And
the Nightingale sang on and on; it sang of the quiet church-
yard where the white roses grow, where the elder-blossom smells
sweet, and where the fresh grass is wet with the tears of mourn-
Then Death felt a longing to see his garden, and floated
out at the window in the form of a cold, white mist.
the Nightingale sang on and on; it sang of the quiet church-
yard where the white roses grow, where the elder-blossom smells
sweet, and where the fresh grass is wet with the tears of mourn-
Then Death felt a longing to see his garden, and floated
out at the window in the form of a cold, white mist.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v01 - A to Apu
" -- it
stood written there.
“What's that ? exclaimed the Emperor. « The Nightingale ?
I don't know that at all! Is there such a bird in my empire, and
in my garden to boot? I've never heard of that. One has to
read about such things. ”
Hereupon he called his Cavalier, who was so grand that if any
one lower in rank than he dared to speak to him, or to ask him
any question, he answered nothing but “P! "--and that meant
nothing.
« There is said to be a strange bird here called a Nightin-
gale! ” said the Emperor. “They say it is the best thing in all
my great empire. Why has no ever told me anything
about it ? »
"I have never heard it named,” replied the Cavalier. « It has
never been presented at court. ”
one
1
-
-
## p. 527 (#565) ############################################
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
527
"I command that it shall come here this evening, and sing
before me,” said the Emperor. "All the world knows what I
have, and I do not know it myself ! ”
"I have never heard it mentioned,” said the Cavalier. "I will
seek for it. I will find it. ”
But where was it to be found ? The Cavalier ran up and
down all the stairs, through halls and passages, but no one
among all those whom he met had heard talk of the Nightingale.
And the Cavalier ran back to the Emperor, and said that it must
be a fable made up by those who write books.
“Your Imperial Majesty must not believe what is written. It
is fiction, and something that they call the black art.
But the book in which I read this,” said the Emperor, was
sent to me by the high and mighty Emperor of Japan, and so it
cannot be a falsehood. I will hear the Nightingale! It must be
here this evening! It has my high favor; and if it does not
come, all the court shall be trampled upon after it has supped! ”
«Tsing-pe! ” said the Cavalier; and again he ran up and down
all the stairs, and through all the halls and passages, and half
the court ran with him, for the courtiers did not like being
trampled upon. There was a great inquiry after the wonderful
Nightingale, which all the world knew, but not the people at
court.
At last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen. She
said:
“The Nightingale ? I know it well; yes, how it can sing!
Every evening I get leave to carry my poor sick mother the
scraps from the table. She lives down by the beach, and when
I get back and am tired, and rest in the wood, then I hear the
Nightingale sing. And then the tears come into my eyes, and it
is just as if my mother kissed me! ”
Little Kitchen-girl," said the Cavalier, "I will get you a
fixed place in the kitchen, with leave to see the Emperor dine,
if you will lead us to the Nightingale, for it is promised for this
evening. "
So they all went out into the wood where the Nightingale
was wont to sing; half the court went out. When they were on
the way, a cow began to low.
“Oh! ” cried the court pages, “now we have it! That shows
a great power in so small a creature! We have certainly heard it
before. ”
## p. 528 (#566) ############################################
528
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
are
"No, those cows mooing! ” said the little Kitchen-girl.
“We are a long way from the place yet. ”
Now the frogs began to croak in the marsh.
« Glorious! ” said the Chinese Court Preacher. "Now I hear
it — it sounds just like little church bells. ”
"No, those are frogs! ” said the little Kitchen-maid. “But
now I think we shall soon hear it. ”
And then the Nightingale began to sing.
« That is it! ) exclaimed the little Girl. "Listen, listen! and
yonder it sits. ”
And she pointed to a little gray bird up in the boughs.
"Is it possible ? ” cried the Cavalier. "I should never have
thought it looked like that! How simple it looks! It must cer-
tainly have lost its color at seeing so many famous people
around. ”
"Little Nightingale! ” called the little Kitchen-maid, quite
loudly, our gracious Emperor wishes you to sing before him. ”
“With the greatest pleasure! ” replied the Nightingale, and
sang so that it was a joy to hear it.
It sounds just like glass bells! ” said the Cavalier. “And
look at its little throat, how it's working! It's wonderful that we
should never have heard it before. That bird will be a great
success at court. ”
«Shall I sing once more before the Emperor ? ” asked the
Nightingale, for it thought the Emperor was present.
"My excellent little Nightingale," said the Cavalier, "I have
great pleasure in inviting you to a court festival this evening,
when you shall charm his Imperial Majesty with your beautiful
singing. ”
“My song sounds best in the greenwood! ” replied the Night-
ingale; still it came willingly when it heard what the Emperor
wished.
In the palace there was a great brushing up. The walls and
the floor, which were of porcelain, shone with many thousand
golden lamps. The most glorious flowers, which could ring
clearly, had been placed in the halls. There was a running to
and fro, and a draught of air, but all the bells rang so exactly
together that one could not hear any noise.
In the midst of the great hall, where the Emperor sat, a
golden perch had been placed, on which the Nightingale was to
sit. The whole court was there, and the little Cook-maid had
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HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
529
leave to stand behind the door, as she had now received the title
of a real cook-maid. All were in full dress, and all looked at
the little gray bird, to which the Emperor nodded.
And the Nightingale sang so gloriously that the tears came
into the Emperor's eyes, and the tears ran down over his cheeks;
and then the Nightingale sang still more sweetly; that went
straight to the heart. The Emperor was happy, and he said the
Nightingale should have his golden slipper to wear round its
neck. But the Nightingale thanked him, it had already got
reward enough.
"I have seen tears in the Emperor's eyes — that is the real
treasure to me. An Emperor's tears have a strange power.
I
am paid enough! ” Then it sang again with a sweet, glorious
voice.
That's the most lovely way of making love I ever saw! )
said the ladies who stood round about, and then they took water
in their mouths to gurgle when any one spoke to them. They
thought they should be nightingales too. And the lackeys and
maids let it be known that they were pleased too; and that was
saying a good deal, for they are the hardest of all to please. In
short, the Nightingale made a real hit.
It was now to remain at court, to have its own cage, with
freedom to go out twice every day and once at night. It had
twelve servants, and they all had a silken string tied to the
bird's leg which they held very tight. There was really no
pleasure in going out.
The whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and when two
people met, one said nothing but Nightin," and the other said
"gale”; and then they sighed, and understood one another.
Eleven storekeepers' children were named after the bird, but not
one of them could sing a note.
II — THE TOY NIGHTINGALE
One day a large parcel came to the Emperor, on which was
written «The Nightingale. ”
Here we have a new book about this famous bird,” said the
Emperor.
But it was not a book: it was a little work of art, that lay in
a box; a toy nightingale, which was to sing like a live one, but
II-34
## p. 530 (#568) ############################################
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HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
it was all covered with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. So soon
as the toy bird was wound up, he could sing one of the pieces
that the real one sang, and then his tail moved up and down,
and shone with silver and gold. Round his neck hung a little
ribbon, and on that was written, “The Emperor of Japan's
Nightingale is poor beside that of the Emperor in China. ”
“That is capital! ” said they all, and he who had brought the
toy bird at once got the title Imperial Head-Nightingale-Bringer.
“Now they must sing together: what a duet that will be!
