SOMETHING [1]
bricks, soon discovered that
each brick, when finished, brought him in a small coin, if only a
copper one; and many copper pieces, if placed one upon another, can be
changed into a shining shilling; and at whatever door a person knocks,
who has a number of these in his hands, whether it be the baker's, the
butcher's, or the tailor's, the door flies open, and he can get all he
wants. So you see the value of bricks. Some of the bricks, however,
crumbled to pieces, or were broken, but the elder brother found a
use for even these.
On the high bank of earth, which formed a dyke on the sea-coast, a
poor woman named Margaret wished to build herself a house, so all
the imperfect bricks were given to her, and a few whole ones with
them; for the eldest brother was a kind-hearted man, although he never
achieved anything higher than making bricks. The poor woman built
herself a little house- it was small and narrow, and the window was
quite crooked, the door too low, and the straw roof might have been
better thatched. But still it was a shelter, and from within you could
look far over the sea, which dashed wildly against the sea-wall on
which the little house was built. The salt waves sprinkled their white
foam over it, but it stood firm, and remained long after he who had
given the bricks to build it was dead and buried.
The second brother of course knew better how to build than poor
Margaret, for he served an apprenticeship to learn it. When his time
was up, he packed up his knapsack, and went on his travels, singing
the journeyman's song,-
"While young, I can wander without a care,
And build new houses everywhere;
Fair and bright are my dreams of home,
Always thought of wherever I roam.
Hurrah for a workman's life of glee!
There's a loved one at home who thinks of me;
Home and friends I can ne'er forget,
And I mean to be a master yet."
And that is what he did. On his return home, he became a master
builder,- built one house after another in the town, till they
formed quite a street, which, when finished, became really an ornament
to the town. These houses built a house for him in return, which was
to be his own. But how can houses build a house? If the houses were
asked, they could not answer; but the people would understand, and
say, "Certainly the street built his house for him." It was not very
large, and the floor was of lime; but when he danced with his bride on
the lime-covered floor, it was to him white and shining, and from
every stone in the wall flowers seemed to spring forth and decorate
the room as with the richest tapestry. It was really a pretty house,
and in it were a happy pair. The flag of the corporation fluttered
before it, and the journeymen and apprentices shouted "Hurrah." He had
gained his position, he had made himself something, and at last he
died, which was "something" too.
Now we come to the architect, the third brother, who had been
first a carpenter's apprentice, had worn a cap, and served as an
errand boy, but afterwards went to the academy, and risen to be an
architect, a high and noble gentleman. Ah yes, the houses of the new
street, which the brother who was a master builder erected, may have
built his house for him, but the street received its name from the
architect, and the handsomest house in the street became his property.
That was something, and he was "something," for he had a list of
titles before and after his name. His children were called "wellborn,"
and when he died, his widow was treated as a lady of position, and
that was "something." His name remained always written at the corner
of the street, and lived in every one's mouth as its name. Yes, this
also was something."
And what about the genius of the family- the fourth brother- who
wanted to invent something new and original? He tried to build a lofty
storey himself, but it fell to
each brick, when finished, brought him in a small coin, if only a
copper one; and many copper pieces, if placed one upon another, can be
changed into a shining shilling; and at whatever door a person knocks,
who has a number of these in his hands, whether it be the baker's, the
butcher's, or the tailor's, the door flies open, and he can get all he
wants. So you see the value of bricks. Some of the bricks, however,
crumbled to pieces, or were broken, but the elder brother found a
use for even these.
On the high bank of earth, which formed a dyke on the sea-coast, a
poor woman named Margaret wished to build herself a house, so all
the imperfect bricks were given to her, and a few whole ones with
them; for the eldest brother was a kind-hearted man, although he never
achieved anything higher than making bricks. The poor woman built
herself a little house- it was small and narrow, and the window was
quite crooked, the door too low, and the straw roof might have been
better thatched. But still it was a shelter, and from within you could
look far over the sea, which dashed wildly against the sea-wall on
which the little house was built. The salt waves sprinkled their white
foam over it, but it stood firm, and remained long after he who had
given the bricks to build it was dead and buried.
The second brother of course knew better how to build than poor
Margaret, for he served an apprenticeship to learn it. When his time
was up, he packed up his knapsack, and went on his travels, singing
the journeyman's song,-
"While young, I can wander without a care,
And build new houses everywhere;
Fair and bright are my dreams of home,
Always thought of wherever I roam.
Hurrah for a workman's life of glee!
There's a loved one at home who thinks of me;
Home and friends I can ne'er forget,
And I mean to be a master yet."
And that is what he did. On his return home, he became a master
builder,- built one house after another in the town, till they
formed quite a street, which, when finished, became really an ornament
to the town. These houses built a house for him in return, which was
to be his own. But how can houses build a house? If the houses were
asked, they could not answer; but the people would understand, and
say, "Certainly the street built his house for him." It was not very
large, and the floor was of lime; but when he danced with his bride on
the lime-covered floor, it was to him white and shining, and from
every stone in the wall flowers seemed to spring forth and decorate
the room as with the richest tapestry. It was really a pretty house,
and in it were a happy pair. The flag of the corporation fluttered
before it, and the journeymen and apprentices shouted "Hurrah." He had
gained his position, he had made himself something, and at last he
died, which was "something" too.
Now we come to the architect, the third brother, who had been
first a carpenter's apprentice, had worn a cap, and served as an
errand boy, but afterwards went to the academy, and risen to be an
architect, a high and noble gentleman. Ah yes, the houses of the new
street, which the brother who was a master builder erected, may have
built his house for him, but the street received its name from the
architect, and the handsomest house in the street became his property.
That was something, and he was "something," for he had a list of
titles before and after his name. His children were called "wellborn,"
and when he died, his widow was treated as a lady of position, and
that was "something." His name remained always written at the corner
of the street, and lived in every one's mouth as its name. Yes, this
also was something."
And what about the genius of the family- the fourth brother- who
wanted to invent something new and original? He tried to build a lofty
storey himself, but it fell to