The Old Bachelor's Nightcap

by Hans Christian Andersen

　　There is a street in Copenhagen with a very strange name. It iscalled "Hysken" street. Where the name came from, and what it means isvery uncertain. It is said to be German, but that is unjust to theGermans, for it would then be called "Hauschen," not "Hysken.""Hauschen," means a little house; and for many years it consisted onlyof a few small houses, which were scarcely larger than the woodenbooths we see in the market-places at fair time. They were perhaps alittle higher, and had windows; but the panes consisted of horn orbladder-skins, for glass was then too dear to have glazed windows inevery house. This was a long time ago, so long indeed that ourgrandfathers, and even great-grandfathers, would speak of those daysas "olden times;" indeed, many centuries have passed since then.

　　The rich merchants in Bremen and Lubeck, who carried on trade inCopenhagen, did not reside in the town themselves, but sent theirclerks, who dwelt in the wooden booths in the Hauschen street, andsold beer and spices. The German beer was very good, and there weremany sorts—from Bremen, Prussia, and Brunswick—and quantities of allsorts of spices, saffron, aniseed, ginger, and especially pepper;indeed, pepper was almost the chief article sold here; so ithappened at last that the German clerks in Denmark got theirnickname of "pepper gentry." It had been made a condition with theseclerks that they should not marry; so that those who lived to be oldhad to take care of themselves, to attend to their own comforts, andeven to light their own fires, when they had any to light. Many ofthem were very aged; lonely old boys, with strange thoughts andeccentric habits. From this, all unmarried men, who have attained acertain age, are called, in Denmark, "pepper gentry;" and this must beremembered by all those who wish to understand the story. These"pepper gentlemen," or, as they are called in England, "oldbachelors," are often made a butt of ridicule; they are told to put ontheir nightcaps, draw them over their eyes, and go to sleep. Theboys in Denmark make a song of it, thus:—

　　"Poor old bachelor, cut your wood,

　　Such a nightcap was never seen;

　　Who would think it was ever clean?

　　Go to sleep, it will do you good."

　　So they sing about the "pepper gentleman;" so do they make sportof the poor old bachelor and his nightcap, and all because they reallyknow nothing of either. It is a cap that no one need wish for, orlaugh at. And why not? Well, we shall hear in the story.

　　In olden times, Hauschen Street was not paved, and passengerswould stumble out of one hole into another, as they generally do inunfrequented highways; and the street was so narrow, and the boothsleaning against each other were so close together, that in thesummer time a sail would be stretched across the street from one boothto another opposite. At these times the odor of the pepper, saffron,and ginger became more powerful than ever. Behind the counter, as arule, there were no young men. The clerks were almost all old boys;but they did not dress as we are accustomed to see old menrepresented, wearing wigs, nightcaps, and knee-breeches, and with coatand waistcoat buttoned up to the chin. We have seen the portraits ofour great-grandfathers dressed in this way; but the "pepper gentlemen"had no money to spare to have their portraits taken, though one ofthem would have made a very interesting picture for us now, if takenas he appeared standing behind his counter, or going to church, oron holidays. On these occasions, they wore high-crowned, broad-brimmedhats, and sometimes a younger clerk would stick a feather in his.The woollen shirt was concealed by a broad, linen collar; the closejacket was buttoned up to the chin, and the cloak hung loosely overit; the trousers were tucked into the broad, tipped shoes, for theclerks wore no stockings. They generally stuck a table-knife and spoonin their girdles, as well as a larger knife, as a protection tothemselves; and such a weapon was often very necessary.

　　After this fashion was Anthony dressed on holidays andfestivals, excepting that, instead of a high-crowned hat, he wore akind of bonnet, and under it a knitted cap, a regular nightcap, towhich he was so accustomed that it was always on his head; he had two,nightcaps I mean, not heads. Anthony was one of the oldest of theclerks, and just the subject for a painter. He was as thin as alath, wrinkled round the mouth and eyes, had long, bony fingers,bushy, gray eyebrows, and over his left eye hung a thick tuft of hair,which did not look handsome, but made his appearance veryremarkable. People knew that he came from Bremen; it was not exactlyhis home, although his master resided there. His ancestors were fromThuringia, and had lived in the town of Eisenach, close by Wartburg.Old Anthony seldom spoke of this place, but he thought of it all themore.

