The Porter's Son Page #2

"The Porter's Son" is a charming collection of fictional stories by renowned Danish author, Hans Christian Andersen. It tells the story of a humble porter's son who, despite his modest upbringing, embarks on a series of extraordinary adventures that takes him far beyond the life he once knew. Infused with themes of hope, resilience, and ambition, it's a heartwarming tale that emphasizes the miracles of everyday life and the limitless possibilities that come with dreaming big.

• Children

								


George had divided his bread and butter with little Emily, and
he would have divided his heart with her, if it would have pleased
her. He was a good boy, brisk and clever, and he went to the night
school in the Academy now, to learn to draw properly. Little Emily was
getting on with her education too, for she spoke French with her
"bonne," and had a dancing master.


"George will be confirmed at Easter," said the porter's wife;
for George had got so far as this.

"It would be the best thing, now, to make an apprentice of him,"
said his father. "It must be to some good calling--and then he would
be out of the house."

"He would have to sleep out of the house," said George's mother.
"It is not easy to find a master who has room for him at night, and we
shall have to provide him with clothes too. The little bit of eating
that he wants can be managed for him, for he's quite happy with a
few boiled potatoes; and he gets taught for nothing. Let the boy go
his own way. You will say that he will be our joy some day, and the
Professor says so too."

The confirmation suit was ready. The mother had worked it herself;
but the tailor who did repairs had cut them out, and a capital
cutter-out he was.

"If he had had a better position, and been able to keep a workshop
and journeymen," the porter's wife said, "he might have been a court
tailor."

The clothes were ready, and the candidate for confirmation was
ready. On his confirmation day, George received a great pinchbeck
watch from his godfather, the old iron monger's shopman, the richest
of his godfathers. The watch was an old and tried servant. It always
went too fast, but that is better than to be lagging behind. That
was a costly present. And from the General's apartment there arrived a
hymn-book bound in morocco, sent by the little lady to whom George had
given pictures. At the beginning of the book his name was written, and
her name, as "his gracious patroness." These words had been written at
the dictation of the General's lady, and the General had read the
inscription, and pronounced it "Charming!"

"That is really a great attention from a family of such position,"
said the porter's wife; and George was sent up stairs to show
himself in his confirmation clothes, with the hymn-book in his hand.

The General's lady was sitting very much wrapped up, and had the
bad headache she always had when time hung heavy upon her hands. She
looked at George very pleasantly, and wished him all prosperity, and
that he might never have her headache. The General was walking about
in his dressing-gown. He had a cap with a long tassel on his head, and
Russian boots with red tops on his feet. He walked three times up
and down the room, absorbed in his own thoughts and recollections, and
then stopped and said:

"So little George is a confirmed Christian now. Be a good man, and
honor those in authority over you. Some day, when you are an old
man, you can say that the General gave you this precept."

That was a longer speech than the General was accustomed to
make, and then he went back to his ruminations, and looked very
aristocratic. But of all that George heard and saw up there, little
Miss Emily remained most clear in his thoughts. How graceful she
was, how gentle, and fluttering, and pretty she looked. If she were to
be drawn, it ought to be on a soap-bubble. About her dress, about
her yellow curled hair, there was a fragrance as of a fresh-blown
rose; and to think that he had once divided his bread and butter
with her, and that she had eaten it with enormous appetite, and nodded
to him at every second mouthful! Did she remember anything about it?
Yes, certainly, for she had given him the beautiful hymn-book in
remembrance of this; and when the first new moon in the first new year
after this event came round, he took a piece of bread, a penny, and
his hymn-book, and went out into the open air, and opened the book
to see what psalm he should turn up. It was a psalm of praise and
thanksgiving. Then he opened the book again to see what would turn
up for little Emily. He took great pains not to open the book in the
place where the funeral hymns were, and yet he got one that referred
to the grave and death. But then he thought this was not a thing in
which one must believe; for all that he was startled when soon
afterwards the pretty little girl had to lie in bed, and the
doctor's carriage stopped at the gate every day.

"They will not keep her with them," said the porter's wife. "The
good God knows whom He will summon to Himself."

But they kept her after all; and George drew pictures and sent
them to her. He drew the Czar's palace; the old Kremlin at Moscow,
just as it stood, with towers and cupolas; and these cupolas looked
like gigantic green and gold cucumbers, at least in George's
drawing. Little Emily was highly pleased, and consequently, when a
week had elapsed, George sent her a few more pictures, all with
buildings in them; for, you see, she could imagine all sorts of things
inside the windows and doors.

He drew a Chinese house, with bells hanging from every one of
sixteen stories. He drew two Grecian temples with slender marble
pillars, and with steps all round them. He drew a Norwegian church. It
was easy to see that this church had been built entirely of wood, hewn
out and wonderfully put together; every story looked as if it had
rockers, like a cradle. But the most beautiful of all was the
castle, drawn on one of the leaves, and which he called "Emily's
Castle." This was the kind of place in which she must live. That is
what George had thought, and consequently he had put into this
building whatever he thought most beautiful in all the others. It
had carved wood-work, like the Norwegian church; marble pillars,
like the Grecian temple; bells in every story; and was crowned with
cupolas, green and gilded, like those of the Kremlin of the Czar. It
was a real child's castle, and under every window was written what the
hall or the room inside was intended to be; for instance: "Here
Emily sleeps;" "Here Emily dances;" "Here Emily plays at receiving
visitors." It was a real pleasure to look at the castle, and right
well was the castle looked at accordingly.

"Charming!" said the General.

But the old Count--for there was an old Count there, who was still
grander than the General, and had a castle of his own--said nothing at
all; he heard that it had been designed and drawn by the porter's
little son. Not that he was so very little, either, for he had already
been confirmed. The old Count looked at the pictures, and had his
own thoughts as he did so.

One day, when it was very gloomy, gray, wet weather, the brightest
of days dawned for George; for the Professor at the Academy called him
into his room.

"Listen to me, my friend," said the Professor; "I want to speak to
you. The Lord has been good to you in giving you abilities, and He has
also been good in placing you among kind people. The old Count at
the corner yonder has been speaking to me about you. I have also
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