from the house on the dyke! "It is

evidently for the sake of contrast that I and this wretched soul

should arrive here exactly at the same time," said the critic. "Pray

who are you, my good woman?" said he; "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 who spoke to her. "I am a poor old woman,"

she said, "without my family. I am old Margaret, that lived in the

house on the dyke."

"Well, and what have you done- what great deed have you

performed down below?"

"I have done nothing at all in the world that could give me a

claim to have these doors open for me," she said. "It would be only

through mercy that I can be allowed to slip in through the gate."

"In what manner did you leave the world?" he asked, just for the

sake of saying something; for it made him feel very weary to stand

there and wait.

"How I left the world?" she replied; "why, I can scarcely tell

you. During the last years of my life I was sick and miserable, and

I was unable to bear creeping out of bed suddenly into the frost and

cold. Last winter was a hard winter, but I have got over it all now.

There were a few mild days, as your honor, no doubt, knows. The ice

lay thickly on the lake, as far one could see. The people came from

the town, and walked upon it, and they say there were dancing and

skating upon it, I believe, and a great feasting. The sound of

beautiful music came into my poor little room where I lay. Towards

evening, when the moon rose beautifully, though not yet in her full

splendor, I glanced from my bed over the wide sea; and there, just

where the sea and sky met, rose a curious white cloud. I lay looking

at the cloud till I observed a little black spot in the middle of

it, which gradually grew larger and larger, and then I knew what it

meant- I am old and experienced; and although this token is not

often seen, I knew it, and a shuddering seized me. Twice in my life

had I seen this same thing, and I knew that there would be an awful

storm, with a spring tide, which would overwhelm the poor people who

were now out on the ice, drinking, dancing, and making merry. Young

and old, the whole city, were there; who was to warn them, if no one

noticed the sign, or knew what it meant as I did? I was so alarmed,

that I felt more strength and life than I had done for some time. I

got out of bed, and reached the window; I could not crawl any

farther from weakness and exhaustion; but I managed to open the

window. I saw the people outside running and jumping about on the ice;

I saw the beautiful flags waving in the wind; I heard the boys

shouting, 'Hurrah!' and the lads and lasses singing, and everything

full of merriment and joy. But there was the white cloud with the

black spot hanging over them. I cried out as loudly as I could, but no

one heard me; I was too far off from the people. Soon would the

storm burst, the ice break, and all who were on it be irretrievably

lost. They could not hear me, and to go to them was quite out of my

power. Oh, if I could only get them safe on land! Then came the

thought, as if from heaven, that I would rather set fire to my bed,

and let the house be burnt down, than that so many people should

perish miserably. I got a light, and in a few moments the red flames

leaped up as a beacon to them. I escaped fortunately as far as the

threshold of the door; but there I fell down and remained: I could

go no farther. The flames rushed out towards me, flickered on the

window, and rose high above the roof. The people on the ice became

aware of the fire, and ran as fast as possible to help a poor sick

woman, who, as they thought, was being burnt to death. There was not

one who did not run. I heard them coming, and I also at the same

time was conscious of a rush of air and a sound like the roar of heavy

artillery. The spring flood was lifting the ice covering, which

brake into a thousand pieces. But the people had reached the sea-wall,

where the sparks were flying round. I had saved them all; but I

suppose I could not survive the cold and fright; so I came up here

to the gates of paradise. I am told they are open to poor creatures

such as I am, and I have now no house left on earth; but I do not

think that will give me a claim to be admitted here."

Then the gates were opened, and an angel led the old woman in. She

had dropped one little straw out of her straw bed, when she set it

on fire to save the lives of so many. It had been changed into the

purest gold- into gold that constantly grew and expanded into

flowers and fruit of immortal beauty.

"See," said the angel, pointing to the wonderful straw, "this is

what the poor woman has brought. What dost thou bring? I know thou

hast accomplished nothing, not even made a single brick. Even if

thou couldst return, and at least produce so much, very likely, when

made, the brick would be useless, unless done with a good will,

which is always something. But thou canst not return to earth, and I

can do nothing for thee."

Then the poor soul, the old mother who had lived in the house on

the dyke, pleaded for him. She said, "His brother made all the stone

and bricks, and sent them to me to build my poor little dwelling,

which was a great deal to do for a poor woman like me. Could not all

these bricks and pieces be as a wall of stone to prevail for him? It

is an act of mercy; he is wanting it now; and here is the very

fountain of mercy."

"Then," said the angel, "thy brother, he who has been looked

upon as the meanest of you all, he whose honest deeds to thee appeared

so humble,- it is he who has sent you this heavenly gift. Thou shalt

not be turned away. Thou shalt have permission to stand without the

gate and reflect, and repent of thy life on earth; but thou shalt

not be admitted here until thou hast performed one good deed of

repentance, which will indeed for thee be something."

"I could have expressed that better," thought the critic; but he

did not say it aloud, which for him was SOMETHING, after all.

                        THE END

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