　　The old clerks of Hauschen Street very seldom met together; eachone remained in his own booth, which was closed early enough in theevening, and then it looked dark and dismal out in the street. Onlya faint glimmer of light struggled through the horn panes in thelittle window on the roof, while within sat the old clerk, generallyon his bed, singing his evening hymn in a low voice; or he would bemoving about in his booth till late in the night, busily employed inmany things. It certainly was not a very lively existence. To be astranger in a strange land is a bitter lot; no one notices youunless you happen to stand in their way. Often, when it was dark nightoutside, with rain or snow falling, the place looked quite desertedand gloomy. There were no lamps in the street, excepting a verysmall one, which hung at one end of the street, before a picture ofthe Virgin, which had been painted on the wall. The dashing of thewater against the bulwarks of a neighboring castle could plainly beheard. Such evenings are long and dreary, unless people can findsomething to do; and so Anthony found it. There were not always thingsto be packed or unpacked, nor paper bags to be made, nor the scales tobe polished. So Anthony invented employment; he mended his clothes andpatched his boots, and when he at last went to bed,—his nightcap,which he had worn from habit, still remained on his head; he hadonly to pull it down a little farther over his forehead. Very soon,however, it would be pushed up again to see if the light wasproperly put out; he would touch it, press the wick together, and atlast pull his nightcap over his eyes and lie down again on the otherside. But often there would arise in his mind a doubt as to whetherevery coal had been quite put out in the little fire-pan in the shopbelow. If even a tiny spark had remained it might set fire tosomething, and cause great damage. Then he would rise from his bed,creep down the ladder—for it could scarcely be called a flight ofstairs—and when he reached the fire-pan not a spark could be seen; sohe had just to go back again to bed. But often, when he had got halfway back, he would fancy the iron shutters of the door were notproperly fastened, and his thin legs would carry him down again. Andwhen at last he crept into bed, he would be so cold that his teethchattered in his head. He would draw the coverlet closer round him,pull his nightcap over his eyes, and try to turn his thoughts fromtrade, and from the labors of the day, to olden times. But this wasscarcely an agreeable entertainment; for thoughts of olden memoriesraise the curtains from the past, and sometimes pierce the heartwith painful recollections till the agony brings tears to the wakingeyes. And so it was with Anthony; often the scalding tears, likepearly drops, would fall from his eyes to the coverlet and roll on thefloor with a sound as if one of his heartstrings had broken.Sometimes, with a lurid flame, memory would light up a picture of lifewhich had never faded from his heart. If he dried his eyes with hisnightcap, then the tear and the picture would be crushed; but thesource of the tears remained and welled up again in his heart. Thepictures did not follow one another in order, as the circumstancesthey represented had occurred; very often the most painful wouldcome together, and when those came which were most full of joy, theyhad always the deepest shadow thrown upon them.

　　The beech woods of Denmark are acknowledged by every one to bevery beautiful, but more beautiful still in the eyes of old Anthonywere the beech woods in the neighborhood of Wartburg. More grand andvenerable to him seemed the old oaks around the proud baronial castle,where the creeping plants hung over the stony summits of the rocks;sweeter was the perfume there of the apple-blossom than in all theland of Denmark. How vividly were represented to him, in aglittering tear that rolled down his cheek, two children at play—aboy and a girl. The boy had rosy cheeks, golden ringlets, and clear,blue eyes; he was the son of Anthony, a rich merchant; it was himself.The little girl had brown eyes and black hair, and was clever andcourageous; she was the mayor's daughter, Molly. The children wereplaying with an apple; they shook the apple, and heard the pipsrattling in it. Then they cut it in two, and each of them took half.They also divided the pips and ate all but one, which the littlegirl proposed should be placed in the ground.

　　"You will see what will come out," she said; "something youdon't expect. A whole apple-tree will come out, but not directly."Then they got a flower-pot, filled it with earth, and were soon bothvery busy and eager about it. The boy made a hole in the earth withhis finger, and the little girl placed the pip in the hole, and thenthey both covered it over with earth.

　　"Now you must not take it out to-morrow to see if it has takenroot," said Molly; "no one ever should do that. I did so with myflowers, but only twice; I wanted to see if they were growing. Ididn't know any better then, and the flowers all died."

　　Little Anthony kept the flower-pot, and every morning during thewhole winter he looked at it, but there was nothing to be seen butblack earth. At last, however, the spring came, and the sun shone warmagain, and then two little green leaves sprouted forth in the pot.

　　"They are Molly and me," said the boy. "How wonderful they are,and so beautiful!"

　　Very soon a third leaf made its appearance.

　　"Who does that stand for?" thought he, and then came another andanother. Day after day, and week after week, till the plant becamequite a tree. And all this about the two children was mirrored toold Anthony in a single tear, which could soon be wiped away anddisappear, but might come again from its source in the heart of theold man.

