The Old House

In the street, up there, was an old, a very old house—it was almost three hundred years old, for that might be known by reading the great beam on which the date of the year was carved: together with tulips and hop-binds there were whole verses spelled as in former times, and over every window was a distorted face cut out in the beam. The one story stood forward a great way over the other; and directly under the eaves was a leaden spout with a dragon's head; the rain-water should have run out of the mouth, but it ran out of the belly, for there was a hole in the spout.

Up the street stood an old, very old house. It was almost three hundred years old. You could tell by reading the date carved into a great beam. Alongside carvings of tulips and hop vines were whole verses spelled in the old-fashioned way. A distorted face was carved into the beam above each window. Each story stuck out a long way over the one below it. Just below the eaves was a lead spout with a dragon's head. The rainwater was supposed to flow from the dragon's mouth. But it flowed from the belly because there was a hole in the spout.

All the other houses in the street were so new and so neat, with large window panes and smooth walls, one could easily see that they would have nothing to do with the old house: they certainly thought, “How long is that old decayed thing to stand here as a spectacle in the street? And then the projecting windows stand so far out, that no one can see from our windows what happens in that direction! The steps are as broad as those of a palace, and as high as to a church tower. The iron railings look just like the door to an old family vault, and then they have brass tops—that's so stupid!”

All the other houses on the street were so new and neat, with large windowpanes and smooth walls. It was easy to see that they wanted nothing to do with the old house. They surely thought, “How long is that old, decaying thing going to stand here as a spectacle in the street? And its windows stick out so far that we can't see what happens in that direction from our windows! The steps are as broad as those of a palace and as high as those leading to a church tower. The iron railings look just like the door to an old family vault, and they have brass tops. That's so stupid!”

On the other side of the street were also new and neat houses, and they thought just as the others did; but at the window opposite the old house there sat a little boy with fresh rosy cheeks and bright beaming eyes: he certainly liked the old house best, and that both in sunshine and moonshine. And when he looked across at the wall where the mortar had fallen out, he could sit and find out there the strangest figures imaginable; exactly as the street had appeared before, with steps, projecting windows, and pointed gables; he could see soldiers with halberds, and spouts where the water ran, like dragons and serpents. That was a house to look at; and there lived an old man, who wore plush breeches; and he had a coat with large brass buttons, and a wig that one could see was a real wig. Every morning there came an old fellow to him who put his rooms in order, and went on errands; otherwise, the old man in the plush breeches was quite alone in the old house. Now and then he came to the window and looked out, and the little boy nodded to him, and the old man nodded again, and so they became acquaintances, and then they were friends, although they had never spoken to each other—but that made no difference. The little boy heard his parents say, “The old man opposite is very well off, but he is so very, very lonely!”

On the other side of the street were more new, neat houses, and they thought just as the others did. But a little boy sat at the window opposite the old house. He had rosy cheeks and bright, shining eyes. He certainly liked the old house best, both in sunshine and moonlight. When he looked across at the wall where the mortar had fallen out, he could find the strangest shapes imaginable. He could see the street just as it had once looked, with steps, projecting windows, and pointed gables. He could see soldiers with halberds and water spouts shaped like dragons and serpents. That was a house worth looking at. An old man lived there. He wore plush breeches, a coat with large brass buttons, and a wig that was clearly a real wig. Every morning, an old fellow came to tidy his rooms and run errands. Otherwise, the old man in the plush breeches was quite alone in the old house. Now and then he came to the window and looked out. The little boy would nod to him, and the old man would nod back. In this way they became acquainted, and then they became friends. They had never spoken to each other, but that made no difference. The little boy heard his parents say, “The old man across the street is very well off, but he is so very, very lonely!”

The Sunday following, the little boy took something, and wrapped it up in a piece of paper, went downstairs, and stood in the doorway; and when the man who went on errands came past, he said to him—

The following Sunday, the little boy took something and wrapped it in a piece of paper. He went downstairs and stood in the doorway. When the man who ran errands came past, the boy said to him:

“I say, master! will you give this to the old man over the way from me? I have two pewter soldiers—this is one of them, and he shall have it, for I know he is so very, very lonely.”

