Andersen old street lamp about what. Tales of Hans Christian Andersen
Have you heard the story about the old Street light? It's not that interesting, but it doesn't hurt to listen to it once. Well, once upon a time there was this venerable old street lamp; he served honestly for many, many years and finally had to retire.
Last evening the lantern hung on its pole, illuminating the street, and his soul felt like that of an old ballerina who last time performs on stage and knows that tomorrow she will be forgotten by everyone in her closet.
Tomorrow terrified the old servant: he had to appear at the town hall for the first time and appear before the “thirty-six city fathers,” who would decide whether he was still fit for service or not. Perhaps he will be sent to illuminate some bridge, or he will be sent to the provinces to some factory, or perhaps he will simply be melted down, and then anything can come out of him. And so he was tormented by the thought: will he retain the memory of having once been a street lamp. One way or another, he knew that in any case he would have to part with the night watchman and his wife, who had become like nothing to him. family of origin. Both of them - the lantern and the watchman - entered service at the same time. The watchman's wife then aimed high and, passing by the lantern, deigned to look at it only in the evenings, and never during the day. In recent years, when all three - the watchman, his wife, and the lantern - were old, she also began to take care of the lantern, clean the lamp and pour blubber into it. Honest people there were these old people, they never deprived the lantern one bit.
So, he spent the last evening shining on the street, and in the morning he had to go to the town hall. These gloomy thoughts did not give him peace, and it is not surprising that he was not burning well. However, other thoughts flashed through his mind; he saw a lot, he had a chance to shed light on a lot, perhaps he was not inferior in this to all the “thirty-six city fathers.” But he was silent about this too. He was respectable old lantern and didn’t want to offend anyone, least of all his superiors.
Meanwhile, he remembered a lot, and from time to time his flame flared up as if from thoughts like this:
“Yes, and someone will remember me! If only that handsome young man... Many years have passed since then. He came up to me with a letter in his hands. The letter was on pink paper, thin and fine, with a gold edge, and written in an elegant feminine handwriting. He read it twice, kissed it and looked up at me with shining eyes. "I'm the most happy man in the world!” they said. Yes, only he and I knew what his beloved wrote in her first letter.
I remember other eyes too... It's amazing how thoughts jump around! A magnificent funeral procession. On a carriage upholstered in velvet they carried the young woman in a coffin. beautiful woman. How many wreaths and flowers there were! And there were so many torches burning that they completely eclipsed my light. The sidewalks were filled with people accompanying the coffin. But when the torches were out of sight, I looked around and saw a man standing at my post and crying. “I will never forget the look of his mournful eyes looking at me!”
And the old street lamp remembered a lot of things on this last evening. The sentry who is relieved from his post at least knows who will take his place, and can exchange a few words with his comrade. But the lantern did not know who would replace him, and could not tell about rain and bad weather, nor about how the moon illuminates the sidewalk and from which direction the wind blows.
At that time, three candidates for the vacant position appeared on the bridge over the drainage ditch, believing that the appointment to the position depended on the lantern itself. The first was a glow-in-the-dark herring head; she believed that her appearance on the pillar would significantly reduce the consumption of blubber. The second was rotten fish, which also glowed and, according to her, even brighter than dried cod; besides, she considered herself the last remnant of the entire forest. The third candidate was the firefly; The lantern could not understand where it came from, but nevertheless the firefly was there and also glowed, although the herring head and the rotten swearing swore that it only shines from time to time, and therefore does not count.
The old lantern said that none of them shined bright enough to serve as street lamps, but, of course, they did not believe him. And having learned that the appointment to the position did not depend on him at all, all three expressed deep satisfaction - after all, he was too old to make the right choice.
At this time, a wind came from around the corner and whispered under the hood of the lantern:
What's happened? They say you're resigning tomorrow? And this is the last time I see you here? Well, here's a gift from me to you. I will ventilate your skull, and you will not only clearly and distinctly remember everything that you saw and heard yourself, but also see in reality everything that will be told or read in front of you. That's how fresh your head will be!
I don’t know how to thank you! - said the old lantern. - Just to avoid being melted down!
“That’s still a long way off,” answered the wind. - Well, now I’ll clear your memory. If you received many such gifts, you would have a pleasant old age.
Just to avoid being melted down! - repeated the lantern. - Or maybe you will preserve my memory in this case too? - Be reasonable, old lantern! - said the wind and blew.
At that moment the moon appeared.
What will you give? - asked the wind.
“Nothing,” answered the month. “I’m at a loss, and besides, the lanterns never shine for me, I’m always for them.”
And the month hid behind the clouds again - he didn’t want to be bothered. Suddenly a drop dripped onto the iron cap of the lantern. She seemed to roll
fell from the roof, but the drop said that it fell from gray clouds, and also like a gift, perhaps even the best.
“I will pierce you,” said the drop, “so that you will gain the ability, any night you wish, to turn into rust and crumble into dust.”
This gift seemed bad to the lantern, and so did the wind.
Who will give more? Who will give more? - he made as much noise as he could.
And at that very moment a star rolled down from the sky, leaving behind a long luminous trail.
What is this? - the herring head screamed. - No way, a star fell from the sky? And it seems right at the lamppost. Well, if such high-ranking persons are coveting this position, all we can do is bow out and go home.
All three did so. And the old lantern suddenly flashed especially brightly.
