Page:Fairy tales and stories (Andersen, Tegner).djvu/121

Rh The people living in the house come home at all hours, from late in the evening till far into the night; the lodger just above me, who in the daytime gives lessons on the trombone, comes home last of all, and does not go to bed till he has taken a short midnight promenade with heavy steps and iron-heeled boots.

We have not double windows, but there is a broken pane in my room, over which the landlady has pasted some paper; but the wind blows through the crack for all that, and produces a sound something like a buzzing wasp. It is the kind of music which sends one to sleep. If at last I fall asleep, I am soon awakened by the crowing of the cocks. From the cellarman's hen-coop the cocks and hens announce that morning is approaching. The small ponies, which have no stable, but are tied up in the store-room under the staircase, kick against the door and the boarding whenever they move their legs.

The day dawns; the porter, who lives with his family in the garret, comes thundering down the stairs; his clogs clatter along the passages, the gate bangs and the house shakes, and, when all this is over, the lodger above begins his gymnastic exercises; he lifts a heavy iron ball in his hand, but, as he is not able to hold it, it is constantly falling on the floor, while at the same time the young folks in the house, who go to school, come tearing along, screaming with all their might. I go to the window and open it to get some fresh air, which I consider most refreshing when I can get it, and when the young woman in the back building is not washing gloves in soap-suds, by which work she makes a living. Otherwise it 's a nice house, and I live with a quiet family!

This was the account I gave aunty about my lodgings, only it was in a more lively style; the spoken word has a fresher sound than the written.

"You are a poet!" cried aunty. "Only put down all you have said, and you will be as good as Dickens. Well, to me, of course you are much more interesting. You paint when you speak. You describe the house you live in as if one saw it before one's eyes. It makes me shudder. Go on with your work. Put some living beings into it—some people, beautiful men and women, and—especially unhappy ones."

I wrote down my description of the house as it now stands, with all its faults, and included only myself. There was no plot in it. That comes later on.

IV

It was in the winter, late at night, after theater hours; it was terrible weather; a snow-storm was raging, so that one could hardly get along.

Aunty had gone to the theater, and I went to take her home; but it was difficult enough to get along by one's self, to say nothing of helping