And so they had to sing together; but it did not sound very
well, for the real Nightingale sang in its own way, and the toy
bird sang waltzes.
« That's not its fault,” said the Play-master: "it's quite per-
fect, and very much in my style. ”
Now the toy bird was to sing alone. It made just as much of
a hit as the real one, and then it was so much more fine to look
at - it shone like bracelets and breastpins.
Three-and-thirty times over did it sing the same piece, and yet
was not tired. The people would gladly have heard it again, but
the Emperor said that the living Nightingale ought to sing a little
something. But where was it? No one had noticed that it had
flown away, out of the open window, back to its green woods.
« But what is become cf it ? asked the Emperor.
Then all the courtiers scolded, and thought the Nightingale
was a very thankless creature.
“We have the best bird, after all,” said they.
And so the toy bird had to sing again, and this was the thirty-
fourth time they had listened to the same piece. For all that,
they did not know it quite by heart, for it was so very difficult.
And the Play-master praised the bird highly; yes, he declared that
it was better than the real Nightingale, not only in its feathers
and its many beautiful diamonds, but inside as well.
"For you see, ladies and gentlemen, and above all, your Im-
perial Majesty, with the real Nightingale one can never make
sure what is coming, but in this toy bird everything is settled. It
is just so, and not any other way. One can explain it; one can
open it, and can show how much thought went to making it,
where the waltzes come from, how they go, and how one follows
another. ”
“Those are quite our own ideas,” they all said. And the Play-
master got leave to show the bird to the people on the next
-
## p. 531 (#569) ############################################
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531
Sunday. The people were to hear it sing too, said the Emperor;
and they did hear it, and were as much pleased as if they had all
had tea, for that's quite the Chinese fashion; and they all said
"Oh! ” and held their forefingers up in the air and nodded. But
the poor Fisherman, who had heard the real Nightingale, said: --
“It sounds pretty enough, and it's a little like, but there's
something wanting, though I know not what ! »
The real Nightingale was exiled from the land and empire.
The toy bird had its place on a silken cushion close to the
Emperor's bed. All the presents it had received, gold and pre-
cious stones, were ranged about it. In title it had come to be
High Imperial After-Dinner-Singer, and in rank it was Number
One on the left hand; for the Emperor reckoned that side the most
important on which the heart is placed, and even in an Emperor
the heart is on the left side. And the Play-master wrote a work
of five-and-twenty volumes about the toy bird: it was so learned
and so long, full of the most difficult Chinese words, that all the
people said they had read it and understood it, or else they would
have been thought stupid, and would have had their bodies tram-
pled on.
So a whole year went by. The Emperor, the court, and all
the other Chinese knew every little twitter in the toy bird's song
by heart. But just for that reason it pleased them best -- they
could sing with it themselves, and they did so. The street boys
sang, «Tsi-tsi-tsi-glug-glug! ” and the Emperor himself sang it
too. Yes, that was certainly famous.
But one evening, when the toy bird was singing its best, and
the Emperor lay in bed and heard it, something inside the bird
said, “Svup! ” Something cracked. “Whir-r-r! ” All the wheels
ran round, and then the music stopped.
The Emperor jumped at once out of bed, and had his own
doctor called; but what could he do? Then they sent for a watch-
maker, and after a good deal of talking and looking, he got the
bird into some sort of order; but he said that it must be looked
after a good deal, for the barrels were worn, and he could not
put new ones in in such a manner that the music would go.
There was a great to-do; only once in a year did they dare to let
the bird sing, and that was almost too much. But then the Play-
master made a little speech, full of heavy words, and said this
was just as good as before —— and so, of course, it was as good as
before.
## p. 532 (#570) ############################################
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HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
III — THE REAL NIGHTINGALE AGAIN
ran
to pay
Five years had gone by, and a real grief came upon the whole
nation. The Chinese were really fond of their Emperor, and now
he was sick, and could not, it was said, live much longer. Al-
ready a new Emperor had been chosen, and the people stood out
in the street and asked the Cavalier' how their old Emperor did.
“P! ” said he, and shook his head.
Cold and pale lay the Emperor in his great, gorgeous bed;
the whole court thought him dead, and each one
respect to the new ruler. The chamberlains ran out to talk it
over, and the ladies’-maids had a great coffee party. All about,
in all the halls and passages, cloth had been laid down so that no
one could be heard go by, and therefore it was quiet there, quite
quiet. But the Emperor was not dead yet: stiff and pale he lay
on the gorgeous bed with the long velvet curtains and the heavy
gold tassels; high up, a window stood open, and the moon shone
in upon the Emperor and the toy bird.
The poor Emperor could scarcely breathe; it was just as if
something lay upon his breast. He opened his eyes, and then he
saw that it was Death who sat upon his breast, and had put on
his golden crown, and held in one hand the Emperor's sword,
and in the other his beautiful banner. And all around, from
among the folds of the splendid velvet curtains, strange heads
peered forth; a few very ugly, the rest quite lovely and mild.
These were all the Emperor's bad and good deeds, that stood
before him now that Death sat upon his heart.
“Do you remember this ? ” whispered one to the other. "Do
you remember that ? ” and then they told him so much that the
sweat ran from his forehead.
"I did not know that! ” said the Emperor. “Music! music!
the great Chinese drum! ” he cried, “so that I need not hear all
they say! ”
And they kept on, and Death nodded like a Chinaman to all
they said.
«Music! music! ” cried the Emperor. “You little precious
golden bird, sing, sing! I have given you gold and costly pres-
ents; I have even hung my golden slipper around your neck —
sing now, sing! ”
But the bird stood still, no one was there to wind him up,
and he could not sing without that; but Death kept on staring
## p. 533 (#571) ############################################
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533
ers.
at the Emperor with his great hollow eyes, and it was quiet,
fearfully quiet.
Then there sounded close by the window the most lovely
song. It was the little live Nightingale, that sat outside on a
spray It had heard of the Emperor's need, and had come to
sing to him of trust and hope. And as it sang the spectres grew
paler and paler; the blood ran more and more quickly through
the Emperor's weak limbs, and Death himself listened, and
said:
Go on, little Nightingale, go on! ”
“But will you give me that splendid golden sword? Will you
give me that rich banner? Will you give me the Emperor's
crown ? »
And Death gave up each of these treasures for a song.
And
the Nightingale sang on and on; it sang of the quiet church-
yard where the white roses grow, where the elder-blossom smells
sweet, and where the fresh grass is wet with the tears of mourn-
Then Death felt a longing to see his garden, and floated
out at the window in the form of a cold, white mist.
« Thanks! thanks! ” said the Emperor. “You heavenly little
bird! I know you well. I drove you from my land and empire,
and yet you have charmed away the evil faces from my bed, and
driven Death from my heart! How can I pay you ? ”
"You have paid me! ” replied the Nightingale. I drew tears
from your eyes, the first time I sang- I shall never forget that.
Those are the jewels that make a singer's heart glad.
But now
sleep and grow fresh and strong again. I will sing you some-
thing. "
And it sang, and the Emperor fell into a sweet sleep. Ah!
how mild and refreshing that sleep was! The sun shone upon
him through the windows, when he awoke strong and sound.
Not one of his servants had yet come back, for they all thought
that he was dead; but the Nightingale still sat beside him and
sang.