　　In the neighborhood of Eisenach stretches a ridge of stonymountains, one of which has a rounded outline, and shows itselfabove the rest without tree, bush, or grass on its barren summits.It is called the "Venus Mountain," and the story goes that the "LadyVenus," one of the heathen goddesses, keeps house there. She is alsocalled "Lady Halle," as every child round Eisenach well knows. Sheit was who enticed the noble knight, Tannhauser, the minstrel, fromthe circle of singers at Wartburg into her mountain.

　　Little Molly and Anthony often stood by this mountain, and one dayMolly said, "Do you dare to knock and say, 'Lady Halle, Lady Halle,open the door: Tannhauser is here!'" But Anthony did not dare.Molly, however, did, though she only said the words, "Lady Halle, LadyHalle," loudly and distinctly; the rest she muttered so much under herbreath that Anthony felt certain she had really said nothing; andyet she looked quite bold and saucy, just as she did sometimes whenshe was in the garden with a number of other little girls; theywould all stand round him together, and want to kiss him, because hedid not like to be kissed, and pushed them away. Then Molly was theonly one who dared to resist him. "I may kiss him," she would sayproudly, as she threw her arms round his neck; she was vain of herpower over Anthony, for he would submit quietly and think nothing ofit. Molly was very charming, but rather bold; and how she did tease!

　　They said Lady Halle was beautiful, but her beauty was that of atempting fiend. Saint Elizabeth, the tutelar saint of the land, thepious princess of Thuringia, whose good deeds have been immortalizedin so many places through stories and legends, had greater beautyand more real grace. Her picture hung in the chapel, surrounded bysilver lamps; but it did not in the least resemble Molly.

　　The apple-tree, which the two children had planted, grew yearafter year, till it became so large that it had to be transplantedinto the garden, where the dew fell and the sun shone warmly. Andthere it increased in strength so much as to be able to withstandthe cold of winter; and after passing through the severe weather, itseemed to put forth its blossoms in spring for very joy that thecold season had gone. In autumn it produced two apples, one forMolly and one for Anthony; it could not well do less. The tree afterthis grew very rapidly, and Molly grew with the tree. She was as freshas an apple-blossom, but Anthony was not to behold this flower forlong. All things change; Molly's father left his old home, and Mollywent with him far away. In our time, it would be only a journey of afew hours, but then it took more than a day and a night to travel sofar eastward from Eisenbach to a town still called Weimar, on theborders of Thuringia. And Molly and Anthony both wept, but these tearsall flowed together into one tear which had the rosy shimmer of joy.Molly had told him that she loved him—loved him more than all thesplendors of Weimar.

　　One, two, three years went by, and during the whole time hereceived only two letters. One came by the carrier, and the other atraveller brought. The way was very long and difficult, with manyturnings and windings through towns and villages. How often hadAnthony and Molly heard the story of Tristan and Isolda, and Anthonyhad thought the story applied to him, although Tristan means born insorrow, which Anthony certainly was not; nor was it likely he wouldever say of Molly as Tristan said of Isolda, "She has forgotten me."But in truth, Isolda had not forgotten him, her faithful friend; andwhen both were laid in their graves, one, on each side of thechurch, the linden-trees that grew by each grave spread over the roof,and, bending towards each other, mingled their blossoms together.Anthony thought it a very beautiful but mournful story; yet he neverfeared anything so sad would happen to him and Molly, as he passed thespot, whistling the air of a song, composed by the minstrel Walter,called the "Willow bird," beginning—

　　"Under the linden-trees,

　　Out on the heath."

　　One stanza pleased him exceedingly—

　　"Through the forest, and in the vale,

　　Sweetly warbles the nightingale.

　　This song was often in his mouth, and he sung or whistled it ona moonlight night, when he rode on horseback along the deep, hollowway, on his road to Weimar, to visit Molly. He wished to arriveunexpectedly, and so indeed he did. He was received with a heartywelcome, and introduced to plenty of grand and pleasant company, whereoverflowing winecups were passed about. A pretty room and a good bedwere provided for him, and yet his reception was not what he hadexpected and dreamed it would be. He could not comprehend his ownfeelings nor the feelings of others; but it is easily understood how aperson can be admitted into a house or a family without becoming oneof them. We converse in company with those we meet, as we conversewith our fellow-travellers in a stage-coach, on a journey; we knownothing of them, and perhaps all the while we are incommoding oneanother, and each is wishing himself or his neighbor away. Somethingof this kind Anthony felt when Molly talked to him of old times.