“Hey, master! Will you give this to the old man across the way for me? I have two pewter soldiers, and this is one of them. He can have it because I know he is very, very lonely.”

And the old errand man looked quite pleased, nodded, and took the pewter soldier over to the old house. Afterwards there came a message; it was to ask if the little boy himself had not a wish to come over and pay a visit; and so he got permission of his parents, and then went over to the old house.

The old errand man looked quite pleased. He nodded and took the pewter soldier to the old house. Later, a message came asking whether the little boy himself would like to come over for a visit. So the boy got his parents’ permission and went to the old house.

And the brass balls on the iron railings shone much brighter than ever; one would have thought they were polished on account of the visit; and it was as if the carved-out trumpeters—for there were trumpeters, who stood in tulips, carved out on the door—blew with all their might, their cheeks appeared so much rounder than before. Yes, they blew—“Trateratra! The little boy comes! Trateratra!”—and then the door opened.

And the brass balls on the iron railings shone much brighter than ever. You might have thought they had been polished for the visit. Trumpeters standing in tulips were carved on the door. Their cheeks looked much rounder than before, as if they were blowing with all their might. Yes, they blew, “Trateratra! The little boy comes! Trateratra!” Then the door opened.

The whole passage was hung with portraits of knights in armor, and ladies in silken gowns; and the armor rattled, and the silken gowns rustled! And then there was a flight of stairs which went a good way upwards, and a little way downwards, and then one came on a balcony which was in a very dilapidated state, sure enough, with large holes and long crevices, but grass grew there and leaves out of them altogether, for the whole balcony outside, the yard, and the walls, were overgrown with so much green stuff, that it looked like a garden; only a balcony. Here stood old flower-pots with faces and asses' ears, and the flowers grew just as they liked. One of the pots was quite overrun on all sides with pinks, that is to say, with the green part; shoot stood by shoot, and it said quite distinctly, “The air has cherished me, the sun has kissed me, and promised me a little flower on Sunday! a little flower on Sunday!”

The whole hallway was lined with portraits of knights in armor and ladies in silk gowns. The armor rattled, and the silk gowns rustled! Then there was a staircase that went a long way up and a little way down. It led to a balcony that was certainly in a terrible state, with large holes and long cracks. But grass and leaves grew out of them. The entire balcony, the yard, and the walls were so overgrown with greenery that the place looked like a garden, except that it was a balcony. Old flowerpots stood there with faces and donkey ears, and the flowers grew as they pleased. One pot was covered on all sides with pinks, or rather, with their green shoots. The shoots stood side by side, and the pot said quite clearly, “The air has cared for me, the sun has kissed me, and promised me a little flower on Sunday! A little flower on Sunday!”

And then they entered a chamber where the walls were covered with hog's leather, and printed with gold flowers.

Then they entered a room where the walls were covered in pigskin leather printed with gold flowers.

said the walls.

said the walls.

And there stood easy-chairs, with such high backs, and so carved out, and with arms on both sides. “Sit down! sit down!” said they. “Ugh! how I creak; now I shall certainly get the gout, like the old clothespress, ugh!”

There were armchairs with very high, intricately carved backs and arms on both sides. “Sit down! Sit down!” the chairs said. “Ugh! How I creak! Now I’ll certainly get gout, like the old clothes cupboard. Ugh!”

And then the little boy came into the room where the projecting windows were, and where the old man sat.

Then the little boy entered the room with the projecting windows, where the old man sat.

“I thank you for the pewter soldier, my little friend!” said the old man. “And I thank you because you come over to me.”

“Thank you for the pewter soldier, my little friend!” said the old man. “And thank you for coming to visit me.”

“Thankee! thankee!” or “cranky! cranky!” sounded from all the furniture; there was so much of it, that each article stood in the other's way, to get a look at the little boy.

“Thank you! Thank you!” or “cranky! cranky!” came from all the furniture. There was so much furniture that each piece stood in another’s way as it tried to see the little boy.

In the middle of the wall hung a picture representing a beautiful lady, so young, so glad, but dressed quite as in former times, with clothes that stood quite stiff, and with powder in her hair; she neither said “thankee, thankee!” nor “cranky, cranky!” but looked with her mild eyes at the little boy, who directly asked the old man, “Where did you get her?”