“You must always stay with me,” said the Emperor. “You
shall sing as you please; and I'll break the toy bird into a thou-
sand pieces. ”
“Not so," replied the Nightingale. “It did well as long as it
could; keep it as you have done till now. I cannot build my
nest in the palace to dwell in it, but let me come when I feel
the wish; then I will sit in the evening on the spray yonder by
c
(
.
## p. 534 (#572) ############################################
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HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.
I love your
>
the window, and sing for you, so that you may be glad and
thoughtful at once. I will sing of those who are happy and of
those who suffer. I will sing of good and of evil that remain
hidden round about you. The little singing bird flies far around,
to the poor fisherman, to the peasant's roof, to every one who
dwells far away from you and from
your court.
heart more than your crown, and yet the crown has an air of
sanctity about it. I will come and sing to you — but one thing
you must promise me. ”
“Everything! ” said the Emperor; and he stood there in his
royal robes, which he had put on himself, and pressed the sword
which was heavy with gold to his heart.
“One thing I beg of you: tell no one that you have a little
bird who tells you everything. Then all will go well. ”
And the Nightingale flew away. '
The servants came in to look on their dead Emperor, and
yes, there he stood, and the Emperor said, "Good-morning! ”
((
»
THE MARKET PLACE AT ODENSE (1836)
From The Story of My Life)
F
I
(
THE reader was a child who lived in Odense, he would just
need to say the words “St. Knud's Fair,” and it would rise
before him in the brightest colors, lighted by the beams of
childish fancy.
Somewhere near the middle of the town,
five streets meet and make a little square.
There the
town crier, in striped homespun, with a yellow bandoleer, beat his
drum and proclaimed from a scroll the splendid things to be seen
in the town.
“He beats a good drum,” said the chamberlain.
«It would delight Spontini and Rossini to hear the fellow,”
said William. “Really, Odense at New Year would just suit
these composers.
The drums and fifes are in their glory. They
drum the New Year in. Seven or eight little drummers, or fifers,
go from door to door, with troops of children and old women,
and they beat the drum-taps and the reveille. That fetches the
.
pennies. Then when the New Year is well drummed in the city,
they go into the country and drum for meat and porridge. The
drumming in of the New Year lasts until Lent. ”
## p. 535 (#573) ############################################
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535
»
.
“And then we have new sports,” said the chamberlain. “The
fishers come from Stege with a full band, and on their shoulders
a boat with all sorts of flags.
Then they lay a board
between two boats, and on this two of the youngest and spryest
wrestle till one falls into the water.
But all the fun's
gone now. When I was young, there was different sport going.
That was a sight! the corporation procession with the banners
and the harlequin atop, and at Shrovetide, when the butchers led
about an ox decked with ribbons and carnival twigs, with a boy
on his back with wings and a little shirt.
All that's past
now, people are got so fine. St. Knud's Fair is not what it used
to be. »
(
Well, I'm glad it isn't,” said William; “but let us go into
the market and look at the Jutlanders, who are sitting with their
pottery amidst the hay. ”
Just as the various professions in the Middle Ages had each
its quarter, so here the shoemakers had ranged their tables side
by side, and behind them stood the skillful workman in his long
coat, and with his well-brushed felt hat in his hand. Where the
shoemakers' quarter ended, the hatters' began, and there one was
in the midst of the great market where tents and booths formed
many parallel streets. The milliners, the goldsmiths, the pastry
cooks, with booths of canvas and wood, were the chief attractions.
Ribbons and handkerchiefs fluttered. Noise and bustle was every-
where. The girls from the same village always went in rows,
seven or eight inseparables, with hands fast clasped.
It was
impossible to break the chain; and if you tried to pass through,
the whole band wound itself into a clump. Behind the booth was
a great space with wooden shoes, pottery, turners' and saddlers'
wares. Rude and rough toys were spread on tables. Around
them children were trying little trumpets, or moving about the
playthings. Country girls twirled and twisted the work-boxes and
themselves many a time before making their bargain. The air
was thick and heavy with odors that were spiced with the smell
of honey-cake.
On Fair day, St. Knud's Church and all its tombs are open to
the public. From whatever side you look at this fine old build-
ing it has something imposing, with its high tower and spire.
The interior produces the same, perhaps a greater, effect. But
its full impression is not felt on entering it, nor until you get to
the main aisle. There all is grand, beautiful, light. The whole
## p. 536 (#574) ############################################
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HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
interior is bright with gilding. Up in the high vaulted roof there
shine, since old time, a multitude of golden stars. On both
sides, high up above the side aisles, are great gothic windows
from which the light streams down. The side aisles are painted
with oil portraits, whole families, women and children, all in cler-
ical dress, with long gowns and deep ruffs. Usually the figures
are ranged by ages, the eldest first and then down to the very
smallest.
They all stand with folded hands, and look piously down
before them, till their colors have gradually faded away in dust.
THE ANDERSEN JUBILEE AT ODENSE
From The Story of My Life)
I
HEARD on the morning of December 6th [1867] that the town
was decorated, that all the schools had a holiday, because it
was my festival. I felt myself as humble, meek, and poor as
though I stood before my God. Every weakness or error or sin,
in thought, word, and deed, was revealed to me. All stood out
strangely clear in my soul, as though it were doomsday - and it
was my festival.
God knows how humble I felt when men
exalted and honored me so.
Then came the first telegram from the Student Club.
I saw
that they shared and did not envy my joy. Then came a dis-
patch from a private club of students in Copenhagen, and from
the Artisans' Club of Slagelse. You will remember that I went
to school in that town, and was therefore attached to it. Soon
followed messages from sympathetic friends in Aarhuus, in Stege;
telegram on telegram from all around. One of these was read
aloud by Privy Councillor Koch. It was from the king. The
assembly burst out in applause. Every cloud and shadow in my
soul vanished!
How happy I was! And yet man must not exalt himself. I
was to feel that I was only a poor child of humanity, bound by
the frailty of earth. I suffered from a dreadful toothache, which
was increased unbearably by the heat and excitement.
Yet at
evening I read a Wonder Story for the little friends. Then the
deputation came from the town corporations, with torches and
waving banners through the street, to the guild-hall.
And now
the prophecy was to be fulfilled that the old woman gave when
## p. 537 (#575) ############################################
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
537
I left home as a boy. Odense was to be illuminated for me.
I stepped to the open window. All was aglow with torchlight,
the square was filled with people. Songs swelled up to me.
I was overcome, emotionally. Physically racked with pain, I could
not enjoy this crowning fruit of my life, the toothache was so
intolerable. The ice-cold air that blew against me fanned the
pain to an awful intensity, and, instead of enjoying the bliss
of these never-to-be-repeated moments, I looked at the printed
song to see how many verses had to be sung before I could step
away from the torture which the cold air sent through my teeth.
It was the acme of suffering. As the glow of the piled-up
torches subsided, my pain subsided too. How thankful I
was,
though! Gentle eyes were fastened upon me all around. All
wanted to speak with me, to press my hand. Tired out, I
reached the bishop's house and sought rest. But I got no sleep
till toward morning, so filled and overflowing was I.
