Understanding of Chemical; A chemical substance is a form of matter that has the constant chemical composition and characteristic properties. It cannot be separated into components by physical separation methods, i.e., without breaking chemical bonds. Chemical substances can be chemical elements, chemical compounds, ions or alloys.
Chemical substances are often called ‘pure’ to set them apart from mixtures. A common example of a chemical substance is pure water; it has the same properties and the same ratio of hydrogen to oxygen whether it is isolated from a river or made in a laboratory. Other chemical substances commonly encountered in pure form are the diamond (carbon), gold, table salt (sodium chloride) and refined sugar (sucrose). However, in practice, no substance is entirely pure, and chemical purity is specified according to the intended use of the chemical.
Chemical substances exist as solids, liquids, gases, or plasma, and may change between these phases of matter with changes in temperature or pressure. Chemical substances may be combined or converted to others by means of chemical reactions. Now you will understanding of The Chemical Basis of Life.
Acids and Bases
Acids are chemical compounds that release hydrogen ions (H+) when placed in water. For example, when hydrogen chloride is placed in water, it releases its hydrogen ions and the solution becomes hydrochloric acid.
Bases are chemical compounds that attract hydrogen atoms when they are placed in water. An example of a base is sodium hydroxide (NaOH). When this substance is placed in water, it attracts hydrogen ions, and a basic (or alkaline) solution results as hydroxyl (–OH) ions accumulate.
Molecule
Most of the compounds of interest to biologists are composed of units called molecules. A molecule is a precise arrangement of atoms held together by chemical bonds, and a compound is a molecule that contains atoms of more than one element. A molecule may be composed of two or more atoms of the same element, as in oxygen gas (O2), or it may be composed of atoms from different elements. The arrangements of the atoms in a molecule account for the properties of a compound. The molecular weight is equal to the atomic weights of the atoms in the molecule.
The atoms in molecules may be joined to one another by various linkages called bonds. One example of a bond is an ionic bond, which is formed when the electrons of one atom transfer to a second atom. This creates electrically charged atoms called ions. The electrical charges cause the ions to be attracted to one another, and the attraction forms the ionic bond.
A second type of linkage is a covalent bond. A covalent bond forms when two atoms share one or more electrons with one another. For example, as shown in Figure 1, oxygen shares its electrons with two hydrogen atoms, and the resulting molecule is water (H2O). Nitrogen shares its electrons with three hydrogen atoms, and the resulting molecule is ammonia (NH3). If one pair of electrons is shared, the bond is a single bond; if two pairs are shared, it is a double bond.
Figure 1. Formation of a covalent bond in water and ammonia molecules. In each molecule, the second shell fills with eight electrons.
Organic Compound: The chemical compounds of living things are known as organic compounds because of their association with organisms and because they are carbon-containing compounds. Organic compounds, which are the compounds associated with life processes, are the subject matter of organic chemistry. Among the numerous types of organic compounds, four major categories are found in all living things: carbohydrates, lipids, proteins, and nucleic acids.
Carbohydrates
Almost all organisms use carbohydrates as sources of energy. In addition, some carbohydrates serve as structural materials. Carbohydrates are molecules composed of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen; the ratio of hydrogen atoms to oxygen and carbon atoms is 2:1.
Simple carbohydrates, commonly referred to as sugars, can be monosaccharides if they are composed of single molecules, or disaccharides if they are composed of two molecules. The most important monosaccharide is glucose, a carbohydrate with the molecular formula C6H12O6. Glucose is the basic form of fuel in living things. In multicellular organisms, it is soluble and is transported by body fluids to all cells, where it is metabolized to release its energy. Glucose is the starting material for cellular respiration, and it is the main product of photosynthesis
Three important disaccharides are also found in living things: maltose, sucrose, and lactose. Maltose is a combination of two glucose units covalently linked. The table sugar sucrose is formed by linking glucose to another monosaccharide called fructose. (Figure 2 shows that in the synthesis of sucrose, a water molecule is produced. The process is therefore called a dehydration reaction. The reversal of the process is hydrolysis, a process in which the molecule is split and water is added.) Lactose is composed of glucose and galactose units.
