1872

　　FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN1 ANDERSEN

　　IN A THOUSAND YEARS

　　by Hans Christian Andersen

　　YES, in a thousand years people will fly on the wings of steam

　　through the air, over the ocean! The young inhabitants of America will

　　become visitors of old Europe. They will come over to see the

　　monuments and the great cities, which will then be in ruins, just as

　　we in our time make pilgrimages to the tottering2 splendors3 of Southern Asia. In a thousand years they will come!

　　The Thames, the Danube, and the Rhine still roll their course,

　　Mont Blanc stands firm with its snow-capped summit, and the Northern Lights gleam over the land of the North; but generation after

　　generation has become dust, whole rows of the mighty4 of the moment are forgotten, like those who already slumber5 under the hill on which

　　the rich trader, whose ground it is, has built a bench, on which he

　　can sit and look out across his waving corn fields.

　　"To Europe!" cry the young sons of America; "to the land of our

　　ancestors, the glorious land of monuments and fancy- to Europe!"

　　The ship of the air comes. It is crowded with passengers, for

　　the transit7 is quicker than by sea. The electro-magnetic wire under

　　the ocean has already telegraphed the number of the aerial caravan8.

　　Europe is in sight. It is the coast of Ireland that they see, but

　　the passengers are still asleep; they will not be called till they are

　　exactly over England. There they will first step on European shore, in

　　the land of Shakespeare, as the educated call it; in the land of

　　politics, the land of machines, as it is called by others.

　　Here they stay a whole day. That is all the time the busy race can

　　devote to the whole of England and Scotland. Then the journey is

　　continued through the tunnel under the English Channel, to France, the land of Charlemagne and Napoleon. Moliere is named, the learned men talk of the classic school of remote antiquity9. There is rejoicing and shouting for the names of heroes, poets, and men of science, whom our time does not know, but who will be born after our time in

　　Paris, the centre of Europe, and elsewhere.

　　The air steamboat flies over the country whence Columbus went

　　forth6, where Cortez was born, and where Calderon sang dramas in

　　sounding verse. Beautiful black-eyed women live still in the

　　blooming valleys, and the oldest songs speak of the Cid and the

　　Alhambra.

　　Then through the air, over the sea, to Italy, where once lay

　　old, everlasting10 Rome. It has vanished! The Campagna lies desert. A

　　single ruined wall is shown as the remains11 of St. Peter's, but there

　　is a doubt if this ruin be genuine.

　　Next to Greece, to sleep a night in the grand hotel at the top

　　of Mount Olympus, to say that they have been there; and the journey is continued to the Bosphorus, to rest there a few hours, and see the

　　place where Byzantium lay; and where the legend tells that the harem

　　stood in the time of the Turks, poor fishermen are now spreading their nets.

　　Over the remains of mighty cities on the broad Danube, cities

　　which we in our time know not, the travellers pass; but here and

　　there, on the rich sites of those that time shall bring forth, the

　　caravan sometimes descends12, and departs thence again.

　　Down below lies Germany, that was once covered with a close net of

　　railway and canals, the region where Luther spoke13, where Goethe

　　sang, and Mozart once held the sceptre of harmony. Great names shine there, in science and in art, names that are unknown to us. One day devoted14 to seeing Germany, and one for the North, the country of Oersted and Linnaeus, and for Norway, the land of the old heroes and the young Normans. Iceland is visited on the journey home. The geysers burn no more, Hecla is an extinct volcano, but the rocky island is still fixed15 in the midst of the foaming16 sea, a continual monument of legend and poetry.

　　"There is really a great deal to be seen in Europe," says the

　　young American, "and we have seen it in a week, according to the

　　directions of the great traveller" (and here he mentions the name of

　　one of his contemporaries) "in his celebrated17 work, 'How to See All

　　Europe in a Week.'"

　　THE END

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　　Written By Anderson