(MISERERE) IN THE SIXTINE CHAPEL
From «The Improvisatore): Translation by Mary Howitt
ON
N WEDNESDAY afternoon began the Miserere in the Sixtine
Chapel. My soul longed for music; in the world of mel-
ody I could find sympathy and consolation. The throng
was great, even within the chapel — the foremost division was
already filled with ladies. Magnificent boxes, hung with velvet
and golden draperies for royal personages and foreigners from
various courts, were here erected so high that they looked out
beyond the richly carved railing which separated the ladies from
the interior of the chapel. The papal Swiss Guards stood in
their bright festal array. The officers wore light armor, and in
their helmets a waving plume.
The old cardinals entered
in their magnificent scarlet velvet cloaks, with their white ermine
capes, and seated themselves side by side in a great half-circle
within the barrier, while the priests who had carried their trains
seated themselves at their feet. By the little side door of the
altar the holy father now entered, in his scarlet mantle and silver
tiara. He ascended his throne. Bishops swung the vessels of
incense around him, while young priests, in scarlet vestments,
knelt, with lighted torches in their hands, before him and the
high altar.
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HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
The reading of the lessons began. But it was impossible to
keep the eyes fixed on the lifeless letters of the Missal — they
raised themselves, with the thoughts, to the vast universe which
Michael Angelo has breathed forth in colors upon the ceiling and
the walls. I contemplated his mighty sibyls and wondrously
glorious prophets, - every one of them a subject for a painting.
My eyes drank in the magnificent processions, the beautiful
groups of angels; they were not, to me, painted pictures;— all
stood living before me. The rich tree of knowledge, from which
Eve gave the fruit to Adam; the Almighty God, who floated
over the waters ,- not borne up by angels, as the older masters
had represented him -- no, the company of angels rested upon
him and his fluttering garments. It is true, I had seen these
pictures before, but never as now had they seized upon me. My
excited state of mind, the crowd of people, perhaps even the
lyric of my thoughts, made me wonderfully alive to poetical
impressions; and many a poet's heart has felt as mine did!
The bold foreshortenings, the determinate force with which
every figure steps forward, is amazing, and carries one quite
away! It is a spiritual Sermon on the Mount, in color and form.
Like Raphael, we stand in astonishment before the power of
Michael Angelo. Every prophet is a Moses, like that which he
formed in marble. What giant forms are those which seize upon
our eye and our thoughts as we enter! But when intoxicated
with this view, let us turn our eyes to the background of the
chapel, whose whole wall is a high altar of art and thought.
The great chaotic picture, from the floor to the roof, shows itself
there like a jewel, of which all the rest is only the setting. We
see there the Last Judgment.
Christ stands in judgment upon the clouds, and his Mother
and the Apostles stretch forth their hands beseechingly for the
poor human race. The dead raise the gravestones under which
they have lain; blessed spirits adoring, float upward to God,
while the abyss seizes its victims. Here one of the ascending
spirits seeks to save his condemned brother, whom the abyss
already embraces in its snaky folds. The children of despair
strike their clenched fists upon their brows, and sink into the
depths! In bold foreshortenings, float and tumble whole legions
between heaven and earth. The sympathy of the angels, the
expression of lovers who meet, the child that at the sound of the
trumpet clings to the mother's breast, are so natural and beautiful
## p. 539 (#577) ############################################
ANEURIN
539
that one believes one's self to be among those who are waiting
for judgment. Michael Angelo has expressed in colors what
Dante saw and has sung to the generations of the earth.
The descending sun at that moment threw his last beams in
through the uppermost window. Christ, and the blessed around
him, were strongly lighted up; while the lower part, where the
dead arose, and the demons thrust their boat laden with the
damned from the shore, were almost in darkness.
Just as the sun went down the last lesson was ended, the
last light which now remained was extinguished, and the whole
picture world vanished in the gloom from before me; but in that
same moment burst forth music and singing. That which color
had bodily revealed arose now in sound; the day of judgment,
with its despair and its exultation, resounded above us.
The father of the church, stripped of his papal pomp, stood
before the altar, and prayed to the holy cross; and upon the
wings of the trumpet resounded the trembling choir, "Populus
meus quid feci tibi ? ) Soft angel-tones rose above the deep
song, tones which ascended not from a human breast: it was not
a man's nor a woman's; it belonged to the world of spirits; it
was like the weeping of angels dissolved in melody.
ANEURIN
(Sixth Century A. D. )
MONG the triad of singers - Llywarch, prince and bard, Aneu-
rin, warrior and bard, and Taliessin, bard only — who were
among the followers of the heroic British chief Urien, when
he bravely but unsuccessfully resisted the invasion of the victorious
Angles and Saxons, Aneurin was famous both as poet and warrior.
He sang of the long struggle that eventually was to turn Briton into
England, and celebrated in his ‘Gododin' ninety of the fallen Cymric
chiefs. The notes of his life are scanty, and are drawn chiefly from
his allusion to himself in his poem. He was the son of Cwm Caw-
lwyd, a chief of the tribe of Gododin. He seems to have been
educated at St. Cadoc's College at Llancarvan, and afterwards entered
the bardic order. As appears from the ‘Gododin,' he was present at
the battle of Cattræth both as bard and as priest. He fled, but was
## p. 540 (#578) ############################################
540
ANEURIN
taken prisoner. In his poem he refers to the hardships he endured in
his captivity. After his release he returned to Llancarvan, Wales,
and in his old age he went north to live with his brother in Gallo-
way. Here he was murdered; his death is referred to as one of the
three accursed hatchet-strokes of the isle of Britain. " His friendship
with Taliessin is commemorated by both bards.
The Gododin' is at once the longest and the most important
composition in early Welsh literature. It has been variously inter-
preted, but is thought to celebrate the battle of Cattræth. This battle
was fought in 570 between the Britons, who had formed a league to
defend their country, and their Teutonic invaders. It “began on a
Tuesday, lasted for a week, and ended with great slaughter of the
Britons, who fought desperately till they perished on the field. ”
Three hundred and sixty chieftains were slain; only three escaped by
flight, among whom was Aneurin, who afterwards commemorated the
slaughter in the "Gododin,' a lament for the dead. Ninety-seven of
the stanzas remain. In various measures of alliterative and assonant
verse they sing the praises of ninety of the fallen chiefs, usually
giving one stanza to each hero. One of these stanzas is known to
readers of Gray, who translated it under the name of “The Death of
Hoel. '
Again the “Gododinis assumed to be, like many early epic
poems whose origin is wrapped in mystery, not the commemoration
of one single, particular event, but a collection of lays composed at
various times, which compresses into one battle the long and disas-
trous period of the Anglo-Saxon invasion, ending in the subjugation
of the Britons.
But whatever its history, the 'Gododin' is one of the finest monu-
ments of Cymric literature. In the brevity of the narrative, the
careless boldness of the actors as they present themselves, the con-
densed energy of the action, and the fierce exultation of the slaughter,
together with the recurring elegiac note, this poem (or poems if it
be the work of two authors) has some of the highest epic qualities.
The ideas and manners are in harmony with the age and the country
to which it is referred. )
Like all early songs, the poem was handed down through cen-
turies by oral tradition. It is now preserved in the Book of An-
eurin,' a small quarto manuscript of nineteen leaves of vellum, of
the end of the thirteenth century.
The (Gododin' has been published with an English translation
and notes by the Rev. J. Williams (1852); and by the Cymmrodorion
Society, with a translation by Thomas Stevens, in 1885. Interesting
information covering it may be found in Skene's Four Ancient Books
of Wales) (1866), and in the article Celtic Literature in this work.
