Chapter 67 Danish Norse Fairy Tales

One step into Northern Europe, the sky is high and the earth is wide. We entered Denmark from Germany, geographically adjacent, and the sky is very different.Just now, the forests in Germany were still fighting the cold wind with gloomy gray and green. In a blink of an eye, the forests in Denmark have already shaken all their leaves, leaving only the rustling branches. Even the low shrub wall outside the farmhouse has been frozen into the mud same color.Therefore, the sky is unshaded, the earth is unadorned, and the sky is bright. This is my first time in Denmark, and I am full of strangers.

I looked at everything around me in astonishment, because I couldn't tolerate such a strangeness, just like I couldn't tolerate the indifference of an elder who had corresponded for many years when they met for the first time.I have been in correspondence with Denmark for many years. In the desolate season of life, this place has become my spiritual betting place again and again. That's right, my spiritual companion in childhood was Andersen, my spiritual companion in youth was Brandes, and in middle age I had many spiritual companions, one of them was Kierkegaard, and they were all Danes.

I wanted to see the land more, but it was already dark in the afternoon.The winter nights in northern Europe are so long and so hopeless, are those spirits that go straight to the east born in darkness? On the first day, stay overnight in the ancient city of Ribe on the Jutland peninsula.It was raining, and the night was darker because of the dampness.Watching the night is worse than staying up late, and we caught up with a watchman at the intersection. The watchman held a lantern in his left hand and a halberd in his right hand, and sang sentences in Danish along the way that were similar to fire and candle caution.Be very vigilant when you walk to the river, and bend down to observe the water regime. There is a stone pillar on the bank that shows that the flood in 1634 destroyed the small town.The watchman left the river and returned to the street. Occasionally, one or two old hands lightly lifted the curtains. It was the insomniac of the long night who heard his footsteps.

Chatting with the watchman, he said that to live in Denmark, one must learn how to live through the long night.Even today's Queen Margaret is trying to fit in, saying: During the long nights at Winter Palace I amuse myself by translating beautiful French prose into Danish.Sure enough, she became an outstanding literary translator.In my eyes, she, as a queen, speaks out the relationship between Long Night and literature. The second stop is Odense, Andersen's hometown.I got up early and walked across the market to find the red-roofed house where he was born.Christmas is approaching again, so I browsed the market deliberately, and the Christmas tree and roast goose in the heart of the little match girl are still green and browned here.

As soon as I turned the corner, I saw the red-roofed house on the other side of the street.Hurry up and step in, the room is very small.Back then it was a slum with many families living under the roof.Andersen's family was even poorer. His grandmother was a beggar, his father was a carpenter, and his mother washed clothes for others. What kind of misery did he experience?He swallowed everything whole, and finally understood that the only thing in this world he could fall in love with was the child. Children's eyes have no nationality and are the best at searching. They quickly stared at this red-roofed room from the windows of classrooms all over the world.

However, even the eyes of children all over the world can't help Andersen, and Andersen still lacks self-confidence for a long time.Not only came from a poor background, but also wrote in a small language, can it be recognized by the literary world?He always wanted to be a Danish writer like Adam Oehlenschlager, who was more famous at that time, but he was ridiculed by all sides.More than one writer openly accused him of pleasing shallow and impetuous readers, and even his patrons wrote to him: You think you will become a great poet, my dear Andersen!Why don't you feel that all these thoughts of yours are going nowhere, that you are going astray.

He really wanted to gain the support of European literary circles outside of Denmark, and tried hard to make friends with cultural celebrities, but in the end he made them feel like a slavish beggar.Even if he was finally widely recognized, people only thought he was an interesting writer who was good at compiling beautiful fairy tales, not a literary giant.Therefore, until his deathbed, he was eager to meet any visitor, hoping to find in their words a little bit of appreciation for himself.He is sensitive and vulnerable, easily hurt. He didn't know that he had already become a great literary master.None of the famous people he admired, visited, or dreaded came close, let alone a regional figure like Orenslage.

Today, when we have grown up and no longer linger on fairy tales, we are qualified to say: he is an eternal coordinate, examining to what extent the literature of all mankind has shaped the hearts of the world. All pretentious profundities and self-satisfied boredom can deceive the world, but they cannot face all the young people and children who are about to become the masters of society. He must have shaped the hearts and minds of the world. The evidence is that Denmark, which seldom flies the national flag, raised a national flag upright on the red-roofed building. A country that didn't care much about flags has finally found a national flag.This is another fairy tale made up of all fairy tales.