Bedtime Tale: What Happened To The Counselor

WHAT HAPPENED TO THE COUNSELLOR By Hans Christian Andersen It was late when Counsellor Knapp,

Lost in thought about the times of King Hans,

Desired to return home,

And fate so ordered it that he put on the galoshes of fortune instead of his own,

And walked out into the East Street.

Through the magic power of the galoshes he was at once carried back three hundred years to the times of King Hans,

For which he had been longing when he put them on.

Therefore he immediately set his foot into the mud and mire of the street,

Which in those days possessed no pavement.

Why,

This is horrible,

How dreadfully dirty it is,

Said the Counsellor,

And the whole pavement has vanished,

And the lamps are all out.

The moon had not yet risen high enough to penetrate the thick foggy air,

And all the objects around him were confused together in the darkness.

At the nearest corner a lamp hung before a picture of the Madonna,

But the light it gave was almost useless,

For he only perceived it when he came quite close and his eyes fell on the painted figures of the mother and the child.

That is most likely a museum of art,

Thought he,

And they have forgotten to take down the sign.

Two men in the dress of olden times passed by him.

What odd figures,

Thought he,

They must be returning from some masquerade.

Suddenly he heard the sound of a drum and fifes,

And then a blazing light from torches shone upon him.

The Counsellor stared with astonishment as he beheld a most strange procession pass before him.

First came a whole troop of drummers,

Beating their drums very cleverly.

They were followed by lifeguards with long bows and crossbows.

The principal person in the procession was a clerical-looking gentleman.

The astonished Counsellor asked what it all meant and who the gentleman might be.

That is the Bishop of Zeeland.

Good gracious,

He exclaimed.

What in the world has happened to the Bishop?

What can he be thinking about?

Then he shook his head and said,

It cannot possibly be the Bishop himself.

While musing on this strange affair,

And without looking to the right or left,

He walked on through East Street and over Highbridge Place.

The bridge,

Which he supposed led to Palace Square,

Was nowhere to be found.

But instead,

He saw a bank in some shallow water and two people who sat in a boat.

Does the gentleman wish to be ferried over the home?

Asked one.

To the home,

Exclaimed the Counsellor,

Not knowing in what age he was now existing.

I want to go to Christian's Haven in Little Turf Street.

The men stared at him.

Pray tell me where the bridge is,

Said he.

It is shameful that the lamps are not lighted here,

And it is as muddy as if one were walking in a marsh.

But the more he talked with the boatmen,

The less they could understand each other.

I don't understand your outlandish talk,

He cried at last,

Angrily turning his back upon them.

He could not,

However,

Find the bridge,

Nor any railings.

What a scandalous condition this place is in,

Said he.

Never certainly had he found his own time so miserable as on this evening.

I think it will be better for me to take a coach.

But where are they?

There was not one to be seen.

I shall be obliged to go back to the King's New Market,

Said he,

Where there are plenty of carriages standing,

Or I shall never reach Christian's Haven.

Then he went towards East Street,

And had nearly passed through it,

When the moon burst forth from a cloud.

Dear me,

What have they been erecting here,

He cried,

As he caught sight of the East Gate,

Which in olden times used to stand at the end of the East Street.

However,

He found an opening through which he passed,

And came out upon where he expected to find the New Market.

Nothing was to be seen but an open meadow,

Surrounded by a few bushes,

Through which ran a broad canal or stream.

A few miserable-looking wooden booths,

For the accommodation of Dutch watermen,

Stood on the opposite shore.

Either I behold a fata margana,

Or I must be tipsy,

Groaned the counselor.

What can it be?

What is the matter with me?

He turned back in the full conviction that he must be ill,

And walking through the street this time,

He examined the houses more closely.

He found that most of them were built of lath and plaster,

And many had only a thatched roof.

I am certainly all wrong,

Said he with a sigh,

And yet I only drank one glass of punch,

But I cannot bear even that,

And it is very foolish to give us punch and hot salmon.

I shall speak about it to the hostess,

The agent's lady.

Suppose I were to go back now and say how ill I feel.

I fear it would look so ridiculous,

And it is not very likely that I should find anyone up.

Then he looked for the house,

But it was not in existence.

This is really frightful.

I can't even recognize East Street.

Not a shop to be seen.

Nothing but old,

Wretched,

Tumble-down houses,

Just as if I were at Rose Guild or Ringstead.

Oh,

I really must be ill.

It is no use to stand upon ceremony,

But where in the world is the agent's house?

There is a house,

But it is not his,

And people still up in it,

I can hear.

Oh dear,

I certainly am very queer.

As he reached the half-open door,

He saw a light and went in.

It was a tavern of the olden times,

And seemed a kind of beer shop.

The room had the appearance of Dutch interior.

A number of people consisting of seamen,

Copenhagen citizens,

And a few scholars sat in deep conversation over their mugs,

And took very little notice of the newcomer.

Pardon me,

Said the counselor addressing the landlady.

I do not feel quite well,

And I should be much obliged if you will send for a fly to take me to Christian's Haven.

The woman stared at him and shook her head.

Then she spoke to him in German.

The counselor supposed from this that she didn't understand Danish.

He therefore repeated his request in German.