　　"I am a straightforward girl," she said, "and I will tell youmyself how it is. There have been great changes since we were childrentogether; everything is different, both inwardly and outwardly. Wecannot control our wills, nor the feelings of our hearts, by the forceof custom. Anthony, I would not, for the world, make an enemy of youwhen I am far away. Believe me, I entertain for you the kindest wishesin my heart; but to feel for you what I now know can be felt foranother man, can never be. You must try and reconcile yourself tothis. Farewell, Anthony."

　　Anthony also said, "Farewell." Not a tear came into his eye; hefelt he was no longer Molly's friend. Hot iron and cold iron aliketake the skin from our lips, and we feel the same sensation if we kisseither; and Anthony's kiss was now the kiss of hatred, as it hadonce been the kiss of love. Within four-and-twenty hours Anthony wasback again to Eisenach, though the horse that he rode was entirelyruined.

　　"What matters it?" said he; "I am ruined also. I will destroyeverything that can remind me of her, or of Lady Halle, or Lady Venus,the heathen woman. I will break down the apple-tree, and tear it up bythe roots; never more shall it blossom or bear fruit."

　　The apple-tree was not broken down; for Anthony himself was struckwith a fever, which caused him to break down, and confined him tohis bed. But something occurred to raise him up again. What was it?A medicine was offered to him, which he was obliged to take: abitter remedy, at which the sick body and the oppressed spirit alikeshuddered. Anthony's father lost all his property, and, from beingknown as one of the richest merchants, he became very poor. Dark days,heavy trials, with poverty at the door, came rolling into the houseupon them like the waves of the sea. Sorrow and suffering deprivedAnthony's father of his strength, so that he had something else tothink of besides nursing his love-sorrows and his anger against Molly.He had to take his father's place, to give orders, to act with energy,to help, and, at last, to go out into the world and earn his bread.Anthony went to Bremen, and there he learnt what poverty and hardliving really were. These things often harden the character, butsometimes soften the heart, even too much.

　　How different the world, and the people in it, appeared to Anthonynow, to what he had thought in his childhood! What to him were theminstrel's songs? An echo of the past, sounds long vanished. Attimes he would think in this way; yet again and again the songswould sound in his soul, and his heart become gentle and pious.

　　"God's will is the best," he would then say. "It was well that Iwas not allowed to keep my power over Molly's heart, and that shedid not remain true to me. How I should have felt it now, when fortunehas deserted me! She left me before she knew of the change in mycircumstances, or had a thought of what was before me. That is amerciful providence for me. All has happened for the best. She couldnot help it, and yet I have been so bitter, and in such enmity againsther."

　　Years passed by: Anthony's father died, and strangers lived in theold house. He had seen it once again since then. His rich mastersent him journeys on business, and on one occasion his way led himto his native town of Eisenach. The old Wartburg castle stoodunchanged on the rock where the monk and the nun were hewn out ofthe stone. The great oaks formed an outline to the scene which he sowell remembered in his childhood. The Venus mountain stood out grayand bare, overshadowing the valley beneath. He would have been glad tocall out "Lady Halle, Lady Halle, unlock the mountain. I would fainremain here always in my native soil." That was a sinful thought,and he offered a prayer to drive it away. Then a little bird in thethicket sang out clearly, and old Anthony thought of the minstrel'ssong. How much came back to his remembrance as he looked through thetears once more on his native town! The old house was still standingas in olden times, but the garden had been greatly altered; apathway led through a portion of the ground, and outside the garden,and beyond the path, stood the old apple-tree, which he had not brokendown, although he talked of doing so in his trouble. The sun stillthrew its rays upon the tree, and the refreshing dew fell upon it asof old; and it was so overloaded with fruit that the branches benttowards the earth with the weight. "That flourishes still," said he,as he gazed. One of the branches of the tree had, however, beenbroken: mischievous hands must have done this in passing, for the treenow stood in a public thoroughfare. "The blossoms are oftenplucked," said Anthony; "the fruit is stolen and the branches brokenwithout a thankful thought of their profusion and beauty. It mightbe said of a tree, as it has been said of some men—it was notpredicted at his cradle that he should come to this. How brightlybegan the history of this tree, and what is it now? Forsaken andforgotten, in a garden by a hedge in a field, and close to a publicroad. There it stands, unsheltered, plundered, and broken. Itcertainly has not yet withered; but in the course of years thenumber of blossoms from time to time will grow less, and at last itwas cease altogether to bear fruit; and then its history will beover."

　　Such were Anthony's thoughts as he stood under the tree, andduring many a long night as he lay in his lonely chamber in the woodenhouse in Hauschen Street, Copenhagen, in the foreign land to which therich merchant of Bremen, his employer, had sent him on conditionthat he should never marry. "Marry! ha, ha!" and he laughed bitterlyto himself at the thought.