## p. 541 (#579) ############################################
ANEURIN
541
THE SLAYING OF OWAIN
[During the battle a conference was held, at which the British leaders
demanded as a condition of peace that part of the land of Gododin be restored.
stood written there.
“What's that ? exclaimed the Emperor. « The Nightingale ?
I don't know that at all! Is there such a bird in my empire, and
in my garden to boot? I've never heard of that. One has to
read about such things. ”
Hereupon he called his Cavalier, who was so grand that if any
one lower in rank than he dared to speak to him, or to ask him
any question, he answered nothing but “P! "--and that meant
nothing.
« There is said to be a strange bird here called a Nightin-
gale! ” said the Emperor. “They say it is the best thing in all
my great empire. Why has no ever told me anything
about it ? »
"I have never heard it named,” replied the Cavalier. « It has
never been presented at court. ”
one
1
-
-
## p. 527 (#565) ############################################
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
527
"I command that it shall come here this evening, and sing
before me,” said the Emperor. "All the world knows what I
have, and I do not know it myself ! ”
"I have never heard it mentioned,” said the Cavalier. "I will
seek for it. I will find it. ”
But where was it to be found ? The Cavalier ran up and
down all the stairs, through halls and passages, but no one
among all those whom he met had heard talk of the Nightingale.
And the Cavalier ran back to the Emperor, and said that it must
be a fable made up by those who write books.
“Your Imperial Majesty must not believe what is written. It
is fiction, and something that they call the black art.
But the book in which I read this,” said the Emperor, was
sent to me by the high and mighty Emperor of Japan, and so it
cannot be a falsehood. I will hear the Nightingale! It must be
here this evening! It has my high favor; and if it does not
come, all the court shall be trampled upon after it has supped! ”
«Tsing-pe! ” said the Cavalier; and again he ran up and down
all the stairs, and through all the halls and passages, and half
the court ran with him, for the courtiers did not like being
trampled upon. There was a great inquiry after the wonderful
Nightingale, which all the world knew, but not the people at
court.
At last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen. She
said:
“The Nightingale ? I know it well; yes, how it can sing!
Every evening I get leave to carry my poor sick mother the
scraps from the table. She lives down by the beach, and when
I get back and am tired, and rest in the wood, then I hear the
Nightingale sing. And then the tears come into my eyes, and it
is just as if my mother kissed me! ”
Little Kitchen-girl," said the Cavalier, "I will get you a
fixed place in the kitchen, with leave to see the Emperor dine,
if you will lead us to the Nightingale, for it is promised for this
evening. "
So they all went out into the wood where the Nightingale
was wont to sing; half the court went out. When they were on
the way, a cow began to low.
“Oh! ” cried the court pages, “now we have it! That shows
a great power in so small a creature! We have certainly heard it
before. ”
## p. 528 (#566) ############################################
528
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
are
"No, those cows mooing! ” said the little Kitchen-girl.
“We are a long way from the place yet. ”
Now the frogs began to croak in the marsh.
« Glorious! ” said the Chinese Court Preacher. "Now I hear
it — it sounds just like little church bells. ”
"No, those are frogs! ” said the little Kitchen-maid. “But
now I think we shall soon hear it. ”
And then the Nightingale began to sing.
« That is it! ) exclaimed the little Girl. "Listen, listen! and
yonder it sits. ”
And she pointed to a little gray bird up in the boughs.
"Is it possible ? ” cried the Cavalier. "I should never have
thought it looked like that! How simple it looks! It must cer-
tainly have lost its color at seeing so many famous people
around. ”
"Little Nightingale! ” called the little Kitchen-maid, quite
loudly, our gracious Emperor wishes you to sing before him. ”
“With the greatest pleasure! ” replied the Nightingale, and
sang so that it was a joy to hear it.
It sounds just like glass bells! ” said the Cavalier. “And
look at its little throat, how it's working! It's wonderful that we
should never have heard it before. That bird will be a great
success at court. ”
«Shall I sing once more before the Emperor ? ” asked the
Nightingale, for it thought the Emperor was present.
"My excellent little Nightingale," said the Cavalier, "I have
great pleasure in inviting you to a court festival this evening,
when you shall charm his Imperial Majesty with your beautiful
singing. ”
“My song sounds best in the greenwood! ” replied the Night-
ingale; still it came willingly when it heard what the Emperor
wished.
In the palace there was a great brushing up. The walls and
the floor, which were of porcelain, shone with many thousand
golden lamps. The most glorious flowers, which could ring
clearly, had been placed in the halls. There was a running to
and fro, and a draught of air, but all the bells rang so exactly
together that one could not hear any noise.
In the midst of the great hall, where the Emperor sat, a
golden perch had been placed, on which the Nightingale was to
sit. The whole court was there, and the little Cook-maid had
## p. 529 (#567) ############################################
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
529
leave to stand behind the door, as she had now received the title
of a real cook-maid. All were in full dress, and all looked at
the little gray bird, to which the Emperor nodded.
And the Nightingale sang so gloriously that the tears came
into the Emperor's eyes, and the tears ran down over his cheeks;
and then the Nightingale sang still more sweetly; that went
straight to the heart. The Emperor was happy, and he said the
Nightingale should have his golden slipper to wear round its
neck. But the Nightingale thanked him, it had already got
reward enough.
"I have seen tears in the Emperor's eyes — that is the real
treasure to me. An Emperor's tears have a strange power.
I
am paid enough! ” Then it sang again with a sweet, glorious
voice.
That's the most lovely way of making love I ever saw! )
said the ladies who stood round about, and then they took water
in their mouths to gurgle when any one spoke to them. They
thought they should be nightingales too. And the lackeys and
maids let it be known that they were pleased too; and that was
saying a good deal, for they are the hardest of all to please. In
short, the Nightingale made a real hit.
It was now to remain at court, to have its own cage, with
freedom to go out twice every day and once at night. It had
twelve servants, and they all had a silken string tied to the
bird's leg which they held very tight. There was really no
pleasure in going out.
The whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and when two
people met, one said nothing but Nightin," and the other said
"gale”; and then they sighed, and understood one another.
Eleven storekeepers' children were named after the bird, but not
one of them could sing a note.
II — THE TOY NIGHTINGALE
One day a large parcel came to the Emperor, on which was
written «The Nightingale. ”
Here we have a new book about this famous bird,” said the
Emperor.
But it was not a book: it was a little work of art, that lay in
a box; a toy nightingale, which was to sing like a live one, but
II-34
## p. 530 (#568) ############################################
530
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
it was all covered with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. So soon
as the toy bird was wound up, he could sing one of the pieces
that the real one sang, and then his tail moved up and down,
and shone with silver and gold. Round his neck hung a little
ribbon, and on that was written, “The Emperor of Japan's
Nightingale is poor beside that of the Emperor in China. ”
“That is capital! ” said they all, and he who had brought the
toy bird at once got the title Imperial Head-Nightingale-Bringer.
“Now they must sing together: what a duet that will be!
And so they had to sing together; but it did not sound very
well, for the real Nightingale sang in its own way, and the toy
bird sang waltzes.
« That's not its fault,” said the Play-master: "it's quite per-
fect, and very much in my style. ”
Now the toy bird was to sing alone. It made just as much of
a hit as the real one, and then it was so much more fine to look
at - it shone like bracelets and breastpins.
