Two Stories Of Hans Christian Andersen | Sleep Story

Close your eyes, breathe deeply, and drift into the world of Hans Christian Andersen. Calming music in the background and continues after the stories to help you stay asleep. 42-minute stories and 25 minutes of continued calming, ambient music.

"A Story" – It follows a sparrow, a stork, and a delicate flower, each representing different perspectives on existence.

"Beauty of Form and Beauty of Mind" - A delightful tale pondering the beauty of form and beauty of mind, guiding listeners through the harmony of inner and outer worlds.

Transcript

Welcome to Restful Journeys.

I will be reading two stories by Hans Christian Andersen.

I will be reading a story and beauty of form and beauty of mind to hopefully help you relax and fall asleep.

Please find a comfortable place to sit or lie down and relax.

Let your mind drift away.

Take a few moments to exhale completely from your mouth.

Breathe in slowly,

Hold for a few moments,

And exhale completely.

Do this one more time and feel yourself relax.

Let's begin our stories.

The Story of A Story In the garden,

All the apple trees were in blossom.

They had hastened to bring forth flowers before they got green leaves.

And in the yard,

All the ducklings walked up and down.

And the cat,

Too.

It basked in the sun and licked the sunshine from its own paws.

And when one looked at the fields,

How beautifully the corn stood and how green it shone without comparison.

And there was a twittering and a fluttering of all the little birds,

As if the day were a great festival.

And so it was,

For it was Sunday.

All the bells were ringing,

And all the people went to church,

Looking cheerful and dressed in their best clothes.

There was a look of cheerfulness on everything.

The day was so warm and beautiful that one might well have said,

God's kindness to us men is beyond all limits.

But inside the church,

The pastor stood in the pulpit and spoke very loudly and angrily.

He said that all men were wicked,

And God would punish them for their sins,

And that the wicked,

When they died,

Would be cast into hell to burn forever and ever.

He spoke very excitedly,

Saying that their evil propensities would not be destroyed,

Nor would the fire be extinguished,

And they should never find rest.

That was terrible to hear,

And he said it in such a tone of conviction.

He described hell to them as a miserable hole where all the refuse of the world gathers.

There was no air beside the hot burning sulfur flame,

And there was no ground under their feet.

They,

The wicked ones,

Sank deeper and deeper while eternal silence surrounded them.

It was dreadful to hear all of that,

For the preacher spoke from his heart,

And all the people in the church were terrified.

Meanwhile,

The birds sang merrily outside,

And the sun was shining so beautifully warm,

It seemed as though every little flower said,

God,

Thy kindness towards us all is without limits.

Indeed,

Outside it was not at all like the pastor's sermon.

The same evening,

Upon going to bed,

The pastor noticed his wife sitting there quiet and pensive.

What is the matter with you?

He asked her.

Well,

The matter with me is,

She said,

That I cannot collect my thoughts,

And am unable to grasp the meaning of what you said today in church,

That there are so many wicked people and that they should burn eternally.

Alas,

Eternally?

How long?

I am only a woman and a sinner before God,

But I should not have the heart to let even the worst sinner burn forever.

And how could our Lord to do so,

Who is so infinitively good?

And who knows how the wickedness comes from without and within?

No,

I am unable to imagine that.

Although,

You say so.

It was autumn.

The trees dropped their leaves.

The earnest and severe pastor sat at the bedside of a dying person.

A pious,

Faithful soul closed her eyes forever.

She was the pastor's wife.

If anyone shall find rest in the grave and mercy before our Lord,

You shall certainly do so,

Said the pastor.

He folded her hands and read a psalm over the dead woman.

She was buried.

Two large tears rolled over the cheeks of the earnest man,

And in the parsonage it was empty and still,

For its sun had set forever.

She had gone home.

It was night.

A cold wind swept over the pastor's bed.

He opened his eyes,

And it seemed to him as if the moon was shining into his room.

It was not so,

However.

There was a being standing before his bed and looking like the ghost of his deceased wife.

She fixed her eyes upon him with such a kind and sad expression,

Just as if she wished to say something to him.

The pastor raised himself in bed and stretched his arms towards her,

Saying,

Not even you can find eternal rest.

You suffer,

You best and most pious woman.

The dead woman nodded her head as if to say,

Yes,

And put her hand on her breast.

And can I not obtain rest in the grave for you?

Yes,

Was the answer.

And how?

Give me one hair,

Only one single hair,

From the head of the sinner,

From whom the fire shall never be extinguished,

Of the sinner whom God will condemn to eternal punishment in hell.

Yes,

One ought to be able to redeem you so easily,

You pure,

Pious woman,

He said.

