Hark to the raging of the angry wind, sounding above the rollingsea! A storm approaches without, calling aloud for human lives. Thesea has not put on a new mind with the new time. This night it is ahorrible pit to devour up lives, and to-morrow, perhaps, it may be aglassy mirror- even as in the old time that we have buried. Sleepsweetly, if thou canst sleep! Now it is morning. The new time flings sunshine into the room. The wind still keepsup mightily. A wreck is announced- as in the old time. During the night, down yonder by Lokken, the little fishingvillage with the red-tiled roofs- we can see it up here from thewindow- a ship has come ashore. It has struck, and is fast embedded inthe sand; but the rocket apparatus has thrown a rope on board, andformed a bridge from the wreck to the mainland; and all on board aresaved, and reach the land, and are wrapped in warm blankets; andto-day they are invited to the farm at the convent of Borglum. Incomfortable rooms they encounter hospitality and friendly faces.They are addressed in the language of their country, and the pianosounds for them with melodies of their native land; and before thesehave died away, the chord has been struck, the wire of thought thatreaches to the land of the sufferers announces that they arerescued. Then their anxieties are dispelled; and at even they joinin the dance at the feast given in the great hall at Borglum.Waltzes and Styrian dances are given, and Danish popular songs, andmelodies of foreign lands in these modern times. Blessed be thou, new time! Speak thou of summer and of purergales! Send thy sunbeams gleaming into our hearts and thoughts! On thyglowing canvas let them be painted- the dark legends of the rough hardtimes that are past! THE END.
1872 FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN THE BOTTLE NECK by Hans Christian Andersen CLOSE to the corner of a street, among other abodes of poverty,stood an exceedingly tall, narrow house, which had been so knockedabout by time that it seemed out of joint in every direction. Thishouse was inhabited by poor people, but the deepest poverty wasapparent in the garret lodging in the gable. In front of the littlewindow, an old bent bird-cage hung in the sunshine, which had not evena proper water-glass, but instead of it the broken neck of a bottle,turned upside down, and a cork stuck in to make it hold the water withwhich it was filled. An old maid stood at the window; she had hungchickweed over the cage, and the little linnet which it containedhopped from perch to perch and sang and twittered merrily. "Yes, it's all very well for you to sing," said the bottle neck:that is, he did not really speak the words as we do, for the neck of abottle cannot speak; but he thought them to himself in his own mind,just as people sometimes talk quietly to themselves. "Yes, you may sing very well, you have all your limbs uninjured;you should feel what it is like to lose your body, and only have aneck and a mouth left, with a cork stuck in it, as I have: youwouldn't sing then, I know. After all, it is just as well that thereare some who can be happy. I have no reason to sing, nor could Ising now if I were ever so happy; but when I was a whole bottle, andthey rubbed me with a cork, didn't I sing then? I used to be calleda complete lark. I remember when I went out to a picnic with thefurrier's family, on the day his daughter was betrothed,- it seemsas if it only happened yesterday. I have gone through a great dealin my time, when I come to recollect: I have been in the fire and inthe water, I have been deep in the earth, and have mounted higher inthe air than most other people, and now I am swinging here, outsidea bird-cage, in the air and the sunshine. Oh, indeed, it would beworth while to hear my history; but I do not speak it aloud, for agood reason- because I cannot." Then the bottle neck related his history, which was reallyrather remarkable; he, in fact, related it to himself, or, at least,thought it in his own mind. The little bird sang his own song merrily;in the street below there was driving and running to and fro, everyone thought of his own affairs, or perhaps of nothing at all; butthe bottle neck thought deeply. He thought of the blazing furnace inthe factory, where he had been blown into life; he remembered howhot it felt when he was placed in the heated oven, the home from whichhe sprang, and that he had a strong inclination to leap out againdirectly; but after a while it became cooler, and he found himselfvery comfortable. He had been placed in a row, with a whole regimentof his brothers and sisters all brought out of the same furnace;some of them had certainly been blown into champagne bottles, andothers into beer bottles, which made a little difference between them.In the world it often happens that a beer bottle may contain themost precious wine, and a champagne bottle be filled with blacking,but even in decay it may always be seen whether a man has been wellborn. Nobility remains noble, as a champagne bottle remains thesame, even with blacking in its interior. When the bottles were packedour bottle was packed amongst them; it little expected then tofinish its career as a bottle neck, or to be used as a water-glassto a bird's-cage, which is, after all, a place of honor, for it isto be of some use in the world. The bottle did not behold the light ofday again, until it was unpacked with the rest in the winemerchant's cellar, and, for the first time, rinsed with water, whichcaused some very curious sensations. There it lay empty, and without acork, and it had a peculiar feeling, as if it wanted something it knewnot what. At last it was filled with rich and costly wine, a corkwas placed in it, and sealed down. Then it was labelled "firstquality," as if it had carried off the first prize at anexamination; besides, the wine and the bottle were both good, andwhile we are young is the time for poetry. There were sounds of songwithin the bottle, of things it could not understand, of green sunnymountains, where the vines grow and where the merry vine-dresserslaugh, sing, and are merry. "Ah, how beautiful is life." All thesetones of joy and song in the bottle were like the working of a youngpoet's brain, who often knows not the meaning of the tones which aresounding within him. One morning the bottle found a purchaser in thefurrier's apprentice, who was told to bring one of the best bottles ofwine. It was placed in the provision basket with ham and cheese andsausages. The sweetest fresh butter and the finest bread were put intothe basket by the furrier's daughter herself, for she packed it. Shewas young and pretty; her brown eyes laughed, and a smile lingeredround her mouth as sweet as that in her eyes. She had delicatehands, beautifully white, and her neck was whiter still. It couldeasily be seen that she was a very lovely girl, and as yet she was notengaged. The provision basket lay in the lap of the young girl asthe family drove out to the forest, and the neck of the bottlepeeped out from between the folds of the white napkin. There was thered wax on the cork, and the bottle looked straight at the younggirl's face, and also at the face of the young sailor who sat nearher. He was a young friend, the son of a portrait painter. He hadlately passed his examination with honor, as mate, and the nextmorning he was to sail in his ship to a distant coast. There hadbeen a great deal of talk on this subject while the basket was beingpacked, and during this conversation the eyes and the mouth of thefurrier's daughter did not wear a very joyful expression. The youngpeople wandered away into the green wood, and talked together. Whatdid they talk about?