Three-and-thirty times over did it sing the same piece, and yet
was not tired. The people would gladly have heard it again, but
the Emperor said that the living Nightingale ought to sing a little
something. But where was it? No one had noticed that it had
flown away, out of the open window, back to its green woods.
« But what is become cf it ? asked the Emperor.
Then all the courtiers scolded, and thought the Nightingale
was a very thankless creature.
“We have the best bird, after all,” said they.
And so the toy bird had to sing again, and this was the thirty-
fourth time they had listened to the same piece. For all that,
they did not know it quite by heart, for it was so very difficult.
And the Play-master praised the bird highly; yes, he declared that
it was better than the real Nightingale, not only in its feathers
and its many beautiful diamonds, but inside as well.
"For you see, ladies and gentlemen, and above all, your Im-
perial Majesty, with the real Nightingale one can never make
sure what is coming, but in this toy bird everything is settled. It
is just so, and not any other way. One can explain it; one can
open it, and can show how much thought went to making it,
where the waltzes come from, how they go, and how one follows
another. ”
“Those are quite our own ideas,” they all said. And the Play-
master got leave to show the bird to the people on the next
-
## p. 531 (#569) ############################################
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
531
Sunday. The people were to hear it sing too, said the Emperor;
and they did hear it, and were as much pleased as if they had all
had tea, for that's quite the Chinese fashion; and they all said
"Oh! ” and held their forefingers up in the air and nodded. But
the poor Fisherman, who had heard the real Nightingale, said: --
“It sounds pretty enough, and it's a little like, but there's
something wanting, though I know not what ! »
The real Nightingale was exiled from the land and empire.
The toy bird had its place on a silken cushion close to the
Emperor's bed. All the presents it had received, gold and pre-
cious stones, were ranged about it. In title it had come to be
High Imperial After-Dinner-Singer, and in rank it was Number
One on the left hand; for the Emperor reckoned that side the most
important on which the heart is placed, and even in an Emperor
the heart is on the left side. And the Play-master wrote a work
of five-and-twenty volumes about the toy bird: it was so learned
and so long, full of the most difficult Chinese words, that all the
people said they had read it and understood it, or else they would
have been thought stupid, and would have had their bodies tram-
pled on.
So a whole year went by. The Emperor, the court, and all
the other Chinese knew every little twitter in the toy bird's song
by heart. But just for that reason it pleased them best -- they
could sing with it themselves, and they did so. The street boys
sang, «Tsi-tsi-tsi-glug-glug! ” and the Emperor himself sang it
too. Yes, that was certainly famous.
But one evening, when the toy bird was singing its best, and
the Emperor lay in bed and heard it, something inside the bird
said, “Svup! ” Something cracked. “Whir-r-r! ” All the wheels
ran round, and then the music stopped.
The Emperor jumped at once out of bed, and had his own
doctor called; but what could he do? Then they sent for a watch-
maker, and after a good deal of talking and looking, he got the
bird into some sort of order; but he said that it must be looked
after a good deal, for the barrels were worn, and he could not
put new ones in in such a manner that the music would go.
There was a great to-do; only once in a year did they dare to let
the bird sing, and that was almost too much. But then the Play-
master made a little speech, full of heavy words, and said this
was just as good as before —— and so, of course, it was as good as
before.
## p. 532 (#570) ############################################
532
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
III — THE REAL NIGHTINGALE AGAIN
ran
to pay
Five years had gone by, and a real grief came upon the whole
nation. The Chinese were really fond of their Emperor, and now
he was sick, and could not, it was said, live much longer. Al-
ready a new Emperor had been chosen, and the people stood out
in the street and asked the Cavalier' how their old Emperor did.
“P! ” said he, and shook his head.
Cold and pale lay the Emperor in his great, gorgeous bed;
the whole court thought him dead, and each one
respect to the new ruler. The chamberlains ran out to talk it
over, and the ladies’-maids had a great coffee party. All about,
in all the halls and passages, cloth had been laid down so that no
one could be heard go by, and therefore it was quiet there, quite
quiet. But the Emperor was not dead yet: stiff and pale he lay
on the gorgeous bed with the long velvet curtains and the heavy
gold tassels; high up, a window stood open, and the moon shone
in upon the Emperor and the toy bird.
The poor Emperor could scarcely breathe; it was just as if
something lay upon his breast. He opened his eyes, and then he
saw that it was Death who sat upon his breast, and had put on
his golden crown, and held in one hand the Emperor's sword,
and in the other his beautiful banner. And all around, from
among the folds of the splendid velvet curtains, strange heads
peered forth; a few very ugly, the rest quite lovely and mild.
These were all the Emperor's bad and good deeds, that stood
before him now that Death sat upon his heart.
“Do you remember this ? ” whispered one to the other. "Do
you remember that ? ” and then they told him so much that the
sweat ran from his forehead.
"I did not know that! ” said the Emperor. “Music! music!
the great Chinese drum! ” he cried, “so that I need not hear all
they say! ”
And they kept on, and Death nodded like a Chinaman to all
they said.
«Music! music! ” cried the Emperor. “You little precious
golden bird, sing, sing! I have given you gold and costly pres-
ents; I have even hung my golden slipper around your neck —
sing now, sing! ”
But the bird stood still, no one was there to wind him up,
and he could not sing without that; but Death kept on staring
## p. 533 (#571) ############################################
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
533
ers.
at the Emperor with his great hollow eyes, and it was quiet,
fearfully quiet.
Then there sounded close by the window the most lovely
song. It was the little live Nightingale, that sat outside on a
spray It had heard of the Emperor's need, and had come to
sing to him of trust and hope. And as it sang the spectres grew
paler and paler; the blood ran more and more quickly through
the Emperor's weak limbs, and Death himself listened, and
said:
Go on, little Nightingale, go on! ”
“But will you give me that splendid golden sword? Will you
give me that rich banner? Will you give me the Emperor's
crown ? »
And Death gave up each of these treasures for a song.
And
the Nightingale sang on and on; it sang of the quiet church-
yard where the white roses grow, where the elder-blossom smells
sweet, and where the fresh grass is wet with the tears of mourn-
Then Death felt a longing to see his garden, and floated
out at the window in the form of a cold, white mist.
« Thanks! thanks! ” said the Emperor. “You heavenly little
bird! I know you well. I drove you from my land and empire,
and yet you have charmed away the evil faces from my bed, and
driven Death from my heart! How can I pay you ? ”
"You have paid me! ” replied the Nightingale. I drew tears
from your eyes, the first time I sang- I shall never forget that.
Those are the jewels that make a singer's heart glad.
But now
sleep and grow fresh and strong again. I will sing you some-
thing. "
And it sang, and the Emperor fell into a sweet sleep. Ah!
how mild and refreshing that sleep was! The sun shone upon
him through the windows, when he awoke strong and sound.
Not one of his servants had yet come back, for they all thought
that he was dead; but the Nightingale still sat beside him and
sang.
“You must always stay with me,” said the Emperor. “You
shall sing as you please; and I'll break the toy bird into a thou-
sand pieces. ”
“Not so," replied the Nightingale. “It did well as long as it
could; keep it as you have done till now. I cannot build my
nest in the palace to dwell in it, but let me come when I feel
the wish; then I will sit in the evening on the spray yonder by
c
(
.