Follow me,

Said the dead woman.

It is thus granted to us.

By my side,

You will be able to fly wherever your thoughts wish to go.

Invisible to men,

We shall penetrate into their most secret chambers.

But with sure hand,

You must find out him who is destined to eternal torture.

And before the cock crows,

He must be found.

As quickly as if carried by the winged thoughts,

They were in the great city.

And from the walls,

The names of the deadly sins shone in flaming letters.

Pride,

Avarice,

Drunkenness,

Wantonness in short,

The whole seven-colored bow of sin.

Yes,

Therein,

As I believed as I knew it,

Said the pastor,

Are living those who are abandoned to the eternal fire.

And they were standing before the magnificently illuminated gate.

The broad steps were adorned with carpets and flowers,

And dance music was sounding through the festive halls.

A footman,

Dressed in silk and velvet,

Stood with a large silver mounted rod near the entrance.

Our ball can compare favorably with the king's,

He said,

And turned with contempt towards the gazing crowd in the street.

What he thought was sufficiently expressed in his features and movements.

Miserable beggars,

Who are looking in,

You are nothing in comparison to me.

Pride,

Said the dead woman,

Do you see him?

The footman,

Asked the pastor,

He is but a poor fool,

And not doomed to be tortured eternally by fire,

Only a fool.

It sounded through the whole house of Pride.

They were all fools there.

Then they flew within the four naked walls of the miser,

Lean as a skeleton,

Trembling with cold and hunger.

The old man was clinging with all his thoughts to his money.

They saw him jump up feverishly from his miserable couch and take loose stone out of the wall.

There lay gold coins in an old stocking.

They saw him anxiously,

Filling over an old ragged coat in which pieces of gold were sewn,

And his clamby fingers trembled.

He is ill,

That is madness,

A joyless madness,

Besieged by fear and dreadful dreams.

They quickly went away and came before the beds of the criminals.

These unfortunate people slept side by side in long rows,

Like a ferocious animal.

One of them rose of his sleep and uttered a horrible cry and gave his comrade a violent dig in the ribs with his pointed elbow,

And this one turned round in his sleep.

Be quiet,

Monster,

Sleep.

This happens every night,

Every night,

Repeated the other.

Yes,

Every night he comes and tortures me.

In my violence,

I have done this and that.

I was born with an evil mind,

Which has brought me hither for the second time,

But if I have done wrong,

I suffer punishment for it.

One thing,

However,

I have not confessed.

When I came out a little while ago and passed by the yard of my former master,

Evil thoughts rose within me when I remembered this and that.

I struck a match a little bit on the wall,

Probably it came a little too close to the thatched roof.

All burnt down.

A great heat rose,

Such as sometimes overcomes me.

I myself helped to rescue cattle and things,

Nothing alive burnt except a flight of pigeons,

Which flew into the fire,

And the yard dog,

Of which I had not thought,

One would hear him howl out of the fire,

And this howling I still hear when I wish to sleep.

And when I have fallen asleep,

The great rough dog comes and places himself upon me,

And howls,

Presses,

And tortures me.

Now listen to what I tell you.

You can snore.

You are snoring the whole night,

And I hardly a quarter of an hour.

And then blood rose to the head of the excited criminal.

He threw himself upon his comrade and beat him with his clenched fist in the face.

Wicked Matz has become mad again,

They said amongst themselves.

The other criminals seized him,

Wrestled with him,

And bent him double so that his head rested between his knees,

And they tied him so that the blood almost came out of his eyes and out of all his pores.

You are killing the unfortunate man,

Said the pastor,

And as he stretched out his hand to protect him,

Who already suffered too much,

The scene changed.

They flew through rich holes and wretched hovels.

Wantonness and envy,

All the deadly sins passed before them.

An angel of justice read their crimes and their defense.

The latter was not a brilliant one.

It was read before God,

Who reads the heart,

Who knows everything,

The wickedness that comes from within and from without,

Who is mercy and love personified.

The pastor's hand trembled.

He dared not to stretch it out.

He did not venture to pull a hair out of the sinner's head.

And tears gushed from his eyes,

Like a stream of mercy and love,

The cooling waters of which extinguished the eternal fire of hell.

Just then,

The cock crowed.

Father of all mercy,

Grant thou to her the peace that I was unable to procure for her.

I have it now,

Said the dead woman.

It was your hard words,

Your despair of mankind,

Your gloomy belief in God and his creation,

Which drove me to you.

Learn to know mankind.

Even in the wicked one lives a part of God,

And this extinguishes and conquers the flame of hell.

