The Philosopher's Stone Page #4

The Philosopher's Stone is a mystical story by Hans Christian Andersen about a philosopher in search of a powerful mythical stone that is said to hold the power to transform any metal into gold and grant eternal life. The journey is complex with several moral dilemmas which highlight Andersen's themes of greed, human nature, and the quest for eternal life.

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one of the greatest cities, and the aeronaut took up his station at
the highest point, on the church steeple. The balloon rose again
into the air, which it ought not to have done; what became of it is
not known, neither is it of any consequence, for balloons had not then
been invented.

There he sat on the church steeple. The birds no longer hovered
over him; they had got tired of him, and he was tired of them. All the
chimneys in the town were smoking.

"There are altars erected to my honor," said the wind, who
wished to say something agreeable to him as he sat there boldly
looking down upon the people in the street. There was one stepping
along, proud of his purse; another, of the key he carried behind
him, though he had nothing to lock up; another took a pride in his
moth-eaten coat; and another, in his mortified body. "Vanity, all
vanity!" he exclaimed. "I must go down there by-and-by, and touch
and taste; but I shall sit here a little while longer, for the wind
blows pleasantly at my back. I shall remain here as long as the wind
blows, and enjoy a little rest. It is comfortable to sleep late in the
morning when one had a great deal to do," said the sluggard; "so I
shall stop here as long as the wind blows, for it pleases me."

And there he stayed. But as he was sitting on the weather-cock
of the steeple, which kept turning round and round with him, he was
under the false impression that the same wind still blew, and that
he could stay where he was without expense.

But in India, in the castle on the Tree of the Sun, all was
solitary and still, since the brothers had gone away one after the
other.

"Nothing goes well with them," said the father; "they will never
bring the glittering jewel home, it is not made for me; they are all
dead and gone." Then he bent down over the Book of Truth, and gazed on
the page on which he should have read of the life after death, but for
him there was nothing to be read or learned upon it.

His blind daughter was his consolation and joy; she clung to him
with sincere affection, and for the sake of his happiness and peace
she wished the costly jewel could be found and brought home.

With longing tenderness she thought of her brothers. Where were
they? Where did they live? How she wished she might dream of them; but
it was strange that not even in dreams could she be brought near to
them. But at last one night she dreamt that she heard the voices of
her brothers calling to her from the distant world, and she could
not refrain herself, but went out to them, and yet it seemed in her
dream that she still remained in her father's house. She did not see
her brothers, but she felt as it were a fire burning in her hand,
which, however, did not hurt her, for it was the jewel she was
bringing to her father. When she awoke she thought for a moment that
she still held the stone, but she only grasped the knob of her
distaff.

During the long evenings she had spun constantly, and round the
distaff were woven threads finer than the web of a spider; human
eyes could never have distinguished these threads when separated
from each other. But she had wetted them with her tears, and the twist
was as strong as a cable. She rose with the impression that her
dream must be a reality, and her resolution was taken.

It was still night, and her father slept; she pressed a kiss
upon his hand, and then took her distaff and fastened the end of the
thread to her father's house. But for this, blind as she was, she
would never have found her way home again; to this thread she must
hold fast, and trust not to others or even to herself. From the Tree
of the Sun she broke four leaves; which she gave up to the wind and
the weather, that they might be carried to her brothers as letters and
a greeting, in case she did not meet them in the wide world. Poor
blind child, what would become of her in those distant regions? But
she had the invisible thread, to which she could hold fast; and she
possessed a gift which all the others lacked. This was a determination
to throw herself entirely into whatever she undertook, and it made her
feel as if she had eyes even at the tips of her fingers, and could
hear down into her very heart. Quietly she went forth into the
noisy, bustling, wonderful world, and wherever she went the skies grew
bright, and she felt the warm sunbeam, and a rainbow above in the blue
heavens seemed to span the dark world. She heard the song of the
birds, and smelt the scent of the orange groves and apple orchards
so strongly that she seemed to taste it. Soft tones and charming songs
reached her ear, as well as harsh sounds and rough words--thoughts and
opinions in strange contradiction to each other. Into the deepest
recesses of her heart penetrated the echoes of human thoughts and
feelings. Now she heard the following words sadly sung,--

  "Life is a shadow that flits away
  In a night of darkness and woe."

But then would follow brighter thoughts:

  "Life has the rose's sweet perfume
  With sunshine, light, and joy."

And if one stanza sounded painfully--

  "Each mortal thinks of himself alone,
  Is a truth, alas, too clearly known;"

Then, on the other hand, came the answer--

  "Love, like a mighty flowing stream,
  Fills every heart with its radiant gleam."

She heard, indeed, such words as these--

  "In the pretty turmoil here below,
  All is a vain and paltry show.

Then came also words of comfort--

  "Great and good are the actions done
  By many whose worth is never known."

And if sometimes the mocking strain reached her--

  "Why not join in the jesting cry
  That contemns all gifts from the throne on high?"

In the blind girl's heart a stronger voice repeated--

  "To trust in thyself and God is best,
  In His holy will forever to rest."


But the evil spirit could not see this and remain contented. He
has more cleverness than ten thousand men, and he found means to
compass his end. He betook himself to the marsh, and collected a few
little bubbles of stagnant water. Then he uttered over them the echoes
of lying words that they might become strong. He mixed up together
songs of praise with lying epitaphs, as many as he could find,
boiled them in tears shed by envy; put upon them rouge, which he had
scraped from faded cheeks, and from these he produced a maiden, in
form and appearance like the blind girl, the angel of completeness, as
men called her. The evil one's plot was successful. The world knew not
which was the true, and indeed how should the world know?

  "To trust in thyself and God is best,
  In his Holy will forever to rest."

So sung the blind girl in full faith. She had entrusted the four green
leaves from the Tree of the Sun to the winds, as letters of greeting
to her brothers, and she had full confidence that the leaves would
reach them. She fully believed that the jewel which outshines all
the glories of the world would yet be found, and that upon the
forehead of humanity it would glitter even in the castle of her
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