　　Winter one year set in early, and it was freezing hard. Without, asnowstorm made every one remain at home who could do so. Thus ithappened that Anthony's neighbors, who lived opposite to him, didnot notice that his house remained unopened for two days, and thathe had not showed himself during that time, for who would go out insuch weather unless he were obliged to do so. They were gray, gloomydays, and in the house whose windows were not glass, twilight and darknights reigned in turns. During these two days old Anthony had notleft his bed, he had not the strength to do so. The bitter weather hadfor some time affected his limbs. There lay the old bachelor, forsakenby all, and unable to help himself. He could scarcely reach thewater jug that he had placed by his bed, and the last drop was gone.It was not fever, nor sickness, but old age, that had laid him low. Inthe little corner, where his bed lay, he was over-shadowed as itwere by perpetual night. A little spider, which he could however notsee, busily and cheerfully spun its web above him, so that thereshould be a kind of little banner waving over the old man, when hiseyes closed. The time passed slowly and painfully. He had no tearsto shed, and he felt no pain; no thought of Molly came into hismind. He felt as if the world was now nothing to him, as if he werelying beyond it, with no one to think of him. Now and then he feltslight sensations of hunger and thirst; but no one came to him, no onetended him. He thought of all those who had once suffered fromstarvation, of Saint Elizabeth, who once wandered on the earth, thesaint of his home and his childhood, the noble Duchess of Thuringia,that highly esteemed lady who visited the poorest villages, bringinghope and relief to the sick inmates. The recollection of her piousdeeds was as light to the soul of poor Anthony. He thought of her asshe went about speaking words of comfort, binding up the wounds of theafflicted and feeding the hungry, although often blamed for it byher stern husband. He remembered a story told of her, that on oneoccasion, when she was carrying a basket full of wine andprovisions, her husband, who had watched her footsteps, steppedforward and asked her angrily what she carried in her basket,whereupon, with fear and trembling, she answered, "Roses, which I haveplucked from the garden." Then he tore away the cloth which coveredthe basket, and what could equal the surprise of the pious woman, tofind that by a miracle, everything in her basket—the wine, thebread—had all been changed into roses.

　　In this way the memory of the kind lady dwelt in the calm mindof Anthony. She was as a living reality in his little dwelling inthe Danish land. He uncovered his face that he might look into hergentle eyes, while everything around him changed from its look ofpoverty and want, to a bright rose tint. The fragrance of roses spreadthrough the room, mingled with the sweet smell of apples. He saw thebranches of an apple-tree spreading above him. It was the tree whichhe and Molly had planted together. The fragrant leaves of the treefell upon him and cooled his burning brow; upon his parched lipsthey seemed like refreshing bread and wine; and as they rested onhis breast, a peaceful calm stole over him, and he felt inclined tosleep. "I shall sleep now," he whispered to himself. "Sleep will do megood. In the morning I shall be upon my feet again, strong and well.Glorious! wonderful! That apple-tree, planted in love, now appearsbefore me in heavenly beauty." And he slept.

　　The following day, the third day during which his house had beenclosed, the snow-storm ceased. Then his opposite neighbor stepped overto the house in which old Anthony lived, for he had not yet showedhimself. There he lay stretched on his bed, dead, with his oldnightcap tightly clasped in his two hands. The nightcap, however,was not placed on his head in his coffin; he had a clean white oneon then. Where now were the tears he had shed? What had become ofthose wonderful pearls? They were in the nightcap still. Such tears asthese cannot be washed out, even when the nightcap is forgotten. Theold thoughts and dreams of a bachelor's nightcap still remain. Neverwish for such a nightcap. It would make your forehead hot, causeyour pulse to beat with agitation, and conjure up dreams which wouldappear realities.

　　The first who wore old Anthony's cap felt the truth of this,though it was half a century afterwards. That man was the mayorhimself, who had already made a comfortable home for his wife andeleven children, by his industry. The moment he put the cap on hedreamed of unfortunate love, of bankruptcy, and of dark days."Hallo! how the nightcap burns!" he exclaimed, as he tore it fromhis bead. Then a pearl rolled out, and then another, and another,and they glittered and sounded as they fell. "What can this be? Isit paralysis, or something dazzling my eyes?" They were the tearswhich old Anthony had shed half a century before.

　　To every one who afterwards put this cap on his head, came visionsand dreams which agitated him not a little. His own history waschanged into that of Anthony till it became quite a story, and manystories might be made by others, so we will leave them to relate theirown. We have told the first; and our last word is, don't wish for a"bachelor's nightcap."