The pastor felt a kiss on his lips.

A gleam of light surrounded him.

God's bright sun shone into the room,

And his wife,

Alive,

Sweet and full of love,

Awoke him from a dream which God had sent him.

The End of A Story The story of beauty of form and beauty of mind.

There once was a sculptor named Alfred,

Who having won the large gold medal and obtained a traveling scholarship,

Went to Italy and then came back to his native land.

He was young at that time.

Indeed,

He is young still,

Although he is ten years older than he was then.

On his return,

He went to visit one of the little towns in the island of Zeeland.

The whole town knew who the stranger was,

And one of the richest men in the place gave a party in his honor,

And all who were of any consequence or who possessed some property were invited.

It was quite an event,

And all the town knew of it,

So that it was not necessary to announce it by beat of drum.

Apprentice boys,

Children of the poor,

And even the poor people themselves stood before the house,

Watching the lighted windows,

And the watchman might easily fancy he was giving a party also.

There were so many people in the streets,

There was quite an air of festivity about it,

And the house was full of it,

For Mr.

Alfred,

The sculptor,

Was there.

He talked and told anecdotes,

And everyone listened to him with pleasure,

Not unmingled with all,

But none felt so much respect for him as did the elderly widow of a naval officer.

She seemed,

So far as Mr.

Alfred was concerned,

To be like a piece of fresh blotting paper that absorbed all he said and asked for more.

She was very appreciative and incredibly ignorant,

A kind of female,

Gaspar Hauser.

I should like to see Rome,

She said,

It must be a lovely city,

Or so many foreigners would not be constantly arriving there.

Now,

Do give me a description of Rome,

How does the city look when you enter in at the gate?

I cannot very well describe it,

Said the sculptor,

But you enter on a large open space,

In the center of which stands an obelisk,

Which is a thousand years old.

An organist,

Exclaimed the lady,

Who had never heard the word obelisk.

Several of the guests could scarcely forbear laughing,

And the sculptor would have had some difficulty in keeping his countenance,

But the smile on his lips faded away,

For he caught sight of a pair of dark blue eyes,

Close by the side of the inquisitive lady.

They belonged to her daughter,

And surely no one who had such a daughter could be silly.

The mother was like a fountain of questions,

And the daughter,

Who listened but never spoke,

Might have passed for the beautiful maid of the fountain.

How charming she was!

She was a study for the sculptor to contemplate,

But not to converse with,

For she did not speak,

Or at least very seldom.

Has the Pope a great family?

Inquired the lady.

The young man answered considerably,

As if the question had been a different one.

No,

He does not come from a great family.

That is not what I asked,

Persisted the widow.

I mean,

Has he a wife and children?

The Pope is not allowed to marry,

Replied the gentleman.

I don't like that,

Was the lady's remark.

She certainly might have asked more sensible questions,

But if she had not been allowed to say just what she liked,

Would her daughter have been there,

Leaning so gracefully on her shoulder,

And looking straight before her,

With a smile that was almost mournful on her face?

Mr.

Alfred again spoke of Italy,

And of the glorious colors in Italian scenery,

The purple hills,

The deep blue of the Mediterranean,

The azure of the southern skies,

Whose brightness and glory could only be surpassed in the north by the deep blue eyes of a maiden.

And he said this with a peculiar intonation,

But she who should have understood his meaning,

Looked quite unconscious of it,

Which also was charming.

Beautiful Italy,

Sighed some of the guests.

Oh,

To travel there,

Exclaimed others.

Charming,

Charming,

Echoed from every voice.

I may perhaps win a hundred thousand dollars in the lottery,

Said the naval officer's widow,

And if I do,

We will travel,

I and my daughter,

And you,

Mr.

Alfred,

Must be our guide.

We can all three travel together,

With one or two more of our good friends.

And she nodded in such a friendly way at the company,

That each imagined himself to be the favored person who was to accompany them to Italy.

Yes,

We must go,

She continued,

But not to those parts where there are robbers.

We will keep to Rome,

In the public roads,

One is always safe.

The daughter sighed very gently,

And how much there may be in a sigh or attributed to it.

The young man attributed a great deal of meaning to this sigh.

Those deep blue eyes,

Which had been lit up this evening in honor of him,

Must conceal treasures,

Treasures of heart and mind.

Richard then all the glories of Rome,

And when he left the party that night,

He had lost it completely to the young lady.

The house of the naval officer's widow was the one most constantly visited by Mr.

Alfred,

The sculptor.

It was soon understood that his visits were not intended for that lady,

Though they were the persons who kept up the conversation.

He came for the sake of the daughter.