In the middle of the wall hung a picture of a beautiful lady. She was so young and cheerful, but dressed in old-fashioned clothes that stood stiffly, with powder in her hair. She said neither “thankee, thankee!” nor “cranky, cranky!” Instead, she looked at the little boy with gentle eyes. He immediately asked the old man, “Where did you get her?”

“Yonder, at the broker's,” said the old man, “where there are so many pictures hanging. No one knows or cares about them, for they are all of them buried; but I knew her in by-gone days, and now she has been dead and gone these fifty years!”

“Over there at the broker's,” said the old man, “where so many pictures are hanging. No one knows or cares about them, because they are all buried. But I knew her long ago, and she has been dead and gone for fifty years now!”

Under the picture, in a glazed frame, there hung a bouquet of withered flowers; they were almost fifty years old; they looked so very old!

Under the picture hung a bouquet of withered flowers in a glass frame. The flowers were almost fifty years old. They looked so very old!

The pendulum of the great clock went to and fro, and the hands turned, and everything in the room became still older; but they did not observe it.

The great clock’s pendulum swung back and forth, and its hands moved. Everything in the room grew older, but they did not notice.

“They say at home,” said the little boy, “that you are so very, very lonely!”

“They say at home,” said the little boy, “that you are very, very lonely!”

“Oh!” said he. “The old thoughts, with what they may bring with them, come and visit me, and now you also come! I am very well off!”

“Oh!” he said. “Old thoughts come to visit me, along with whatever they may bring. And now you’ve come too! I’m very well off!”

Then he took a book with pictures in it down from the shelf; there were whole long processions and pageants, with the strangest characters, which one never sees now-a-days; soldiers like the knave of clubs, and citizens with waving flags: the tailors had theirs, with a pair of shears held by two lions—and the shoemakers theirs, without boots, but with an eagle that had two heads, for the shoemakers must have everything so that they can say, it is a pair! Yes, that was a picture book!

Then he took a picture book down from the shelf. It showed long processions and pageants, full of strange characters you never see nowadays. There were soldiers who looked like the knave of clubs, and citizens carrying waving flags. The tailors had a flag with a pair of shears held by two lions. The shoemakers had a flag too. It had no boots on it, but it did have an eagle with two heads. After all, shoemakers must have everything in pairs so they can say, “It is a pair!” Yes, that was a picture book!

The old man now went into the other room to fetch preserves, apples, and nuts—yes, it was delightful over there in the old house.

The old man went into the other room to get preserves, apples, and nuts. Yes, it was delightful in the old house.

“I cannot bear it any longer!” said the pewter soldier, who sat on the drawers. “It is so lonely and melancholy here! But when one has been in a family circle one cannot accustom oneself to this life! I cannot bear it any longer! The whole day is so long, and the evenings are still longer! Here it is not at all as it is over the way at your home, where your father and mother spoke so pleasantly, and where you and all your sweet children made such a delightful noise. Nay, how lonely the old man is—do you think that he gets kisses? Do you think he gets mild eyes, or a Christmas tree? He will get nothing but a grave! I can bear it no longer!”

“I can’t bear it any longer!” said the pewter soldier, who sat on the chest of drawers. “It’s so lonely and sad here! But once you’ve been part of a family, you can’t get used to this life! I can’t bear it any longer! The days are so long, and the evenings are even longer! It’s nothing like your home across the way. There, your father and mother spoke so kindly, and you and all your sweet children made such a delightful noise. Oh, how lonely the old man is! Do you think he gets kisses? Do you think anyone looks at him with tenderness? Does he get a Christmas tree? He’ll get nothing but a grave! I can’t bear it any longer!”

“You must not let it grieve you so much,” said the little boy. “I find it so very delightful here, and then all the old thoughts, with what they may bring with them, they come and visit here.”

“Please don't let it make you so sad,” said the little boy. “I find it so delightful here. And all the old thoughts come to visit me here, along with whatever they may bring.”

“Yes, it's all very well, but I see nothing of them, and I don't know them!” said the pewter soldier. “I cannot bear it!”