A venerable thought, said the wind. - But you probably don’t know what comes with this gift. wax candle. You won't be able to show anyone anything if the wax candle doesn't burn inside you. That's what the stars didn't think about. They take you and everything that glows for wax candles. “Well, now I’m tired, it’s time to lie down,” said the wind and lay down.
The next morning... no, we’d better skip the next day - the next evening the lantern was lying in the chair, and who had it? At the old night watchman's. For his long faithful service, the old man asked the "thirty-six city fathers" for an old street lamp. They laughed at him, but gave him the lantern. And now the lantern was lying in a chair near the warm stove and it seemed as if it had grown from this - it occupied almost the entire chair. The old men were already sitting at dinner and looking affectionately at the old lantern: they would willingly have it at the table with them.
True, they lived in the basement, several cubits underground, and to get into their closet, you had to go through a brick-paved hallway, but in the closet itself it was warm and cozy. The doors were upholstered around the edges with felt, the bed was hidden behind a canopy, curtains hung on the windows, and on the window sills stood two strange flower pots. They were brought by the sailor Christian either from the East Indies or from the West Indies. These were clay elephants with a depression on the back, into which earth was poured. In one elephant a wonderful leek grew - it was the old people's garden; in the other, geraniums bloomed luxuriantly - this was their garden. There was a big one hanging on the wall oil painting, depicting the Congress of Vienna, which was attended by all the emperors and kings at once. Antique clock with heavy lead weights they ticked incessantly and always ran ahead, but it was better than if they were lagging behind, the old men said.
So now they were having dinner, and the old street lamp lay, as said above, in a chair near the warm stove, and it seemed to him as if the whole world had turned upside down. But then the old watchman looked at him and began to remember everything that they had experienced together in rain and bad weather, on clear, short summer nights and in snowy snowstorms, when you just feel drawn to the basement - and the old lantern seemed to wake up and see everything it's like reality.
Yes, the wind ventilated it nicely!
The old men were hard-working and inquisitive people; not a single hour was wasted among them. On Sundays after lunch, some book would appear on the table, most often a description of a trip, and the old man would read aloud about Africa, about its huge forests and wild elephants that roam free. The old woman listened and looked at the clay elephants that served as flower pots.
I'm imagining! - she said.
And the lantern so wanted a wax candle to burn in it - then the old woman, like himself, would see everything in reality: tall trees with thick intertwining branches, and naked black people on horses, and whole herds of elephants trampling reeds with their thick feet and bush.
What good are my abilities if there is no wax candle? - the lantern sighed. “The old people only have blubber and tallow candles, and that’s not enough.”
But in the basement there was a whole bunch of wax cinders. The long ones were used for lighting, and the short ones were used by the old woman to wax the thread when she sewed. The old people now had wax candles, but it never occurred to them to insert even one stub into the lantern.
The lantern, always cleaned and neat, stood in the corner, in the most visible place. People, however, called it old trash, but the old people ignored such words - they loved the old lantern.
One day, on the old watchman’s birthday, the old woman came up to the lantern, smiled and said:
Now we will light the illuminations in his honor!
The lantern rattled its cap with joy. “It finally dawned on them!” - he thought.
But again he got blubber, and not a wax candle. He had been burning all evening and now knew that the gift of the stars - a most wonderful gift - would never be of use to him in this life.
And then the lantern dreamed - with such abilities it is not surprising to dream - that the old people died, and he himself was melted down. And he was scared, like that time when he had to appear at the town hall for a review of the “thirty-six city fathers.” And although he has the ability to crumble into rust and dust at will, he did not do this, but fell into the melting furnace and turned into a wonderful iron candlestick in the form of an angel with a bouquet in his hand. A wax candle was inserted into the bouquet, and the candlestick took its place on the green cloth of the desk. The room is very cozy; all the shelves are filled with books, the walls are hung with magnificent paintings. The poet lives here, and everything he thinks and writes about unfolds before him, as if in a panorama. The room becomes dark dark forest, then sunlit meadows along which a stork walks, then the deck of a ship sailing on a stormy sea...
Oh, what abilities are hidden in me! - said the old lantern, waking up from his dreams. - Really, I even want to be melted down. However, no! While the old people are alive, there is no need. They love me for who I am, I am like their own son to them. They clean me, fill me with blubber, and I’m no worse off here than all those high-ranking people at the congress.
Since then, the old street lamp has found peace of mind- and he deserved it.
Andersen Hans Christian
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Summary: A lonely lantern, barely glowing dim light in the dark, later evening time, on the eve of his hour of judgment, this is the very first plot scene, from which comes the beginning of the fairy tale, The Old Street Lamp, which was composed and published by the famous and popular writer, Andersen. Soon there will be a verdict on everything, the question will be decided whether the lonely luminous lantern is further suitable for its mission. Perhaps the lantern will be melted down or simply cut into metal, and it will forever forget its past purpose. Then he will have no choice but to simply forget about the stern and his faithful old wife, he will have to forget all those who were for him real family. At a time when the lantern remembered all its former life, at that time a strong and cold wind. This wind decided to give the lantern some gift, to always remember all the events in his life, to remember everything that he saw in his entire life. long life. One small drop of water could give the old lantern the ability to become a little rust at any desired moment. The bright star also made her own personal gift for the lantern. But it so happened that already on the second day the old lantern ended up at the watchman’s house, and it was he who asked to take the lantern into his house. You can listen to the story on audio recording. You can read it online for free.