They called her Kayla.

Her name was really Karen Molina,

And these two names had been contracted into the one name Kayla.

She was really beautiful,

But some said she was rather dull and slept late of the morning.

She has been accustomed to that,

Her mother said.

She is a beauty,

And they are always easily tired.

She does sleep rather late,

But that makes her eyes so clear.

What power seemed to lie in the depths of those dark eyes?

The young man felt the truth of the proverb,

Still waters run deep,

And his heart had sunk into their depths.

He often talked of his adventures,

And the mama was as simple and eager in her questions as on the first evening they met.

It was a pleasure to hear Alfred describe everything.

He showed them color plates of Naples,

And spoke of excursions to Mount Vesuvius,

And the eruptions of fire from it.

The naval officer's widow had never heard of them before.

Good heavens!

She exclaimed.

So that is a burning mountain,

But is it not very dangerous to the people who live near it?

Whole cities have been destroyed,

He replied.

For instance,

Herculaneum and Pompeii.

Oh,

The poor people!

And you saw all that with your own eyes?

No,

I did not see any of the eruptions which are represented in those pictures,

But I will show you a sketch of my own which represents an eruption I once saw.

He placed a pencil sketch on the table,

And Mama,

Who had been overpowered with the appearance of the colored plates,

Threw a glance at the pale drawing and cried in astonishment.

What?

Did you see it throw up white fire?

For a moment,

Alfred's respect for Kayla's Mama underwent a sudden shock,

And lessened considerably.

But,

Dazzled by the light which surrounded Kayla,

He soon found it quite natural that the old lady should have no eye for color.

After all,

It was of very little consequence,

For Kayla's Mama had the best of all possessions,

Namely,

Kayla herself.

Alfred and Kayla were betrothed,

Which was a very natural result,

And the betrothal was announced in the newspaper of the little town.

Mama purchased thirty copies of the paper that she might cut out the paragraph and send it to friends and acquaintances.

The betrothed pair were very happy,

And the mother was happy too.

She said it seemed like connecting herself with Thor Walston.

You are a true successor of Thor Walston,

She said to Alfred,

And it seemed to him as if,

In this instance,

Mama had said a clever thing.

Kayla was silent,

But her eyes shone,

Her lips smiled,

Every movement was graceful,

In fact,

She was beautiful.

That cannot be repeated too often.

Alfred decided to take a bust of Kayla,

As well as of her mother.

They sat to him accordingly,

And saw how he molded and formed the soft clay with his fingers.

I suppose it is only on our account that you perform this commonplace work yourself,

Instead of leaving it to your servant to do all that sticking together.

It is really necessary that I should mold the clay myself,

He replied.

Ah,

Yes,

You are always so polite,

Said Mama,

With a smile,

And Kayla silently pressed his hand,

All soiled as it was with the clay.

Then he unfolded to them both the beauties of nature,

And all her works.

He pointed out to them how,

In the scale of creation,

Inanimate matter was inferior to animate nature.

The plant above the mineral,

The animal above the plant,

And man above all.

He strove to show them how the beauty of the mind could be displayed in the outward form,

And that it was the sculptor's task to seize upon that beauty of expression,

And produce it in his works.

Kayla stood silent,

But nodded in approbation of what he said,

While Mama and Lol made the following confession.

It is difficult to follow you,

But I go hobbling along after you with my thoughts,

Though what you say makes my head whirl round and round.

Still,

I contrive to lay hold on some of it.

Kayla's beauty had a firm hold on Alfred.

It filled his soul.

It held a mastery over him.

Beauty beamed from Kayla's every feature,

Glittered in her eyes,

Lurked in the corners of her mouth,

And pervaded every movement in her agile fingers.

Alfred,

The sculptor,

Saw this.

He spoke only to her,

Thought only of her,

And the two became one.

And so it may be said,

She spoke much,

For he was always talking to her,

And he and she were one.

Such was a betrothal.

And then came the wedding,

With bridesmaids and wedding presents,

All duly mentioned in the wedding speech.

Mama and Lol had set up the Wollstone's bust at the end of the table,

Attired in a dressing gown.

It was her fancy that he should be a guest.

Songs were sung and cheers given,

For it was a gay wedding,

And they were a handsome pair.

Pygmalion loved his galaty.

Said one of the songs.

Ah,

That is some of your mythologies,

Said Mama and Lol.

Next day the youthful pair started for Copenhagen,

Where they were to live.

Mama and Lol accompanied them,

To attend to the coursework,

As she always called the domestic arrangements.

Kayla looked like a doll in a doll's house,

For everything was bright and new,

And so fine.