“Yes, that's all very well, but I can't see them, and I don't know them!” said the pewter soldier. “I can't bear it!”

“But you must!” said the little boy.

“But you must!” said the little boy.

Then in came the old man with the most pleased and happy face, the most delicious preserves, apples, and nuts, and so the little boy thought no more about the pewter soldier.

Then the old man came in, looking very pleased and happy. He brought the most delicious preserves, apples, and nuts. So the little boy stopped thinking about the pewter soldier.

The little boy returned home happy and pleased, and weeks and days passed away, and nods were made to the old house, and from the old house, and then the little boy went over there again.

The little boy went home happy and pleased. Days and weeks passed, and nods were exchanged with the old house. Then the little boy went over there again.

The carved trumpeters blew, “Trateratra! There is the little boy! Trateratra!” and the swords and armor on the knights' portraits rattled, and the silk gowns rustled; the hog's leather spoke, and the old chairs had the gout in their legs and rheumatism in their backs: Ugh! it was exactly like the first time, for over there one day and hour was just like another.

The carved trumpeters blew, “Trateratra! There is the little boy! Trateratra!” The swords and armor in the knights' portraits rattled, and the silk gowns rustled. The pigskin leather spoke, and the old chairs had gout in their legs and rheumatism in their backs. Ugh! It was just like the first time, because over there every day and every hour was just like the next.

“I cannot bear it!” said the pewter soldier. “I have shed pewter tears! It is too melancholy! Rather let me go to the wars and lose arms and legs! It would at least be a change. I cannot bear it longer! Now, I know what it is to have a visit from one's old thoughts, with what they may bring with them! I have had a visit from mine, and you may be sure it is no pleasant thing in the end; I was at last about to jump down from the drawers.

“I can’t bear it!” said the pewter soldier. “I’ve shed pewter tears! It’s too sad! I’d rather go to war and lose my arms and legs! At least that would be a change. I can’t bear it any longer! Now I know what it’s like to have your old thoughts come back, along with whatever they may bring! Mine have come back to me, and you can be sure it’s no pleasant thing in the end. I was finally about to jump down from the chest of drawers.

“I saw you all over there at home so distinctly, as if you really were here; it was again that Sunday morning; all you children stood before the table and sung your Psalms, as you do every morning. You stood devoutly with folded hands; and father and mother were just as pious; and then the door was opened, and little sister Mary, who is not two years old yet, and who always dances when she hears music or singing, of whatever kind it may be, was put into the room—though she ought not to have been there—and then she began to dance, but could not keep time, because the tones were so long; and then she stood, first on the one leg, and bent her head forwards, and then on the other leg, and bent her head forwards—but all would not do. You stood very seriously all together, although it was difficult enough; but I laughed to myself, and then I fell off the table, and got a bump, which I have still—for it was not right of me to laugh. But the whole now passes before me again in thought, and everything that I have lived to see; and these are the old thoughts, with what they may bring with them.

“I saw all of you back home so clearly, as if you were really here. It was that Sunday morning again. All you children stood before the table and sang your Psalms, as you do every morning. You stood reverently with your hands folded, and father and mother were just as reverent. Then the door opened, and little sister Mary was brought into the room, though she should not have been there. She is not yet two years old and always dances when she hears music or singing of any kind. She began to dance, but she could not keep time because the notes were so long. She stood on one leg and bent her head forward, then on the other and bent her head forward again. But nothing worked. You all stood together looking very serious, although it was difficult enough. But I laughed to myself, and then I fell off the table and got a bump. I still have the bump, because it was wrong of me to laugh. But now it all passes through my mind again, along with everything I have lived to see. These are the old thoughts, with whatever they may bring with them.

“Tell me if you still sing on Sundays? Tell me something about little Mary! And how my comrade, the other pewter soldier, lives! Yes, he is happy enough, that's sure! I cannot bear it any longer!”

“Tell me, do you still sing on Sundays? Tell me something about little Mary! And tell me how my comrade, the other pewter soldier, is doing! Yes, he is happy enough, that's for sure! I can't bear it any longer!”