Figure 2. Glucose and fructose molecules combine to form the disaccharide sucrose.
Complex carbohydrates are known as polysaccharides. Polysaccharides are formed by linking innumerable monosaccharides. Among the most important polysaccharides is starch, which is composed of hundreds or thousands of glucose units linked to one another. Starch serves as a storage form for carbohydrates. Much of the world’s human population satisfies its energy needs with starch in the form of rice, wheat, corn, and potatoes.
Two other important polysaccharides are glycogen and cellulose. Glycogen is also composed of thousands of glucose units, but the units are bonded in a different pattern than in starch. Glycogen is the form in which glucose is stored in the human liver. Cellulose is used primarily as a structural carbohydrate. It is also composed of glucose units, but the units cannot be released from one another except by a few species of organisms. Wood is composed chiefly of cellulose, as are plant cell walls. Cotton fabric and paper are commercial cellulose products.
Lipids
Lipids are organic molecules composed of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen atoms. The ratio of hydrogen atoms to oxygen atoms is much higher in lipids than in carbohydrates. Lipids include steroids (the material of which many hormones are composed), waxes, and fats.
Fat molecules are composed of a glycerol molecule and one, two, or three molecules of fatty acids (see Figure 3). A glycerol molecule contains three hydroxyl (–OH) groups. A fatty acid is a long chain of carbon atoms (from 4 to 24) with a carboxyl (–COOH) group at one end. The fatty acids in a fat may all be alike or they may all be different. They are bound to the glycerol molecule by a process that involves the removal of water.
Certain fatty acids have one or more double bonds in their molecules. Fats that include these molecules are unsaturated fats. Other fatty acids have no double bonds. Fats that include these fatty acids are saturated fats. In most human health situations, the consumption of unsaturated fats is preferred to the consumption of saturated fats.
Fats stored in cells usually form clear oil droplets called globules because fats do not dissolve in water. Plants often store fats in their seeds, and animals store fats in large, clear globules in the cells of adipose tissue. The fats in adipose tissue contain much concentrated energy. Hence, they serve as a reserve energy supply to the organism. The enzyme lipase breaks down fats into fatty acids and glycerol in the human digestive system.
Figure 3. A fat molecule is constructed by combining a glycerol molecule with three fatty acid molecules. (Two saturated fatty acids and one unsaturated fatty acid are shown for comparison.) The constructed molecule is at the bottom.
Protein
Proteins, among the most complex of all organic compounds, are composed of amino acids (see Figure 4), which contain carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen atoms. Certain amino acids also have sulfur atoms, phosphorus, or other trace elements such as iron or copper.
Figure 4. The structure and chemistry of amino acids. When two amino acids are joined in a dipeptide, the –OH of one amino acid is removed, and the –H of the second is removed. So, water is removed. A dipeptide bond (right) forms to join the amino acids together
Many proteins are immense and extremely complex. However, all proteins are composed of long chains of relatively simple amino acids. There are 20 kinds of amino acids. Each amino acid (see the left illustration in Figure 4) has an amino (–NH2) group, a carboxyl (–COOH) group, and a group of atoms called an –R group (where R stands for radical). The amino acids differ depending on the nature of the –R group, as shown in the middle illustration of Figure 4. Examples of amino acids are alanine, valine, glutamic acid, tryptophan, tyrosine, and histidine.
The removal of water molecules links amino acids to form a protein. The process is called dehydration synthesis, and a by-product of the synthesis is water. The links forged between the amino acids are peptide bonds, and small proteins are often called peptides.