There they sat,

All three.

And as for Alfred,

A proverb may describe his position.

He looked like a swan amongst the geese.

The magic of form had enchanted him.

He had looked at the casket without caring,

To inquire what it contained.

And that omission often brings the greatest unhappiness into married life.

The casket may be injured,

The gilding may fall off,

And the purchaser regret his bargain.

In a large party,

It is very disagreeable to find a button giving away,

Without no studs of hand to fall back upon.

But it is worse still,

In a large company,

To be conscious that your wife and mother-in-law are talking nonsense,

And that you cannot depend upon yourself to produce a little ready wit to carry off the stupidity of the whole affair.

The young married pair often sat together,

Hand in hand.

He would talk,

But she could only now and then let fall a word in the same melodious voice,

The same bell-like tones.

It was a mental relief when Sophie,

One of her friends,

Came to pay them a visit.

Sophie was not pretty.

She was,

However,

Quite free from any physical deformity.

Although Kayla used to say she was a little crooked,

But no eye,

Save an intimate acquaintance,

Would have noticed it.

She was a sensible girl,

Yet it never occurred to her that she might be a dangerous person in such a house.

Her appearance created a new atmosphere in the doll's house,

And air was really required.

They all owned that.

They felt the want of the change of air,

And consequently,

The young couple and their mother traveled to Italy.

Thank heaven we are at home again within our own four walls,

Said mama-in-law and daughter both,

On their return after a year's presence.

There's no real pleasure in traveling,

Said mama.

To tell the truth,

It's very wearisome.

I beg pardon for saying so.

I was soon very tired of it,

Although I had my children with me,

And besides,

It's very expensive work traveling,

Very expensive,

And all those galleries one is expected to see,

And the quantity of things you are obliged to run after.

It must be done,

For very shame.

You are sure to be asked,

When you come back,

If you have seen everything,

And will most likely be told that you've omitted to see what was best worth seeing of all.

I got tired at last of those endless Madonnas.

I began to think I was turning into a Madonna myself,

And then living,

Mama,

Said Kayla.

Yes,

Indeed,

She replied.

No such a thing as a respectable meat soup.

Their cookery is miserable stuff.

The journey had also tired Kayla,

But she was always fatigued.

That was the worst of it.

So they sent for Sophie,

And she was taken into the house to reside with them,

And her presence there was a great advantage.

Mama-in-law acknowledged that Sophie was not only a clever housewife,

But well-informed and accomplished,

Though that could hardly be expected in a person of her limited means.

She was also a generous,

Hearted,

Faithful girl.

She showed that thoroughly while Kayla lay sick,

Fading away.

When the casket is everything,

The casket should be strong,

Or else,

All is over.

And all was over with the casket,

For Kayla died.

She was beautiful,

Said her mother.

She was quite different from the beauties they call antiques,

For they are so damaged.

A beauty ought to be perfect,

And Kayla was a perfect beauty.

Alfred wept,

And Mama wept,

And they both wore mourning.

The black dress suited Mama very well,

And she wore mourning the longest.

She had also to experience another grief in seeing Alfred marry again.

Marry Sophie,

Who was nothing at all to look at.

He's gone to the very extreme,

Said Mama-in-law.

He has gone from the most beautiful to the ugliest,

And he has forgotten his first wife.

Men have no consistency.

My husband was a very different man,

But then,

He died before me.

Pygmalion loved his Galatea,

Was in the song they sung at my first wedding,

Said Alfred.

I once fell in love with a beautiful statue,

Which awoke to life in my arms,

But the kindred soul,

Which is a gift from heaven,

The angel who can fill and sympathize with,

And elevate us,

I have not found,

And won till now.

You came,

Sophie,

Not in the glory of outward beauty,

Though you are even fairer than is necessary.

The chief thing still remains.

You came to teach the sculptor that his work is but dust and clay only,

An outward form made of a material that decays,

And that what we should seek to obtain is the ethereal essence of mind and spirit.

Poor Kayla,

Our life was but a meeting by the side,

In yonder world,

Where we shall know each other from a union of mind.

We shall be but mere acquaintances.

That was not a loving speech,

Said Sophie,

Nor spoken like a Christian,

In a future state where there is neither marrying nor giving and marriage,

But where,

As you say,

Souls are attracted to each other by sympathy.

There,

Everything beautiful develops itself,

And is raised to a higher state of existence.

Her soul will acquire such completeness,

That it may harmonize with yours,

Even more than mine,

And you will then once more utter your first rapturous exclamation of your love.

Beautiful,

Most beautiful.

The End of Beauty of Form and Beauty of Mind