This,

As well as his singular address,

Convinced the woman that he was a foreigner.

She soon understood,

However,

That he did not find himself quite well,

And therefore brought him a mug of water.

It had something of the taste of seawater,

Certainly,

Although it had been drawn from the well outside.

Then the counselor leaned his head on his hand,

Drew a deep breath,

And pondered over the strange things that had happened to him.

Is that today's number of the day,

He asked quite mechanically,

As he saw the woman putting by a large piece of paper?

She did not understand what he meant,

But she handed him the sheet.

It was a woodcut representing a meteor which had appeared in the town of Cologne.

That is very old,

Said the counselor,

Becoming quite cheerful at the sight of this antique drawing.

Where did you get this singular sheet?

It is very interesting,

Although the whole affair is a fable.

Meteors are easily explained in these days.

They are northern lights,

Which are often seen,

And are no doubt caused by electricity.

Those who sat near him and heard what he said looked at him in great astonishment,

And one of them rose,

Took off his hat respectfully,

And said in a very serious manner,

You must certainly be a very learned man,

Monsieur.

Oh no,

Replied the counselor,

I can only discourse on topics which everyone should understand.

Modestia is of beautiful virtue,

Said the man.

Moreover,

I must add to your speech.

Yet in this case,

I would suspend my judgment.

May I ask to whom I have the pleasure of speaking?

I am a bachelor of divinity,

Said the man.

This answer satisfied the counselor.

The title agreed with the dress.

This is surely,

Thought he,

An old village schoolmaster.

A perfect original,

Such as one meets with sometimes even in Jutland.

This is not certainly a locust oscendi,

Began the man.

Still,

I must beg you to continue the conversation.

You must be well read in ancient lore.

Ah,

Yes,

Replied the counselor.

I am very fond of reading useful old books,

And modern ones as well,

With the exception of everyday stories,

Of which we really have more than enough.

Everyday stories?

Asked the bachelor.

Yes,

I mean the new novels that we have at the present day.

Oh,

Replied the man with a smile,

And yet they are very witty,

And are much read at court.

The king likes especially the romance which describes King Arthur and his knights of the round table.

He has joked about it with the gentlemen of his court.

Well,

I have certainly not read that,

Replied the counselor.

I suppose it is quite new,

And published by Heiberg.

No,

Answered the man.

It is not by Heiberg.

Goffred von Gebman brought it out.

Oh,

Is he the publisher?

That is a very old name,

Said the counselor.

Was it not the name of the first publisher in Denmark?

Yes,

He is our first printer and publisher now,

Replied the scholar.

So far all had passed off very well,

But now one of the citizens began to speak of a terrible pestilence which had been raging a few years before,

Meaning the plague of 1484.

The counselor thought he referred to cholera,

And they could discuss this without finding out the mistake.

The war in 1940 was spoken of as quite recent.

The English pirates had taken some ships in the Channel in 1801,

And the counselor,

Supposing they referred to these,

Agreed with them in finding fault with the English.

The rest of the talk,

However,

Was not so agreeable.

Every moment one contradicted the other.

The good bachelor appeared very ignorant,

For the simplest remark of the counselor seemed to him either too bold or too fantastic.

They stared at each other,

And when it became worse,

The bachelor spoke in Latin,

In the hope of being better understood.

But it was all useless.

How are you now?

Asked the landlady,

Pulling the counselor's sleeve.

Then his recollection returned to him.

In the course of conversation he had forgotten all that had happened previously.

Goodness me,

Where am I?

Said he.

It bewildered him as he thought of it.

We will have some claret,

Or mead,

Or Bremen beer,

Said one of the guests.

Will you drink with us?

Two maids came in.

One of them had a cap on her head of two colors.

They poured out the wine,

Bowed their heads,

And withdrew.

The counselor felt a cold shiver run all over him.

What is this?

What does it mean?

Said he.

But he was obliged to drink with them,

For they overpowered the good man with their politeness.

He became at last desperate,

And when one of them said he was tipsy,

He did not doubt the man's word in the lease,

Only begged them to get a droshky.

And then they thought he was speaking the Muscovite language.

Never before had he been in such rough and vulgar company.

One might believe that the country was going back to heathenism,

He observed.

This is the most terrible moment of my life.

Just then it came into his mind that he would stoop under the table and so creep to the door.

He tried it,

But before he reached the entry,

The rest discovered what he was about,

And seized him by the feet,

When luckily for him off came the galoshes,

And with them vanished the whole enchantment.

The counselor now saw quite plainly a lamp and a large building behind it.

Everything looked familiar and beautiful.

He was in East Street,

As it now appears.

He lay with his legs turned towards a porch,

And just by him sat the watchman asleep.

Is it possible that I've been laying here in the street dreaming,

Said he?

Yes,

This is East Street,

How beautifully bright and gay it looks.

It is quite shocking that one glass of punch should have upset me like this.

Two minutes afterwards he sat in a droshky,

Which was to drive him to Christian's haven.

He thought of all the terror and anxiety which he had undergone,

And felt thankful from his heart for the reality and comfort of modern times,

Which,

With all their errors,

Were far better than those in which he had so lately found himself.

And that is the end of our story this evening.

Until next time,

Sweet dreams.