Fairy tale text Old street lamp
Watch the fairy tale The Old Street Lamp listen online
Hans Christian Andersen
Old street lamp
Source of text: Hans Christian Andersen - Tales of G. Chr. Andersen Publishing: T-va I.D. Sytina Tipo-lit. I.I. Pashkova, Moscow, 1908 Translator: A.A. Fedorov-Davydov OCR, spell check and translation into modern spelling: Oscar Wilde Have you ever heard the story of the old street lamp? True, it’s not particularly interesting, but you can still listen to it once. It was an old, venerable lantern, who had conscientiously performed his service for many years and was now doomed to retire. For the last time he stood on a pole and illuminated the streets. He felt the same as an old ballet dancer who dances for the last time experiences, and tomorrow, forgotten by everyone, will sit somewhere in a wretched room under the attic. The lantern was very worried about what would happen to him the next day, because he knew that for the first time in his life he would have to go to the town hall and appear before the mayor and the assembly, who should examine him and make sure whether he was fit for further service or not. . It was also necessary to decide where to place him - in the suburbs, or somewhere outside the city, to a factory; and then, perhaps, straight to the smelter, into the blast furnace. True, in the latter case, anything could come out of him, but the thought of whether he would retain the memory of his former existence as a street lamp tormented him terribly. One way or another, the fact remained that he had to part with the night watchman and his wife, who considered him to belong to their family. When the lantern was lit for the first time, the night watchman was still young, strong man; It so happened that he began his service just that same evening. Yes, a long time ago the lantern was a lantern, and the night watchman was a watchman. My wife was a little proud then. Only in the evening, when passing by, did she deign to glance at the lantern, but never during the day. But for last years When all three of them were old - the night watchman, his wife and the lantern - she also began to look after him, she cleaned him and filled him with kerosene. The old men were honest; they did not profit even a single drop from the lamp. Today was the last time he illuminated the streets, and tomorrow the town hall awaited him. Yes, this consciousness darkened him, and therefore it is not surprising that that evening he burned especially badly. Besides this, other thoughts besieged him. He shined a light on who and what and what views he saw - perhaps no less than the head himself and the elders! Only he kept all this to himself, because he was an honest, old lantern and did not want harm to anyone, especially his superiors. He remembered a lot of things, so that sometimes his flame even trembled. At that moment it seemed to him that they should remember him too. “Once upon a time a handsome young man stood here—though a lot of water has passed under the bridge since then—and he held in his hand a pink piece of paper with a gold edge. The handwriting was thin, feminine. He read the note twice, kissed it and raised it to eyes that clearly said to me: “I am the happiest man in the world!" Only he and I knew what the one he loved was writing about. Yes, and I also remember the look of some eyes... It’s strange what leaps memory makes !.. A funeral procession was moving along the street; on the road, among flowers and wreaths, a young, beautiful woman was lying in a coffin; torches darkened my light. A crowd of people stood along the houses, everyone followed the procession. “When the torches disappeared from my sight , and I looked around, I saw a lonely figure standing, leaning against my post, and crying. I will never forget the sad look that turned to me." These and other similar thoughts occupied the old street lamp, which burned for the last time today. The soldier who is relieved on the watch knows, at least, his successor, can exchange a word with him; the lantern did not know his own, but he could have given him some advice regarding foggy and rainy weather, regarding how long the rays of the moon illuminate the sidewalk, from which direction the wind usually blows, and much more. was thrown over the gutter, there were three persons who wanted to introduce themselves to the lantern, believing that he, at his personal discretion, could give them his place. The first candidate was a herring head, which could also emit light in the dark. She believed that if she was imprisoned per pole, then they will save on kerosene.The second candidate was a piece of rotten luminous wood. He especially emphasized the fact that it owes its origin to the tree that once formed the decoration of the forest. Finally, the third candidate was the firefly; The lantern could not completely understand how he got here, but the firefly was there and could also shine. But the herring head and the rotten swore by all the saints that the firefly emits light only in certain time and therefore cannot be counted. Meanwhile, the old lantern explained to them that they did not have enough light to serve as a street lamp; but they did not believe him, and so when they learned that the lantern could not appoint anyone to his place at his own discretion, they said that this was very pleasant, since he was too shaky to settle on any definite choice. At that moment, a gust of wind came from around the corner of the street and whistled in the vent of the old lantern. -What do I hear? -- he asked. -Are you leaving tomorrow? Am I seeing you for the last time? In this case, I will give you a parting gift: I will blow into your brain box not only the memory of everything that you once saw and heard, but also an inner light so bright that you will be able to see everything in reality, what they will read or tell you in front of you. - Oh, this is good, this is very good! - said the old lantern. - I thank you from the bottom of my heart! But I'm afraid I'll end up in a smelter. “It won’t happen so soon,” said the wind. - Now hold on: I will breathe memory into you; With gifts like these you won't be bored in your old age. “If they don’t melt me down,” said the lantern. “But maybe even then I’ll retain my memory?” - Old lantern, be reasonable! - said the wind and began to blow. At that moment the month appeared from behind the clouds. -What will you give to the lantern? - the wind asked him. “I won’t give you anything,” he replied. “I’m at a loss now, and I never used the light of lanterns, on the contrary, they used mine...” and with these words the month again disappeared behind the clouds to avoid further demands. At that moment a drop fell from the roof onto the lantern and explained that it had descended from the gray clouds and was also, as it were, a gift, maybe even the best. “I will penetrate you so much that you will gain the ability in one night, if you want, to turn into rust and disintegrate into dust.” But in comparison with what the wind gave, this gift seemed very bad to the lantern; the wind too. - Who will give more? Who will give more? - he whistled as hard as he could. At this time, a shooting star streaked across the sky, leaving a long streak of light behind it. -- What was it? - screamed the herring head. - It seems like a star has fallen? And, it seems, right into the lantern? Well, yes, of