All living things depend on proteins for their existence. Proteins are the major molecules from which living things are constructed. Certain proteins are dissolved or suspended in the watery substance of the cells, while others are incorporated into various structures of the cells. Proteins are also found as supporting and strengthening materials in tissues outside of cells. Bone, cartilage, tendons, and ligaments are all composed of proteins.
One essential function of proteins is as an enzyme. Enzymes catalyze the chemical reactions that take place within cells. They are not used up in a reaction; rather, they remain available to catalyze succeeding reactions.
Every species manufactures proteins unique to that species. The information for synthesizing the unique proteins is located in the nucleus of the cell. The so-called genetic code specifies the amino acid sequence in proteins. Hence, the genetic code regulates the chemistry taking place within a cell. Proteins also can serve as a reserve source of energy for the cell. When the amino group is removed from an amino acid, the resulting compound is energy-rich.
Nucleic acids: Like proteins, nucleic acids are very large molecules. The nucleic acids are composed of smaller units called nucleotides. Each nucleotide contains a carbohydrate molecule (sugar), a phosphate group, and a nitrogen-containing molecule that, because of its properties, is a nitrogenous base.
Living organisms have two important nucleic acids. One type is deoxyribonucleic acid, or DNA. The other is ribonucleic acid, or RNA. DNA is found primarily in the nucleus of the cell, while RNA is found in both the nucleus and the cytoplasm, a semiliquid substance that composes the volume of the cell.
DNA and RNA differ from one another in their components. DNA contains the carbohydrate deoxyribose, while RNA has ribose. In addition, DNA contains the base thymine, while RNA has uracil.
Elements and Atoms
For many centuries, biology was the study of the natural world. Biologists searched for unidentified plants and animals, classified them, and studied their anatomy and how they acted in nature. Then in the 1700s, scientists discovered the chemical and physical bases of living things. They soon realized that the chemical organization of all living things is remarkably similar.
Elements: All living things on Earth are composed of fundamental building blocks of matter called elements. More than 100 elements are known to exist, including those that are man-made. An element is a substance that cannot be chemically decomposed. Oxygen, iron, calcium, sodium, hydrogen, carbon, and nitrogen are examples of elements.
Atoms: Each element is composed of one particular kind of atom. An atom is the smallest part of an element that can enter into combinations with atoms of other elements.
Atoms consist of positively charged particles called protons surrounded by negatively charged particles called electrons. A third type of particle, a neutron, has no electrical charge; it has the same weight as a proton. Protons and neutrons adhere tightly to form the dense, positively charged nucleus of the atom. Electrons spin around the nucleus.
The electron arrangement in an atom plays an essential role in the chemistry of the atom. Atoms are most stable when their outer shell of electrons has a full quota. The first electron shell has a maximum of two electrons. The second and all other outer shells have a maximum of eight electrons. Atoms tend to gain or lose electrons until their outer shells have a stable arrangement. The gaining or losing of electrons, or the sharing of electrons, contributes to the chemical reactions in which an atom participates.
Cells biology is the study of cell structure and function, and it revolves around the concept that the cell is the fundamental unit of life. Focusing on the cell permits a detailed understanding of the tissues and organisms that cells compose. Some organisms have only one cell, while others are organized into cooperative groups with huge numbers of cells. On the whole, cell biology focuses on the structure and function of a cell, from the most general properties shared by all cells, to the unique, highly intricate functions particular to specialized cells.
Cells Defined: One of the basic tenets of biology is that all living things are composed of one or more cells. Some organisms consist of a single cell, while others have multiple cells organized into tissues, and tissues organized into organs. In many living things, organs function together as an organ system. However, even in these complex organisms, the basic biology revolves around the activities of the cell.
The starting point for this discipline might be considered the 1830s. Though scientists had been using microscopes for centuries, they were not always sure what they were looking at. Robert Hooke’s initial observation in 1665 of plant-cell walls in slices of cork was followed shortly by Antonie van Leeuwenhoek’s first descriptions of live cells with visible moving parts. In the 1830s two scientists who were colleagues Schleiden, looking at plant cells, and Schwann, looking first at animal cells provided the first clearly stated definition of the cell. Their definition stated that all living creatures, both simple and complex, are made out of one or more cells, and the cell is the structural and functional unit of life a concept that became known as cell theory.