“You are given away as a present!” said the little boy. “You must remain. Can you not understand that?”

“You’ve been given away as a present!” said the little boy. “You have to stay. Don’t you understand?”

The old man now came with a drawer, in which there was much to be seen, both “tin boxes” and “balsam boxes,” old cards, so large and so gilded, such as one never sees them now. And several drawers were opened, and the piano was opened; it had landscapes on the inside of the lid, and it was so hoarse when the old man played on it! and then he hummed a song.

The old man came with a drawer full of things to see. There were “tin boxes” and “balsam boxes,” and old cards so large and gilded that you never see their like today. Several drawers were opened, and the piano was opened too. There were landscapes painted inside the piano lid. How hoarse the piano sounded when the old man played it! Then he hummed a song.

“Yes, she could sing that!” said he, and nodded to the portrait, which he had bought at the broker's, and the old man's eyes shone so bright!

“Yes, she could sing that!” he said, nodding toward the portrait he had bought from a dealer. The old man's eyes shone so brightly!

“I will go to the wars! I will go to the wars!” shouted the pewter soldier as loud as he could, and threw himself off the drawers right down on the floor. What became of him? The old man sought, and the little boy sought; he was away, and he stayed away.

“I will go to war! I will go to war!” shouted the pewter soldier as loudly as he could. Then he threw himself off the chest of drawers and onto the floor. What happened to him? The old man looked for him, and so did the little boy. He was gone, and he stayed gone.

“I shall find him!” said the old man; but he never found him. The floor was too open—the pewter soldier had fallen through a crevice, and there he lay as in an open tomb.

“I’ll find him!” said the old man, but he never did. There were too many gaps in the floor. The pewter soldier had fallen through a crack, and he lay there as if in an open tomb.

That day passed, and the little boy went home, and that week passed, and several weeks too. The windows were quite frozen, the little boy was obliged to sit and breathe on them to get a peep-hole over to the old house, and there the snow had been blown into all the carved work and inscriptions; it lay quite up over the steps, just as if there was no one at home—nor was there any one at home—the old man was dead!

That day passed, and the little boy went home. That week passed too, and then several more weeks went by. The windows were completely frozen over. The little boy had to sit and breathe on them to make a small hole to look through at the old house. Snow had blown into all the carved decorations and inscriptions on the house. It covered the steps, just as if no one were home. And no one was home. The old man was dead!

In the evening there was a hearse seen before the door, and he was borne into it in his coffin: he was now to go out into the country, to lie in his grave. He was driven out there, but no one followed; all his friends were dead, and the little boy kissed his hand to the coffin as it was driven away.

In the evening, a hearse appeared at the door, and he was carried into it in his coffin. He was to be taken into the countryside and buried. He was driven there, but no one followed. All his friends were dead. As the coffin was driven away, the little boy kissed his hand to it.

Some days afterwards there was an auction at the old house, and the little boy saw from his window how they carried the old knights and the old ladies away, the flower-pots with the long ears, the old chairs, and the old clothes-presses. Something came here, and something came there; the portrait of her who had been found at the broker's came to the broker's again; and there it hung, for no one knew her more—no one cared about the old picture.

A few days later, there was an auction at the old house. From his window, the little boy watched the old knights and ladies being carried away. The flowerpots with long ears, the old chairs, and the old wardrobes were carried away too. Some things went one place, and some went another. The portrait of the woman that had been found at the secondhand dealer’s went back there. It hung there because no one knew who she was anymore. No one cared about the old picture.

In the spring they pulled the house down, for, as people said, it was a ruin. One could see from the street right into the room with the hog's-leather hanging, which was slashed and torn; and the green grass and leaves about the balcony hung quite wild about the falling beams. And then it was put to rights.

In the spring, they tore the house down because, as people said, it was a ruin. From the street, you could see right into the room with the slashed and torn pigskin wall covering. Grass and leaves grew wild around the balcony, hanging over the collapsing beams. Then it was put in order.

“That was a relief,” said the neighboring houses.

“That was a relief,” said the neighboring houses.