course, if such high-ranking persons are candidates for this service, we can wish Good night and go home. And all three of them carried it out. Meanwhile, an unusually bright light spilled from the old lantern. - That was a wonderful gift! - he said, - the bright stars that I have always admired so much, and which burn so wonderfully, as I, despite all my desire, despite all my dreams, could never burn, still did not leave me, the old one, a wretched lantern, without attention, and sent me a gift, the peculiarity of which is that I will not only see all my memories clear and vivid, but also all those whom I love. This is where true pleasure lies, because undivided happiness is only half happiness. “This does honor to your convictions,” said the wind. - But this requires wax candles. If they are not ignited in you, your rare abilities will have no meaning for others. You see, the stars didn’t think about this: they mistake you and all other lighting in general for wax candles. But that’s enough, I’ll lie down... - and he lay down. - Here you go - wax candles! - said the lantern. “I didn’t have them before, and I probably won’t have them in the future.” Just don't end up in a smelter. The next day... no, the next day we'd better pass by in silence. The very next evening the lantern lay in my grandfather’s big chair. And guess where? - from the old night watchman! As a reward for his many years of impeccable service, he begged permission from the head to keep the old lantern, which twenty-four years ago, on the day he entered the service, he personally lit for the first time. He looked at it as his brainchild, because he himself had no children, and the lantern was given to him as a gift. Now he was lying in an old chair, near a warm stove. It seemed that he even somehow became larger, because he alone occupied the entire chair. The old people sat at dinner and looked friendly at the old lantern, which they would gladly have given a place at their table. True, they lived in a basement, about two feet below ground level, and to get into the room they had to go down an asphalt corridor; but the room itself was warm and cozy; the door was stuffed in the cracks with felt, everything was sparkling clean, there were curtains hanging on the windows and in front of the narrow beds. On the windowsills stood two curious flower pots, which the sailor Christian had brought from somewhere in Western or Eastern India. They were made of clay and represented two elephants; they did not have backs, but instead of them, from the earth with which they were filled, grew: from one green onion - this was a vegetable garden; from another bush - geraniums - it was a flower garden. On the wall hung an oleograph “Congress in Vienna”, on which the old people could see all the kings at once. The wall clock, with heavy lead weights, beat its “tick-tock” and always hurried forward: “much better,” the old men said, “than if they were lagging behind.” So, they sat and had dinner, and the lantern, as was mentioned, lay in my great-grandfather’s chair just next to the stove; it seemed to him that the whole world had turned upside down, but when the night watchman looked at him and spoke about what they had experienced together in fog and bad weather, on short bright summer nights, on long winter evenings When the blizzard was raging, and when you were dreaming in your corner, the lantern little by little came to its senses. He saw everything so clearly, as if it were happening now; Yes, the wind deftly revived his memory, as if it illuminated the darkness that surrounded him with fire. The old people were very hardworking and diligent; they did not like to sit idle. IN Sundays after lunch we took out a book, for the most part travel description. And the old man read about Africa, about dense forests and about elephants running free; and the old woman listened attentively and glanced furtively at the clay elephants representing flower pots. “I can almost imagine it,” she said. And the lantern really wanted to be inserted into it and lit wax candle; then the old woman would have seen everything, down to the smallest detail, as the lantern itself saw: tall trees, densely woven branches, naked, black people on horses, herds of elephants crushing bushes and reeds with their clumsy wide legs. “What do I need all my abilities if I don’t have a wax candle?” sighed the lantern. “They only have kerosene and tallow candles, but that’s not enough.”... One day a whole bunch of wax cinders ended up in the basement; The larger ones were lit, and the smaller ones were used by the old woman to wax the sewing threads. So, there were enough wax candles, but it never occurred to anyone to insert even one candle into the lantern. “What do I need my extraordinary abilities?” thought the lantern. “There are so many of them hidden in me, but I can’t share it with anyone, they don’t know that I can turn simple white walls into wonderful forests, into everything, whatever I want." As for everything else, the lantern was kept in great neatness, and cleaned, it stood in the corner, in full view of everyone. Outsiders thought that it was worth scrapping, but the old people did not pay any attention to these comments; they loved the lantern very much. One day, it was the birthday of the old night watchman, the old woman, smiling, came up to the lantern and said: “Today I will arrange an illumination in honor of my old man.” And the lantern creaked with its tin frame and thought: “Well, they finally figured it out!” But they only filled it with kerosene, and didn’t think about the candle. The lantern burned for the whole evening, but now he clearly realized that the star’s gift to him was a dead treasure that would never have to be used in his life. That evening he had a dream - given the ability to see dreams invested in it, it was no wonder. He dreamed that his existence as a lantern was over, and that he ended up in a smelter. At the same time, he felt as scared and sad as on the day when he was supposed to go to the town hall to be considered by the mayor and elders. And although from him own desire It was up to him to rust and crumble into dust, but he didn’t. It was thrown into a blast furnace and made into a beautiful iron candlestick for wax candles. He was given the shape of an angel carrying a bouquet. A candle was inserted into the middle of this bouquet. The candlestick ended up in its place: on the green desk. The room was very cozy; there were many books around him, wonderful paintings hung on the walls; This room belonged to the writer. Everything he thought and wrote about, he saw in front of him; “in front of him,” as if in reality, dark, dense forests arose; cheerful meadows stretched along, along which storks walked importantly; ships swayed on the heaving waves, the sky shone with all the stars. “What abilities do I have!” said the old lantern, waking up. "I almost want to be transfused. But no, while the old people are alive, there is no need for this to happen. They love me for my own sake; they cleaned me, gave me kerosene. I feel as good as the kings at the congress, looking at which, my old people also experience pleasure. And from then on, the old lantern found more inner peace; he really deserved it, the old, honest lantern.Have you heard the story about the old street lamp? It's not very interesting, but it's still worth listening to.
