Something Page #2

As a prolific writer of plays, travelogues, novels, and poems, Hans Christian Andersen is most renowned for his fairy tales. These include classics such as "The Little Mermaid," "The Ugly Duckling," "The Snow Queen," and "Thumbelina." It might be challenging to provide a description for a specific book called "Something" because Andersen did not write a work specifically with this title. Moreover, collections of his works often vary in which of his stories or fairy tales they include.

• Children

								

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
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