As microscopes and staining techniques improved over the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, scientists were able to see more and more internal detail within cells. The microscopes used by van Leeuwenhoek probably magnified specimens a few hundredfold. Today high-powered electron microscopes can magnify specimens more than a million times and can reveal the shapes of organelles at the scale of a micrometer and below. With confocal microscopy a series of images can be combined, allowing researchers to generate detailed three-dimensional representations of cells. These improved imaging techniques have helped us better understand the wonderful complexity of cells and the structures they form.
There are several main subfields within cell biology. One is the study of cell energy and the biochemical mechanisms that support cell metabolism. As cells are machines unto themselves, the focus on cell energy overlaps with the pursuit of questions of how energy first arose in original primordial cells, billions of years ago. Another subfield of cell biology concerns the genetics of the cell and its tight interconnection with the proteins controlling the release of genetic information from the nucleus to the cell cytoplasm. Yet another subfield focuses on the structure of cell components, known as subcellular compartments. Cutting across many biological disciplines is the additional subfield of cell biology, concerned with cell communication and signaling, concentrating on the messages that cells give to and receive from other cells and themselves. And finally, there is the subfield primarily concerned with the cell cycle, the rotation of phases beginning and ending with cell division and focused on different periods of growth and DNA replication. Many cell biologists dwell at the intersection of two or more of these subfields as our ability to analyze cells in more complex ways expands.
In line with the continually increasing interdisciplinary study, the recent emergence of systems biology has affected many biological disciplines; it is a methodology that encourages the analysis of living systems within the context of other systems. In the field of cell biology, systems biology has enabled the asking and answering of more complex questions, such as the interrelationships of gene regulatory networks, evolutionary relationships between genomes, and the interactions between intracellular signaling networks. Ultimately, the broader a lens we take on our discoveries in cell biology, the more likely we can decipher the complexities of all living systems, large and small.
One of the first scientists to observe cells was Englishman Robert Hooke. In the mid-1600s, Hooke examined a thin slice of cork through the newly developed microscope. The microscopic compartments in the cork impressed him and reminded him of rooms in a monastery, known as cells. He therefore referred to the units as cells. Later in that century, Anton Van Leeuwenhoek, a Dutch merchant, made further observations of plant, animal, and microorganism cells. In 1838, German botanist Matthias Schleiden proposed that all plants are composed of cells. A year later, his colleague, anatomist Theodor Schwann, concluded that all animals are also composed of cells. In 1858, biologist Rudolf Virchow proposed that all living things are made of cells and that all cells arise from preexisting cells. These premises have come down to us as the cell theory.
Movement Through the Plasma Membrane
In order for the cell cytoplasm to communicate with the external environment, materials must be able to move through the plasma membrane. This movement occurs through several mechanisms.
Diffusion: One method of movement through the membrane is diffusion. Diffusion is the movement of molecules from a region of higher concentration to one of lower concentration. This movement occurs because the molecules are constantly colliding with one another. The net movement of the molecules is away from the region of high concentration to the region of low concentration.
Diffusion is a random movement of molecules down the pathway called the concentration gradient. Molecules are said to move down the concentration gradient because they move from a region of higher concentration to a region of lower concentration. A drop of dye placed in a beaker of water illustrates diffusion as the dye molecules spread out and color the water.
Osmosis: Another method of movement across the membrane is osmosis. Osmosis is the movement of water from a region of higher concentration to one of lower concentration. Osmosis occurs across a membrane that is semipermeable. A semipermeable membrane lets only certain molecules pass through while keeping other molecules out. Osmosis is really a type of diffusion involving only water molecules.