Well, there lived a venerable old street lamp; He served honestly for many years, but finally they decided to fire him. The lantern learned that it was hanging on a pole for the last evening and illuminating the street, and his feelings could be compared with the feeling of a faded ballerina who dances for the last time and knows that tomorrow she will be asked to leave the stage. He looked forward to tomorrow with horror: tomorrow he had to appear at a review at the town hall and for the first time introduce himself to the “thirty-six city fathers,” who would decide whether he was still fit for service or not.
Yes, tomorrow the question had to be decided: whether he would be sent to illuminate some other bridge, whether he would be sent to a village or to a factory, or whether he would simply be melted down. The lantern could be melted into anything; but most of all he was oppressed by the unknown: he did not know whether he would remember that he had once been a street lamp, or not? One way or another, he knew that in any case he would have to part with the night watchman and his wife, who had become close to him, like family. Both of them - the lantern and the watchman - entered service at the same hour. The watchman's wife was very proud of her husband's position and, passing by the lantern, only glanced at him in the evenings, and never during the day. But in recent years, when all three of them - the watchman, his wife, and the lantern - were already old, she also began to look after the lantern, clean the lamp and pour blubber into it. These old men were honest people, they never deprived the lantern one bit!
So, the lantern illuminated the street for the last evening, and the next day it was supposed to go to the town hall. These sad thoughts did not give him peace; no wonder it burned badly. Sometimes other thoughts flashed through his mind - he saw a lot, he had to shed light on a lot; in this respect he stood, perhaps, higher than the “thirty-six city fathers”! But he was silent about this too: the venerable old lantern did not want to offend anyone, much less his superiors. The lantern saw and remembered a lot, and from time to time its flame flickered, as if the following thoughts were stirring in it: “Yes, and someone will remember about me! If only that handsome young man... Many years have passed since then. He came up to me with a sheet of paper written on, very thin, with a gold edge. The letter was written woman's hand and so beautiful! He read it twice, kissed it and looked up at me with shining eyes. “I am the happiest person in the world!” they said. Yes, only he and I knew what his beloved wrote in that first letter. I remember other eyes too... It's amazing how thoughts jump around! A magnificent funeral procession was moving along our street; on a hearse upholstered in velvet, the body of a young, beautiful woman was carried in a coffin. How many flowers and wreaths there were! There were so many torches burning that they completely obscured my light. The sidewalk was filled with people - people were walking behind the coffin. But when the torches were out of sight, I looked around and saw a man standing at my post and crying. I will never forget the look of his mournful eyes looking at me.”
On the bridge spanning the drainage ditch, there were at that time three candidates for the vacant position, who thought that the choice of a successor depended on the lantern itself. One of these candidates was a glow-in-the-dark herring head; she believed that her appearance on the lamppost would significantly reduce the consumption of blubber. The second was rotten fish, which also glowed and, according to her, even brighter than dried cod; Moreover, she considered herself the last remnant of a tree that had once been the beauty of the entire forest. The third candidate was the firefly; where it came from - the lantern could not guess, but the firefly was there and also glowed, although the rotten and the herring head swore with one voice that it shines only from time to time, and therefore it should not be taken into account.
The old lantern objected to them that none of the candidates shined bright enough to take his place, but, of course, they did not believe him. Having learned that the appointment to the position did not depend at all on the lantern, all three expressed great pleasure - after all, he was too old to make the right choice.
At this time, the wind blew from around the corner and whispered into the lantern:
What do I hear! Are you leaving tomorrow? Is this the last evening that we meet here? Well, here's a gift from me to you! I will ventilate your skull, so much so that you will not only clearly and accurately remember everything that you have ever heard and seen yourself, but you will see with your own eyes what others will tell or read in front of you - that’s how fresh you will be. head!
“I don’t know how to thank you,” said the old lantern. - If only they wouldn’t melt me down!
“That’s still a long way off,” answered the wind. - Well, now I’ll clear your memory. If you receive many gifts like mine, you will spend your old age very, very pleasantly!
If only they wouldn't melt me down! - repeated the lantern. - Maybe you can vouch for my memory in this case too?
Eh, old lantern, be reasonable! - said the wind and blew.
At that moment the moon appeared.
What will you give? - the wind asked him.