## p. 534 (#572) ############################################
534
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.
I love your
>
the window, and sing for you, so that you may be glad and
thoughtful at once. I will sing of those who are happy and of
those who suffer. I will sing of good and of evil that remain
hidden round about you. The little singing bird flies far around,
to the poor fisherman, to the peasant's roof, to every one who
dwells far away from you and from
your court.
heart more than your crown, and yet the crown has an air of
sanctity about it. I will come and sing to you — but one thing
you must promise me. ”
“Everything! ” said the Emperor; and he stood there in his
royal robes, which he had put on himself, and pressed the sword
which was heavy with gold to his heart.
“One thing I beg of you: tell no one that you have a little
bird who tells you everything. Then all will go well. ”
And the Nightingale flew away. '
The servants came in to look on their dead Emperor, and
yes, there he stood, and the Emperor said, "Good-morning! ”
((
»
THE MARKET PLACE AT ODENSE (1836)
From The Story of My Life)
F
I
(
THE reader was a child who lived in Odense, he would just
need to say the words “St. Knud's Fair,” and it would rise
before him in the brightest colors, lighted by the beams of
childish fancy.
Somewhere near the middle of the town,
five streets meet and make a little square.
There the
town crier, in striped homespun, with a yellow bandoleer, beat his
drum and proclaimed from a scroll the splendid things to be seen
in the town.
“He beats a good drum,” said the chamberlain.
«It would delight Spontini and Rossini to hear the fellow,”
said William. “Really, Odense at New Year would just suit
these composers.
The drums and fifes are in their glory. They
drum the New Year in. Seven or eight little drummers, or fifers,
go from door to door, with troops of children and old women,
and they beat the drum-taps and the reveille. That fetches the
.
pennies. Then when the New Year is well drummed in the city,
they go into the country and drum for meat and porridge. The
drumming in of the New Year lasts until Lent. ”
## p. 535 (#573) ############################################
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
535
»
.
“And then we have new sports,” said the chamberlain. “The
fishers come from Stege with a full band, and on their shoulders
a boat with all sorts of flags.
Then they lay a board
between two boats, and on this two of the youngest and spryest
wrestle till one falls into the water.
But all the fun's
gone now. When I was young, there was different sport going.
That was a sight! the corporation procession with the banners
and the harlequin atop, and at Shrovetide, when the butchers led
about an ox decked with ribbons and carnival twigs, with a boy
on his back with wings and a little shirt.
All that's past
now, people are got so fine. St. Knud's Fair is not what it used
to be. »
(
Well, I'm glad it isn't,” said William; “but let us go into
the market and look at the Jutlanders, who are sitting with their
pottery amidst the hay. ”
Just as the various professions in the Middle Ages had each
its quarter, so here the shoemakers had ranged their tables side
by side, and behind them stood the skillful workman in his long
coat, and with his well-brushed felt hat in his hand. Where the
shoemakers' quarter ended, the hatters' began, and there one was
in the midst of the great market where tents and booths formed
many parallel streets. The milliners, the goldsmiths, the pastry
cooks, with booths of canvas and wood, were the chief attractions.
Ribbons and handkerchiefs fluttered. Noise and bustle was every-
where. The girls from the same village always went in rows,
seven or eight inseparables, with hands fast clasped.
It was
impossible to break the chain; and if you tried to pass through,
the whole band wound itself into a clump. Behind the booth was
a great space with wooden shoes, pottery, turners' and saddlers'
wares. Rude and rough toys were spread on tables. Around
them children were trying little trumpets, or moving about the
playthings. Country girls twirled and twisted the work-boxes and
themselves many a time before making their bargain. The air
was thick and heavy with odors that were spiced with the smell
of honey-cake.
On Fair day, St. Knud's Church and all its tombs are open to
the public. From whatever side you look at this fine old build-
ing it has something imposing, with its high tower and spire.
The interior produces the same, perhaps a greater, effect. But
its full impression is not felt on entering it, nor until you get to
the main aisle. There all is grand, beautiful, light. The whole
## p. 536 (#574) ############################################
536
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
interior is bright with gilding. Up in the high vaulted roof there
shine, since old time, a multitude of golden stars. On both
sides, high up above the side aisles, are great gothic windows
from which the light streams down. The side aisles are painted
with oil portraits, whole families, women and children, all in cler-
ical dress, with long gowns and deep ruffs. Usually the figures
are ranged by ages, the eldest first and then down to the very
smallest.
They all stand with folded hands, and look piously down
before them, till their colors have gradually faded away in dust.
THE ANDERSEN JUBILEE AT ODENSE
From The Story of My Life)
I
HEARD on the morning of December 6th [1867] that the town
was decorated, that all the schools had a holiday, because it
was my festival. I felt myself as humble, meek, and poor as
though I stood before my God. Every weakness or error or sin,
in thought, word, and deed, was revealed to me. All stood out
strangely clear in my soul, as though it were doomsday - and it
was my festival.
God knows how humble I felt when men
exalted and honored me so.
Then came the first telegram from the Student Club.
I saw
that they shared and did not envy my joy. Then came a dis-
patch from a private club of students in Copenhagen, and from
the Artisans' Club of Slagelse. You will remember that I went
to school in that town, and was therefore attached to it. Soon
followed messages from sympathetic friends in Aarhuus, in Stege;
telegram on telegram from all around. One of these was read
aloud by Privy Councillor Koch. It was from the king. The
assembly burst out in applause. Every cloud and shadow in my
soul vanished!
How happy I was! And yet man must not exalt himself. I
was to feel that I was only a poor child of humanity, bound by
the frailty of earth. I suffered from a dreadful toothache, which
was increased unbearably by the heat and excitement.
Yet at
evening I read a Wonder Story for the little friends. Then the
deputation came from the town corporations, with torches and
waving banners through the street, to the guild-hall.
And now
the prophecy was to be fulfilled that the old woman gave when
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HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
537
I left home as a boy. Odense was to be illuminated for me.
I stepped to the open window. All was aglow with torchlight,
the square was filled with people. Songs swelled up to me.
I was overcome, emotionally. Physically racked with pain, I could
not enjoy this crowning fruit of my life, the toothache was so
intolerable. The ice-cold air that blew against me fanned the
pain to an awful intensity, and, instead of enjoying the bliss
of these never-to-be-repeated moments, I looked at the printed
song to see how many verses had to be sung before I could step
away from the torture which the cold air sent through my teeth.
It was the acme of suffering. As the glow of the piled-up
torches subsided, my pain subsided too. How thankful I
was,
though! Gentle eyes were fastened upon me all around. All
wanted to speak with me, to press my hand. Tired out, I
reached the bishop's house and sought rest. But I got no sleep
till toward morning, so filled and overflowing was I.
(MISERERE) IN THE SIXTINE CHAPEL
From «The Improvisatore): Translation by Mary Howitt
ON
N WEDNESDAY afternoon began the Miserere in the Sixtine
Chapel. My soul longed for music; in the world of mel-
ody I could find sympathy and consolation. The throng
was great, even within the chapel — the foremost division was
already filled with ladies. Magnificent boxes, hung with velvet
and golden draperies for royal personages and foreigners from
various courts, were here erected so high that they looked out
beyond the richly carved railing which separated the ladies from
the interior of the chapel. The papal Swiss Guards stood in
their bright festal array. The officers wore light armor, and in
their helmets a waving plume.