Facilitated diffusion: A third mechanism for movement across the plasma membrane is facilitated diffusion. Certain proteins in the membrane assist facilitated diffusion by permitting only certain molecules to pass across the membrane. The proteins encourage movement in the direction that diffusion would normally take place, from a region with a higher concentration of molecules to a region of lower concentration.
Active transport: A fourth method for movement across the membrane is active transport. When active transport is taking place, a protein moves a certain material across the membrane from a region of lower concentration to a region of higher concentration. Because this movement is happening against the concentration gradient, the cell must expend energy that is usually derived from a substance called adenosine triphosphate, or ATP (see Chapter 4). An example of active transport occurs in human nerve cells. Here, sodium ions are constantly transported out of the cell into the external fluid bathing the cell, a region of high concentration of sodium. (This transport of sodium sets up the nerve cell for the impulse that will occur within it later.)
Endocytosis and exocytosis: The final mechanism for movement across the plasma membrane into the cell is endocytosis, a process in which a small patch of plasma membrane encloses particles or tiny volumes of fluid that are at or near the cell surface. The membrane enclosure then sinks into the cytoplasm and pinches off from the membrane, forming a vesicle that moves into the cytoplasm. When the vesicle contains solid particulate matter, the process is called phagocytosis. When the vesicle contains droplets of fluid, the process is called pinocytosis. Along with the other mechanisms for transport across the plasma membrane, endocytosis ensures that the internal cellular environment will be able to exchange materials with the external environment and that the cell will continue to thrive and function. Exocytosis is the reverse of endocytosis, where internally produced substances are enclosed in vesicles and fuse with the cell membrane, releasing the contents to the exterior of the cell.
The Structure of Prokaryote and Eukaryote Cells
During the 1950s, scientists developed the concept that all organisms may be classified as prokaryotes or eukaryotes. The cells of all prokaryotes and eukaryotes possess two basic features: a plasma membrane, also called a cell membrane, and cytoplasm. However, the cells of prokaryotes are simpler than those of eukaryotes. For example, prokaryotic cells lack a nucleus, while eukaryotic cells have a nucleus. Prokaryotic cells lack internal cellular bodies (organelles), while eukaryotic cells possess them. Examples of prokaryotes are bacteria and archaea. Examples of eukaryotes are protists, fungi, plants, and animals (everything except prokaryotes).
Plasma membrane: All prokaryote and eukaryote cells have plasma membranes. The plasma membrane (also known as the cell membrane) is the outermost cell surface, which separates the cell from the external environment. The plasma membrane is composed primarily of proteins and lipids, especially phospholipids. The lipids occur in two layers (a bilayer). Proteins embedded in the bilayer appear to float within the lipid, so the membrane is constantly in flux. The membrane is therefore referred to as a fluid mosaic structure. Within the fluid mosaic structure, proteins carry out most of the membrane’s functions.
The “Movement through the Plasma Membrane” section later in this chapter describes the process by which materials pass between the interior and exterior of a cell.
Cytoplasm and organelles: All prokaryote and eukaryote cells also have cytoplasm (or cytosol), a semiliquid substance that composes the volume of a cell. Essentially, cytoplasm is the gel-like material enclosed by the plasma membrane.
Within the cytoplasm of eukaryote cells are a number of membrane-bound bodies called organelles (“little organs”) that provide a specialized function within the cell.
One example of an organelle is the endoplasmic reticulum (ER). The ER is a series of membranes extending throughout the cytoplasm of eukaryotic cells. In some places, the ER is studded with submicroscopic bodies called ribosomes. This type of ER is called rough ER. In other places, there are no ribosomes. This type of ER is called smooth ER. The rough ER is the site of protein synthesis in a cell because it contains ribosomes; however, the smooth ER lacks ribosomes and is responsible for producing lipids. Within the ribosomes, amino acids are actually bound together to form proteins. Cisternae are spaces within the folds of the ER membranes.