“Nothing,” answered the month, “I’m at a disadvantage, and besides, the lanterns never shine for me, - I’m always for them.” - And the month hid behind the clouds again - he didn’t want to be bothered.
Suddenly a raindrop fell on the iron cap of the lantern; it seemed to roll down from the roof; but the drop said that it fell from a gray cloud, and also like a gift, perhaps even the best.
I will pierce you, and you, whenever you wish, can rust and crumble into dust in one night!
It seemed like a bad gift to the lantern, and so did the wind.
Surely no one will give anything better? - he made a noise with all his might.
And at that very moment a star rolled down from the sky, leaving behind a long luminous trail.
What's this? - cried the herring head. - It’s like a star fell from the sky? And, it seems, right at the lantern! Well, if such high-ranking persons are coveting this position, all we can do is bow out and go home.
All three did so. And the old lantern suddenly flashed especially brightly.
This is a wonderful gift! - he said. - I have always admired the wondrous light clear stars. After all, I myself could not shine like they did, even though it was mine cherished wish and desire - and then the wondrous stars noticed me, a poor old lantern, and sent me one of their sisters as a gift. They have given me the ability to show those I love everything that I remember and see for myself. It gives deep satisfaction; and joy that there is no one to share with is only half joy!
Great idea, said the wind. - But you don’t know that this gift of yours depends on a wax candle. You won’t be able to show anyone anything if the wax candle doesn’t burn inside you: that’s what the stars didn’t think about. They mistake you, and indeed everything that shines, for wax candles. But now I'm tired, it's time to lie down! - the wind added and settled down.
The next day... no, we’d better jump over it, - the next evening the lantern was lying in the chair. Guess where? In the old night watchman's room. The old man asked the “thirty-six city fathers” as a reward for his long, faithful service... an old lantern. They laughed at his request, but gave him the lantern; and now the lantern was lying pompously in the chair near the warm stove and, really, it seemed to have grown so that it occupied almost the entire chair. The old men were already sitting at dinner and looking affectionately at the old lantern: they would willingly have it at the table with them.
True, they lived in the basement, several feet underground, and to get into their closet you had to go through a hallway paved with bricks, but the closet itself was clean and cozy. The doors were lined at the edges with strips of felt, the bed was hidden behind a canopy, curtains hung on the windows, and two outlandish flower pots stood on the window sills. They were brought by the sailor Christian from the East Indies or West Indies. The pots were clay, in the shape of backless elephants; instead of a back they had a depression filled with earth; in one elephant grew the most wonderful leeks, and in the other - blooming geraniums. The first elephant served as a vegetable garden for the old people, the second as a flower garden. hung on the wall big picture in colors, depicting the Congress of Vienna, which was attended by all the kings and kings. The ancient clock with heavy lead weights ticked incessantly and always ran forward - but it was better than if it fell behind, the old men said.
So, now they were having dinner, and the old street lamp lay, as we know, in a chair near the warm stove, and it seemed to him as if the whole world had turned upside down. But then the old watchman looked at him and began to remember everything that they had experienced together in the rain and bad weather, on clear and short summer nights and in snowstorms, when you just want to go home to the basement; and the lantern came to its senses and saw all this as if in reality.
Yes, the wind ventilated it nicely!
The old men were hard-working, hard-working; Not a single hour was wasted with them. On Sundays, after lunch, some book would appear on the table, most often a description of a trip, and the old man would read aloud about Africa, about its huge forests and wild elephants that roam free. The old woman listened and looked at the clay elephants that served as flower pots.
I can imagine it! - she said.
And the lantern wished with all his heart that a wax candle would burn in it - then the old woman, like himself, would see everything with her own eyes: tall trees with dense trees intertwined, and naked black people on horseback, and whole herds of elephants dying with fat feet of reeds and bushes.
What good are my abilities if I don’t see a wax candle anywhere! - the lantern sighed. “My owners only have blubber and tallow candles, and that’s not enough.”
But the old people had a lot of wax cinders; Long cinders were burned, and the old woman waxed threads with short ones when she sewed. The old people now had wax candles, but it never occurred to them to insert even a single candle into the lantern.
The lantern, always cleaned, lay in the corner, in the most visible place. People, however, called him old trash, but the old people did not pay attention to this - they loved him.
One day, on the old man’s birthday, the old woman came up to the lantern, smiled slyly and said:
Wait a minute, I’m about to arrange some illumination in honor of my old man!
The lantern rattled with joy. “It finally dawned on them!” - he thought. But they poured blubber into it, and there was no mention of a wax candle. He was burning all evening, but now he knew that the gift of the stars - the best gift - would never be useful to him in this life. And then he dreamed - with such abilities it’s not surprising to dream - that the old people died, and he was melted down. The lantern was just as scared as the time when he had to appear at the review at the town hall before the “thirty-six city fathers.” But although he could have rusted and crumbled into dust at will, he did not do this, but fell into the melting furnace and turned into a wonderful iron candlestick in the form of an angel, who held a bouquet in one hand. A wax candle was inserted into this bouquet, and the candlestick took its place on the green cloth of the desk. The room was very cozy; all the shelves here were lined with books, and the walls were hung with magnificent paintings. The poet lived here, and everything he thought and wrote about unfolded before him, as if in a panorama. The room became either a dense forest illuminated by the sun, or meadows along which a stork walked, or the deck of a ship sailing on a stormy sea...