The old cardinals entered
in their magnificent scarlet velvet cloaks, with their white ermine
capes, and seated themselves side by side in a great half-circle
within the barrier, while the priests who had carried their trains
seated themselves at their feet. By the little side door of the
altar the holy father now entered, in his scarlet mantle and silver
tiara. He ascended his throne. Bishops swung the vessels of
incense around him, while young priests, in scarlet vestments,
knelt, with lighted torches in their hands, before him and the
high altar.
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538
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
The reading of the lessons began. But it was impossible to
keep the eyes fixed on the lifeless letters of the Missal — they
raised themselves, with the thoughts, to the vast universe which
Michael Angelo has breathed forth in colors upon the ceiling and
the walls. I contemplated his mighty sibyls and wondrously
glorious prophets, - every one of them a subject for a painting.
My eyes drank in the magnificent processions, the beautiful
groups of angels; they were not, to me, painted pictures;— all
stood living before me. The rich tree of knowledge, from which
Eve gave the fruit to Adam; the Almighty God, who floated
over the waters ,- not borne up by angels, as the older masters
had represented him -- no, the company of angels rested upon
him and his fluttering garments. It is true, I had seen these
pictures before, but never as now had they seized upon me. My
excited state of mind, the crowd of people, perhaps even the
lyric of my thoughts, made me wonderfully alive to poetical
impressions; and many a poet's heart has felt as mine did!
The bold foreshortenings, the determinate force with which
every figure steps forward, is amazing, and carries one quite
away! It is a spiritual Sermon on the Mount, in color and form.
Like Raphael, we stand in astonishment before the power of
Michael Angelo. Every prophet is a Moses, like that which he
formed in marble. What giant forms are those which seize upon
our eye and our thoughts as we enter! But when intoxicated
with this view, let us turn our eyes to the background of the
chapel, whose whole wall is a high altar of art and thought.
The great chaotic picture, from the floor to the roof, shows itself
there like a jewel, of which all the rest is only the setting. We
see there the Last Judgment.
Christ stands in judgment upon the clouds, and his Mother
and the Apostles stretch forth their hands beseechingly for the
poor human race. The dead raise the gravestones under which
they have lain; blessed spirits adoring, float upward to God,
while the abyss seizes its victims. Here one of the ascending
spirits seeks to save his condemned brother, whom the abyss
already embraces in its snaky folds. The children of despair
strike their clenched fists upon their brows, and sink into the
depths! In bold foreshortenings, float and tumble whole legions
between heaven and earth. The sympathy of the angels, the
expression of lovers who meet, the child that at the sound of the
trumpet clings to the mother's breast, are so natural and beautiful
## p. 539 (#577) ############################################
ANEURIN
539
that one believes one's self to be among those who are waiting
for judgment. Michael Angelo has expressed in colors what
Dante saw and has sung to the generations of the earth.
The descending sun at that moment threw his last beams in
through the uppermost window. Christ, and the blessed around
him, were strongly lighted up; while the lower part, where the
dead arose, and the demons thrust their boat laden with the
damned from the shore, were almost in darkness.
Just as the sun went down the last lesson was ended, the
last light which now remained was extinguished, and the whole
picture world vanished in the gloom from before me; but in that
same moment burst forth music and singing. That which color
had bodily revealed arose now in sound; the day of judgment,
with its despair and its exultation, resounded above us.
The father of the church, stripped of his papal pomp, stood
before the altar, and prayed to the holy cross; and upon the
wings of the trumpet resounded the trembling choir, "Populus
meus quid feci tibi ? ) Soft angel-tones rose above the deep
song, tones which ascended not from a human breast: it was not
a man's nor a woman's; it belonged to the world of spirits; it
was like the weeping of angels dissolved in melody.
ANEURIN
(Sixth Century A. D. )
MONG the triad of singers - Llywarch, prince and bard, Aneu-
rin, warrior and bard, and Taliessin, bard only — who were
among the followers of the heroic British chief Urien, when
he bravely but unsuccessfully resisted the invasion of the victorious
Angles and Saxons, Aneurin was famous both as poet and warrior.
He sang of the long struggle that eventually was to turn Briton into
England, and celebrated in his ‘Gododin' ninety of the fallen Cymric
chiefs. The notes of his life are scanty, and are drawn chiefly from
his allusion to himself in his poem. He was the son of Cwm Caw-
lwyd, a chief of the tribe of Gododin. He seems to have been
educated at St. Cadoc's College at Llancarvan, and afterwards entered
the bardic order. As appears from the ‘Gododin,' he was present at
the battle of Cattræth both as bard and as priest. He fled, but was
## p. 540 (#578) ############################################
540
ANEURIN
taken prisoner. In his poem he refers to the hardships he endured in
his captivity. After his release he returned to Llancarvan, Wales,
and in his old age he went north to live with his brother in Gallo-
way. Here he was murdered; his death is referred to as one of the
three accursed hatchet-strokes of the isle of Britain. " His friendship
with Taliessin is commemorated by both bards.
The Gododin' is at once the longest and the most important
composition in early Welsh literature. It has been variously inter-
preted, but is thought to celebrate the battle of Cattræth. This battle
was fought in 570 between the Britons, who had formed a league to
defend their country, and their Teutonic invaders. It “began on a
Tuesday, lasted for a week, and ended with great slaughter of the
Britons, who fought desperately till they perished on the field. ”
Three hundred and sixty chieftains were slain; only three escaped by
flight, among whom was Aneurin, who afterwards commemorated the
slaughter in the "Gododin,' a lament for the dead. Ninety-seven of
the stanzas remain. In various measures of alliterative and assonant
verse they sing the praises of ninety of the fallen chiefs, usually
giving one stanza to each hero. One of these stanzas is known to
readers of Gray, who translated it under the name of “The Death of
Hoel. '
Again the “Gododinis assumed to be, like many early epic
poems whose origin is wrapped in mystery, not the commemoration
of one single, particular event, but a collection of lays composed at
various times, which compresses into one battle the long and disas-
trous period of the Anglo-Saxon invasion, ending in the subjugation
of the Britons.
But whatever its history, the 'Gododin' is one of the finest monu-
ments of Cymric literature. In the brevity of the narrative, the
careless boldness of the actors as they present themselves, the con-
densed energy of the action, and the fierce exultation of the slaughter,
together with the recurring elegiac note, this poem (or poems if it
be the work of two authors) has some of the highest epic qualities.
The ideas and manners are in harmony with the age and the country
to which it is referred. )
Like all early songs, the poem was handed down through cen-
turies by oral tradition. It is now preserved in the Book of An-
eurin,' a small quarto manuscript of nineteen leaves of vellum, of
the end of the thirteenth century.
The (Gododin' has been published with an English translation
and notes by the Rev. J. Williams (1852); and by the Cymmrodorion
Society, with a translation by Thomas Stevens, in 1885. Interesting
information covering it may be found in Skene's Four Ancient Books
of Wales) (1866), and in the article Celtic Literature in this work.
## p. 541 (#579) ############################################
ANEURIN
541
THE SLAYING OF OWAIN
[During the battle a conference was held, at which the British leaders
demanded as a condition of peace that part of the land of Gododin be restored.
