wonderful!thatapple-tree,plantedinlove,nowappearsbeforemeinheavenlybeauty."andheslept.

thefollowingday,thethirddayduringwhichhishousehadbeenclosed,thesnow-stormceased.thenhisoppositeneighborsteppedovertothehouseinwhicholdanthonylived,forhehadnotyetshowedhimself.therehelaystretchedonhisbed,dead,withhisoldnightcaptightlyclaspedinhistwohands.thenightcap,however,wasnotplacedonhisheadinhiscoffin;hehadacleanwhiteoneonthen.wherenowwerethetearshehadshed?whathadbecomeofthosewonderfulpearls?theywereinthenightcapstill.suchtearsasthesecannotbewashedout,evenwhenthenightcapisforgotten.theoldthoughtsanddreamsofabachelor'snightcapstillremain.neverwishforsuchanightcap.itwouldmakeyourforeheadhot,causeyourpulsetobeatwithagitation,andconjureupdreamswhichwouldappearrealities.

thefirstwhoworeoldanthony'scapfeltthetruthofthis,thoughitwashalfacenturyafterwards.thatmanwasthemayorhimself,whohadalreadymadeacomfortablehomeforhiswifeandelevenchildren,byhisindustry.themomentheputthecaponhedreamedofunfortunatelove,ofbankruptcy,andofdarkdays."hallo!howthenightcapburns!"heexclaimed,ashetoreitfromhisbead.thenapearlrolledout,andthenanother,andanother,andtheyglitteredandsoundedastheyfell."whatcanthisbe?isitparalysis,orsomethingdazzlingmyeyes?"theywerethetearswhicholdanthonyhadshedhalfacenturybefore.

toeveryonewhoafterwardsputthiscaponhishead,camevisionsanddreamswhichagitatedhimnotalittle.hisownhistorywaschangedintothatofanthonytillitbecamequiteastory,andmanystoriesmightbemadebyothers,sowewillleavethemtorelatetheirown.wehavetoldthefirst;andourlastwordis,don'twishfora"bachelor'snightcap."

theend.

1872

fairytalesofhanschristianandersen

theoldchurchbell

(writtenfortheschilleralbum)

byhanschristianandersen

inthecountryofwurtemburg,ingermany,wheretheacaciasgrowbythepublicroad,wheretheapple-treesandthepear-treesinautumnbendtotheearthwiththeweightofthepreciousfruit,liesthelittletownofmarbach.asisoftenthecasewithmanyofthesetowns,itischarminglysituatedonthebanksoftheriverneckar,whichrushesrapidlyby,passingvillages,oldknights'castles,andgreenvineyards,tillitswatersminglewiththoseofthestatelywaslateintheautumn;thevine-leavesstillhunguponthebranchesofthevines,buttheywerealreadytintedwithredandgold;heavyshowersfellonthesurroundingcountry,andthecoldautumnwindblewsharpandstrong.itwasnotatallpleasantweatherforthepoor.thedaysgrewshorterandmoregloomy,and,darkasitwasoutofdoorsintheopenair,itwasstilldarkerwithinthesmall,old-fashionedhousesofthevillage.thegableendofoneofthesehousesfacedthestreet,andwithitssmall,narrowwindows,presentedaverymeanappearance.thefamilywhodweltinitwerealsoverypoorandhumble,buttheytreasuredthefearofgodintheirinnermosthearts.andnowhewasabouttosendthemachild.itwasthehourofthemother'ssorrow,whentherepealedforthfromthechurchtowerthesoundoffestivebells.inthatsolemnhourthesweetandjoyouschimingfilledtheheartsofthoseinthehumbledwellingwiththankfulnessandtrust;andwhen,amidstthesejoyoussounds,alittlesonwasborntothem,thewordsofprayerandpraisearosefromtheiroverflowinghearts,andtheirhappinessseemedtoringoutovertownandcountryintheliquidtonesofthechurchbells'chime.thelittleone,withitsbrighteyesandgoldenhair,hadbeenwelcomedjoyouslyonthatdarknovemberday.itsparentskisseditlovingly,andthefatherwrotethesewordsinthebible,"onthetenthofnovember,1759,godsentusason."andashorttimeafter,whenthechildhadbeenbaptized,thenameshehadreceivedwereadded,"johnchristopherfrederick."

andwhatbecameofthelittlelad?