Oh, what abilities are hidden in me! - exclaimed the old lantern, waking up from his dreams. - Really, I even want to be melted down! However, no! While the old people are alive, there is no need. They love me for who I am, I am like a child for them. They cleaned me, fed me with blubber, and I live here no worse than the nobles at the congress. What more could you want!
And from then on, the lantern found peace of mind, and the old, venerable lantern deserved it.
1847
Translation by A. V. Ganzen
Still, it’s nice to read the fairy tale “The Old Street Lamp” by Hans Christian Andersen, even for adults, you immediately remember your childhood, and again, like a little one, you empathize with the characters and rejoice with them. The inspiration of everyday objects and nature creates colorful and bewitching pictures of the surrounding world, making them mysterious and enigmatic. All descriptions environment created and presented with a feeling of deepest love and gratitude to the object of presentation and creation. Probably due to the inviolability human qualities in time, all moral teachings, morals and issues remain relevant at all times and eras. When faced with such strong, strong-willed and kind qualities of a hero, you involuntarily feel the desire to transform yourself into better side. Devotion, friendship and self-sacrifice and other positive feelings overcome all that oppose them: anger, deceit, lies and hypocrisy. The dialogues of the characters are often touching; they are full of kindness, kindness, directness, and with their help a different picture of reality emerges. The fairy tale “The Old Street Lamp” by Hans Christian Andersen is definitely worth reading for free online, it contains a lot of kindness, love and chastity, which is useful for raising a young person.
Have you ever heard the story about the old street lamp? It's not that interesting, but it doesn't hurt to listen to it once. Well, once upon a time there was this venerable old street lamp; he served honestly for many, many years and finally had to retire.
Last evening the lantern hung on its pole, illuminating the street, and his soul felt like that of an old ballerina who is performing on stage for the last time and knows that tomorrow she will be forgotten by everyone in her closet.
Tomorrow terrified the old servant: he had to appear at the town hall for the first time and appear before the “thirty-six city fathers,” who would decide whether he was still fit for service or not. Perhaps he will be sent to illuminate some bridge, or he will be sent to the provinces to some factory, or perhaps he will simply be melted down, and then anything can come out of him. And so he was tormented by the thought: will he retain the memory of having once been a street lamp. One way or another, he knew that in any case he would have to part with the night watchman and his wife, who had become like family to him. Both of them - the lantern and the watchman - entered service at the same time. The watchman's wife then aimed high and, passing by the lantern, deigned to look at it only in the evenings, and never during the day. In recent years, when all three - the watchman, his wife, and the lantern - were old, she also began to take care of the lantern, clean the lamp and pour blubber into it. These old men were honest people, they never deprived the lantern one bit.
So, he spent the last evening shining on the street, and in the morning he had to go to the town hall. These gloomy thoughts did not give him peace, and it is not surprising that he was not burning well. However, other thoughts flashed through his mind; he saw a lot, he had a chance to shed light on a lot, perhaps he was not inferior in this to all the “thirty-six city fathers.” But he was silent about this too. After all, he was a venerable old lantern and did not want to offend anyone, much less his superiors.
Meanwhile, he remembered a lot, and from time to time his flame flared up as if from thoughts like this:
“Yes, and someone will remember me! If only that handsome young man... Many years have passed since then. He came up to me with a letter in his hands. The letter was on pink paper, very thin, with a gold edge, and written in an elegant feminine handwriting. He read it twice, kissed it and looked up at me with shining eyes. “I am the happiest person in the world!” - they said. Yes, only he and I knew what his beloved wrote in her first letter.
I remember other eyes too... It's amazing how thoughts jump around! A magnificent funeral procession was moving along our street. A beautiful young woman was carried in a coffin on a carriage upholstered in velvet. How many wreaths and flowers there were! And there were so many torches burning that they completely eclipsed my light. The sidewalks were filled with people accompanying the coffin. But when the torches were out of sight, I looked around and saw a man standing at my post and crying. “I will never forget the look of his mournful eyes looking at me!”
And the old street lamp remembered a lot of things on this last evening. The sentry who is relieved from his post at least knows who will take his place, and can exchange a few words with his comrade. But the lantern did not know who would replace him, and could not tell about rain and bad weather, nor about how the moon illuminates the sidewalk and from which direction the wind blows.
At that time, three candidates for the vacant position appeared on the bridge over the drainage ditch, believing that the appointment to the position depended on the lantern itself. The first was a glow-in-the-dark herring head; she believed that her appearance on the pillar would significantly reduce the consumption of blubber. The second was rotten fish, which also glowed and, according to her, even brighter than dried cod; besides, she considered herself the last remnant of the entire forest. The third candidate was the firefly; The lantern could not understand where it came from, but nevertheless the firefly was there and also glowed, although the herring head and the rotten swearing swore that it only shines from time to time, and therefore does not count.
The old lantern said that none of them shined bright enough to serve as street lamps, but, of course, they did not believe him. And having learned that the appointment to the position did not depend on him at all, all three expressed deep satisfaction - after all, he was too old to make the right choice.
At this time, a wind came from around the corner and whispered under the hood of the lantern:
What's happened? They say you're resigning tomorrow? And this is the last time I see you here? Well, here's a gift from me to you. I will ventilate your skull, and you will not only clearly and distinctly remember everything that you saw and heard yourself, but also see in reality everything that will be told or read in front of you. That's how fresh your head will be!