A fine house was built there, with large windows, and smooth white walls; but before it, where the old house had in fact stood, was a little garden laid out, and a wild grapevine ran up the wall of the neighboring house. Before the garden there was a large iron railing with an iron door, it looked quite splendid, and people stood still and peeped in, and the sparrows hung by scores in the vine, and chattered away at each other as well as they could, but it was not about the old house, for they could not remember it, so many years had passed—so many that the little boy had grown up to a whole man, yes, a clever man, and a pleasure to his parents; and he had just been married, and, together with his little wife, had come to live in the house here, where the garden was; and he stood by her there whilst she planted a field-flower that she found so pretty; she planted it with her little hand, and pressed the earth around it with her fingers. Oh! what was that? She had stuck herself. There sat something pointed, straight out of the soft mould.

A fine house was built there, with large windows and smooth white walls. In front of it, where the old house had stood, a little garden was laid out. A wild grapevine climbed the wall of the neighboring house. A large iron railing with an iron gate stood in front of the garden. It all looked splendid, and people stopped to peek inside. Dozens of sparrows clung to the vine and chattered away at one another as best they could. But they did not chatter about the old house, because they could not remember it. So many years had passed that the little boy had grown into a man. He was a clever man, too, and a joy to his parents. He had just married and had come to live with his little wife in the house by the garden. He stood beside her as she planted a wildflower she thought very pretty. She planted it with her little hand and pressed the earth around it with her fingers. Oh! What was that? She had pricked herself. Something pointed was sticking straight out of the soft soil.

It was—yes, guess! It was the pewter soldier, he that was lost up at the old man's, and had tumbled and turned about amongst the timber and the rubbish, and had at last laid for many years in the ground.

It was, yes, guess! It was the pewter soldier who had been lost at the old man's house. He had tumbled about among the wood and rubbish, and had finally lain in the ground for many years.

The young wife wiped the dirt off the soldier, first with a green leaf, and then with her fine handkerchief—it had such a delightful smell, that it was to the pewter soldier just as if he had awaked from a trance.

The young wife wiped the dirt off the soldier, first with a green leaf and then with her fine handkerchief. The handkerchief smelled so delightful that the pewter soldier felt as if he had awakened from a trance.

“Let me see him,” said the young man. He laughed, and then shook his head. “Nay, it cannot be he; but he reminds me of a story about a pewter soldier which I had when I was a little boy!” And then he told his wife about the old house, and the old man, and about the pewter soldier that he sent over to him because he was so very, very lonely; and he told it as correctly as it had really been, so that the tears came into the eyes of his young wife, on account of the old house and the old man.

“Let me see him,” said the young man. He laughed and then shook his head. “No, it can't be him. But he reminds me of a story about a pewter soldier I had when I was a little boy!” Then he told his wife about the old house and the old man. He also told her about the pewter soldier he had sent to the old man because he was so very, very lonely. He told the story exactly as it had happened. His young wife had tears in her eyes when she heard about the old house and the old man.

“It may possibly be, however, that it is the same pewter soldier!” said she. “I will take care of it, and remember all that you have told me; but you must show me the old man's grave!”

“Still, it could be the same pewter soldier!” she said. “I will take care of it and remember everything you told me. But you must show me the old man's grave!”

“But I do not know it,” said he, “and no one knows it! All his friends were dead, no one took care of it, and I was then a little boy!”

“But I don’t know it,” he said, “and no one knows it! All his friends were dead. No one took care of it, and I was just a little boy then!”

“How very, very lonely he must have been!” said she.

“How very, very lonely he must have been!” she said.

“Very, very lonely!” said the pewter soldier. “But it is delightful not to be forgotten!”

“Very, very lonely!” said the pewter soldier. “But it’s wonderful not to be forgotten!”

“Delightful!” shouted something close by; but no one, except the pewter soldier, saw that it was a piece of the hog's-leather hangings; it had lost all its gilding, it looked like a piece of wet clay, but it had an opinion, and it gave it:

“Delightful!” shouted something nearby. But only the pewter soldier saw that it was a piece of the hogskin wall covering. It had lost all its gilding and looked like a piece of wet clay. But it had an opinion, and it gave it:

This the pewter soldier did not believe.

The pewter soldier did not believe this.