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                                    Children’s Prattle  
                                     
                                    
                                    
                                    
                                    By Hans Christian Andersen 
                                    (1859)  
                                    
                                    
                                    At a rich merchant’s house there was a 
                                    children’s party, and the children of rich 
                                    and great people were there. The merchant 
                                    was a learned man, for his father had sent 
                                    him to college, and he had passed his 
                                    examination. His father had been at first 
                                    only a cattle dealer, but always honest and 
                                    industrious, so that he had made money, and 
                                    his son, the merchant, had managed to 
                                    increase his store. Clever as he was, he had 
                                    also a heart; but there was less said of his 
                                    heart than of his money. All descriptions of 
                                    people visited at the merchant’s house, well 
                                    born, as well as intellectual, and some who 
                                    possessed neither of these recommendations.
                                     
                                     
                                    Now it was a children’s party, and there was 
                                    children’s prattle, which always is spoken 
                                    freely from the heart. Among them was a 
                                    beautiful little girl, who was terribly 
                                    proud; but this had been taught her by the 
                                    servants, and not by her parents, who were 
                                    far too sensible people.  
                                     
                                    Her father was groom of the Chambers, which 
                                    is a high office at court, and she knew it. 
                                    “I am a child of the court,” she said; now 
                                    she might just as well have been a child of 
                                    the cellar, for no one can help his birth; 
                                    and then she told the other children that 
                                    she was well-born, and said that no one who 
                                    was not well-born could rise in the world. 
                                    It was no use to read and be industrious, 
                                    for if a person was not well-born, he could 
                                    never achieve anything. “And those whose 
                                    names end with ‘sen,’” said she, “can never 
                                    be anything at all. We must put our arms 
                                    akimbo, and make the elbow quite pointed, so 
                                    as to keep these ‘sen’ people at a great 
                                    distance.” And then she stuck out her pretty 
                                    little arms, and made the elbows quite 
                                    pointed, to show how it was to be done; and 
                                    her little arms were very pretty, for she 
                                    was a sweet-looking child.  
                                     
                                    But the little daughter of the merchant 
                                    became very angry at this speech, for her 
                                    father’s name was Petersen, and she knew 
                                    that the name ended in “sen,” and therefore 
                                    she said as proudly as she could, “But my 
                                    papa can buy a hundred dollars’ worth of 
                                    bonbons, and give them away to children. Can 
                                    your papa do that?”  
                                     
                                    “Yes; and my papa,” said the little daughter 
                                    of the editor of a paper, “my papa can put 
                                    your papa and everybody’s papa into the 
                                    newspaper. All sorts of people are afraid of 
                                    him, my mamma says, for he can do as he 
                                    likes with the paper.” And the little maiden 
                                    looked exceedingly proud, as if she had been 
                                    a real princess, who may be expected to look 
                                    proud.  
                                     
                                    But outside the door, which stood ajar, was 
                                    a poor boy, peeping through the crack of the 
                                    door. He was of such a lowly station that he 
                                    had not been allowed even to enter the room. 
                                    He had been turning the spit for the cook, 
                                    and she had given him permission to stand 
                                    behind the door and peep in at the 
                                    well-dressed children, who were having such 
                                    a merry time within; and for him that was a 
                                    great deal. “Oh, if I could be one of them,” 
                                    thought he, and then he heard what was said 
                                    about names, which was quite enough to make 
                                    him more unhappy. His parents at home had 
                                    not even a penny to spare to buy a 
                                    newspaper, much less could they write in 
                                    one; and worse than all, his father’s name, 
                                    and of course his own, ended in “sen,” and 
                                    therefore he could never turn out well, 
                                    which was a very sad thought. But after all, 
                                    he had been born into the world, and the 
                                    station of life had been chosen for him, 
                                    therefore he must be content.  
                                     
                                    And this is what happened on that evening.
                                     
                                     
                                    Many years passed, and most of the children 
                                    became grown-up persons.  
                                     
                                    There stood a splendid house in the town, 
                                    filled with all kinds of beautiful and 
                                    valuable objects. Everybody wished to see 
                                    it, and people even came in from the country 
                                    round to be permitted to view the treasures 
                                    it contained.  
                                     
                                    Which of the children whose prattle we have 
                                    described, could call this house his own? 
                                    One would suppose it very easy to guess. No, 
                                    no; it is not so very easy. The house 
                                    belonged to the poor little boy who had 
                                    stood on that night behind the door. He had 
                                    really become something great, although his 
                                    name ended in “sen,”— for it was Thorwaldsen.
                                     
                                     
                                    And the three other children — the children 
                                    of good birth, of money, and of intellectual 
                                    pride,—well, they were respected and honored 
                                    in the world, for they had been well 
                                    provided for by birth and position, and they 
                                    had no cause to reproach themselves with 
                                    what they had thought and spoken on that 
                                    evening long ago, for, after all, it was 
                                    mere “children’s prattle.” 
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