I don’t know how to thank you! - said the old lantern. - Just to avoid being melted down!
“That’s still a long way off,” answered the wind. - Well, now I’ll clear your memory. If you received many such gifts, you would have a pleasant old age.
Just to avoid being melted down! - repeated the lantern. - Or maybe you will preserve my memory in this case too? - Be reasonable, old lantern! - said the wind and blew.
At that moment the moon appeared.
What will you give? - asked the wind.
“Nothing,” answered the month. “I’m at a loss, and besides, the lanterns never shine for me, I’m always for them.”
And the month hid behind the clouds again - he didn’t want to be bothered. Suddenly a drop dripped onto the iron cap of the lantern. It seemed as if it had rolled off the roof, but the drop said that it had fallen from gray clouds, and also like a gift, perhaps even the best.
“I will pierce you,” said the drop, “so that you will gain the ability, any night you wish, to turn into rust and crumble into dust.”
This gift seemed bad to the lantern, and so did the wind.
Who will give more? Who will give more? - he made as much noise as he could.
And at that very moment a star rolled down from the sky, leaving behind a long luminous trail.
What is this? - the herring head screamed. - No way, a star fell from the sky? And it seems right at the lamppost. Well, if such high-ranking persons are coveting this position, all we can do is bow out and go home.
All three did so. And the old lantern suddenly flashed especially brightly.
A venerable thought, said the wind. “But you probably don’t know that this gift comes with a wax candle.” You won't be able to show anyone anything if the wax candle doesn't burn inside you. That's what the stars didn't think about. They take you and everything that glows for wax candles. “Well, now I’m tired, it’s time to lie down,” said the wind and lay down.
The next morning... no, we’d better skip the next day - the next evening the lantern was lying in the chair, and who had it? At the old night watchman's. For his long faithful service, the old man asked the "thirty-six city fathers" for an old street lamp. They laughed at him, but gave him the lantern. And now the lantern was lying in a chair near the warm stove and it seemed as if it had grown from this - it occupied almost the entire chair. The old men were already sitting at dinner and looking affectionately at the old lantern: they would willingly have it at the table with them.
True, they lived in the basement, several cubits underground, and to get into their closet, you had to go through a brick-paved hallway, but in the closet itself it was warm and cozy. The doors were lined with felt around the edges, the bed was hidden behind a canopy, curtains hung on the windows, and two outlandish flower pots stood on the window sills. They were brought by the sailor Christian either from the East Indies or from the West Indies. These were clay elephants with a depression on the back, into which earth was poured. In one elephant a wonderful leek grew - it was the old people's garden; in the other, geraniums bloomed luxuriantly - this was their garden. On the wall hung a large oil painting depicting the Congress of Vienna, which was attended by all the emperors and kings. The ancient clock with heavy lead weights ticked incessantly and always ran forward, but it was better than if it fell behind, the old men said.
So now they were having dinner, and the old street lamp lay, as said above, in a chair near the warm stove, and it seemed to him as if the whole world had turned upside down. But then the old watchman looked at him and began to remember everything that they had experienced together in rain and bad weather, on clear, short summer nights and in snowy snowstorms, when you just feel drawn to the basement - and the old lantern seemed to wake up and see everything it's like reality.
Yes, the wind ventilated it nicely!
The old men were hard-working and inquisitive people; not a single hour was wasted among them. On Sundays after lunch, some book would appear on the table, most often a description of a trip, and the old man would read aloud about Africa, about its huge forests and wild elephants that roam free. The old woman listened and looked at the clay elephants that served as flower pots.
I'm imagining! - she said.
And the lantern so wanted a wax candle to burn in it - then the old woman, like himself, would see everything in reality: tall trees with thick intertwining branches, and naked black people on horses, and whole herds of elephants trampling reeds with their thick feet and bush.
What good are my abilities if there is no wax candle? - the lantern sighed. “The old people only have blubber and tallow candles, and that’s not enough.”
But in the basement there was a whole bunch of wax cinders. The long ones were used for lighting, and the short ones were used by the old woman to wax the thread when she sewed. The old people now had wax candles, but it never occurred to them to insert even one stub into the lantern.
The lantern, always cleaned and neat, stood in the corner, in the most visible place. People, however, called it old trash, but the old people ignored such words - they loved the old lantern.
One day, on the old watchman’s birthday, the old woman came up to the lantern, smiled and said:
Now we will light the illuminations in his honor!
The lantern rattled its cap with joy. “It finally dawned on them!” - he thought.
But again he got blubber, and not a wax candle. He had been burning all evening and now knew that the gift of the stars - a most wonderful gift - would never be of use to him in this life.
And then the lantern dreamed - with such abilities it is not surprising to dream - that the old people died, and he himself was melted down. And he was scared, like that time when he had to appear at the town hall for a review of the “thirty-six city fathers.” And although he has the ability to crumble into rust and dust at will, he did not do this, but fell into the melting furnace and turned into a wonderful iron candlestick in the form of an angel with a bouquet in his hand. A wax candle was inserted into the bouquet, and the candlestick took its place on the green cloth of the desk. The room is very cozy; all the shelves are filled with books, the walls are hung with magnificent paintings. The poet lives here, and everything he thinks and writes about unfolds before him, as if in a panorama. The room becomes either a dense dark forest, or sunlit meadows along which a stork walks, or the deck of a ship sailing on a stormy sea...
