The Porter's Son Page #3

"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

								

seen your sketches; but we will not say any more about those, for
there is a good deal to correct in them. But from this time forward
you may come twice a-week to my drawing-class, and then you will
soon learn how to do them better. I think there's more of the
architect than of the painter in you. You will have time to think that
over; but go across to the old Count this very day, and thank God
for having sent you such a friend."

It was a great house--the house of the old Count at the corner.
Round the windows elephants and dromedaries were carved, all from
the old times; but the old Count loved the new time best, and what
it brought, whether it came from the first floor, or from the
cellar, or from the attic.

"I think," said, the porter's wife, "the grander people are, the
fewer airs do they give themselves. How kind and straightforward the
old count is! and he talks exactly like you and me. Now, the General
and his lady can't do that. And George was fairly wild with delight
yesterday at the good reception he met with at the Count's, and so
am I to-day, after speaking to the great man. Wasn't it a good thing
that we didn't bind George apprentice to a handicraftsman? for he
has abilities of his own."

"But they must be helped on by others," said the father.

"That help he has got now," rejoined the mother; "for the Count
spoke out quite clearly and distinctly."

"But I fancy it began with the General," said the father, "and
we must thank them too."

"Let us do so with all my heart," cried the mother, "though I
fancy we have not much to thank them for. I will thank the good God;
and I will thank Him, too, for letting little Emily get well."

Emily was getting on bravely, and George got on bravely too. In
the course of the year he won the little silver prize medal of the
Academy, and afterwards he gained the great one too.


"It would have been better, after all, if he had been
apprenticed to a handicraftsman," said the porter's wife, weeping;
"for then we could have kept him with us. What is he to do in Rome?
I shall never get a sight of him again, not even if he comes back; but
that he won't do, the dear boy."

"It is fortune and fame for him," said the father.

"Yes, thank you, my friend," said the mother; "you are saying what
you do not mean. You are just as sorrowful as I am."

And it was all true about the sorrow and the journey. But
everybody said it was a great piece of good fortune for the young
fellow. And he had to take leave, and of the General too. The
General's lady did not show herself, for she had her bad headache.
On this occasion the General told his only anecdote, about what he had
said to the Prince, and how the Prince had said to him, "You are
incomparable." And he held out a languid hand to George.

Emily gave George her hand too, and looked almost sorry; and
George was the most sorry of all.


Time goes by when one has something to do; and it goes by, too,
when one has nothing to do. The time is equally long, but not
equally useful. It was useful to George, and did not seem long at all,
except when he happened to be thinking of his home. How might the good
folks be getting on, up stairs and down stairs? Yes, there was writing
about that, and many things can be put into a letter--bright
sunshine and dark, heavy days. Both of these were in the letter
which brought the news that his father was dead, and that his mother
was alone now. She wrote that Emily had come down to see her, and
had been to her like an angel of comfort; and concerning herself,
she added that she had been allowed to keep her situation as
porteress.

The General's lady kept a diary, and in this diary was recorded
every ball she attended and every visit she received. The diary was
illustrated by the insertion of the visiting cards of the diplomatic
circle and of the most noble families; and the General's lady was
proud of it. The diary kept growing through a long time, and amid many
severe headaches, and through a long course of half-nights, that is to
say, of court balls. Emily had now been to a court ball for the
first time. Her mother had worn a bright red dress, with black lace,
in the Spanish style; the daughter had been attired in white, fair and
delicate; green silk ribbons fluttered like flag-leaves among her
yellow locks, and on her head she wore a wreath of water-lillies.
Her eyes were so blue and clear, her mouth was so delicate and red,
she looked like a little water spirit, as beautiful as such a spirit
can be imagined. The Princes danced with her, one after another of
course; and the General's lady had not a headache for a week
afterwards.

But the first ball was not the last, and Emily could not stand it;
it was a good thing, therefore, that summer brought with it rest,
and exercise in the open air. The family had been invited by the old
Count to visit him at him castle. That was a castle with a garden
which was worth seeing. Part of this garden was laid out quite in
the style of the old days, with stiff green hedges; you walked as if
between green walls with peep-holes in them. Box trees and yew trees
stood there trimmed into the form of stars and pyramids, and water
sprang from fountains in large grottoes lined with shells. All
around stood figures of the most beautiful stone--that could be seen
in their clothes as well as in their faces; every flower-bed had a
different shape, and represented a fish, or a coat of arms, or a
monogram. That was the French part of the garden; and from this part
the visitor came into what appeared like the green, fresh forest,
where the trees might grow as they chose, and accordingly they were
great and glorious. The grass was green, and beautiful to walk on, and
it was regularly cut, and rolled, and swept, and tended. That was
the English part of the garden.

"Old time and new time," said the Count, "here they run well
into one another. In two years the building itself will put on a
proper appearance, there will be a complete metamorphosis in beauty
and improvement. I shall show you the drawings, and I shall show you
the architect, for he is to dine here to-day."

"Charming!" said the General.

"'Tis like Paradise here," said the General's lady, "and yonder
you have a knight's castle!"

"That's my poultry-house," observed the Count. "The pigeons live
in the tower, the turkeys in the first floor, but old Elsie rules in
the ground floor. She has apartments on all sides of her. The
sitting hens have their own room, and the hens with chickens have
theirs; and the ducks have their own particular door leading to the
water."

"Charming!" repeated the General.

And all sailed forth to see these wonderful things. Old Elsie
stood in the room on the ground floor, and by her side stood Architect
George. He and Emily now met for the first time after several years,
and they met in the poultry-house.

Yes, there he stood, and was handsome enough to be looked at.
His face was frank and energetic; he had black shining hair, and a
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