Another organelle is the Golgi apparatus (also called Golgi body). The Golgi apparatus is a series of flattened sacs, usually curled at the edges. In the Golgi body, the cell’s proteins and lipids are processed and packaged before being sent to their final destination. To accomplish this function, the outermost sac of the Golgi body often bulges and breaks away to form drop like vesicles known as secretory vesicles.
An organelle called the lysosome (see Figure) is derived from the Golgi body. It is a drop like sac of enzymes in the cytoplasm. These enzymes are used for digestion within the cell. They break down particles of food taken into the cell and make the products available for use; they also help break down old cell organelles. Enzymes are also contained in a cytoplasmic body called the peroxisome.
Diagram of an Animal Cells Biology
Figure The components of an idealized eukaryotic cell. The diagram shows the relative sizes and locations of the cell parts.
The organelle that releases quantities of energy to form adenosine triphosphate (ATP) is the mitochondrion (the plural form is mitochondria). Because mitochondria are involved in energy release and storage, they are called the “powerhouses of the cells.”
Green plant cells, for example, contain organelles known as chloroplasts, which function in the process of photosynthesis. Within chloroplasts, energy from the sun is absorbed and transformed into the energy of carbohydrate molecules. Plant cells specialized for photosynthesis contain large numbers of chloroplasts, which are green because the chlorophyll pigments within the chloroplasts are green. Leaves of a plant contain numerous chloroplasts. Plant cells not specializing in photosynthesis (for example, root cells) are not green.
An organelle found in mature plant cells is a large, fluid-filled central vacuole. The vacuole may occupy more than 75 percent of the plant cell. In the vacuole, the plant stores nutrients, as well as toxic wastes. Pressure within the growing vacuole may cause the cell to swell.
The cytoskeleton is an interconnected system of fibers, threads, and interwoven molecules that give structure to the cell. The main components of the cytoskeleton are microtubules, microfilaments, and intermediate filaments. All are assembled from subunits of protein.
The centriole organelle is a cylinder like structure that occurs in pairs. Centrioles function in cell division.
Many cells have specialized cytoskeletal structures called flagella and cilia. Flagella are long, hair like organelles that extend from the cell, permitting it to move. In prokaryotic cells, such as bacteria, the flagella rotate like the propeller of a motorboat. In eukaryotic cells, such as certain protozoa and sperm cells, the flagella whip about and propel the cell. Cilia are shorter and more numerous than flagella. In moving cells, the cilia wave in unison and move the cell forward. Paramecium is a well-known ciliated protozoan. Cilia are also found on the surface of several types of cells, such as those that line the human respiratory tract.
Nucleus: Prokaryotic cells lack a nucleus; the word prokaryotic means “primitive nucleus.” Eukaryotic cells, on the other hand, have a distinct nucleus.
The nucleus of eukaryotic cells is composed primarily of protein and deoxyribonucleic acid, or DNA. The DNA is tightly wound around special proteins called histones; the mixture of DNA and histone proteins is called chromatin. The chromatin is folded even further into distinct threads called chromosomes. Functional segments of the chromosomes are referred to as genes. Approximately 21,000 genes are located in the nucleus of all human cells.
The nuclear envelope, an outer membrane, surrounds the nucleus of a eukaryotic cell. The nuclear envelope is a double membrane, consisting of two lipid layers (similar to the plasma membrane). Pores in the nuclear envelope allow the internal nuclear environment to communicate with the external nuclear environment.
Within the nucleus are two or more dense organelles referred to as nucleoli (the singular form is nucleolus). In nucleoli, submicroscopic particles known as ribosomes are assembled before their passage out of the nucleus into the cytoplasm.
Although prokaryotic cells have no nucleus, they do have DNA. The DNA exists freely in the cytoplasm as a closed loop. It has no protein to support it and no membrane covering it. A bacterium typically has a single looped chromosome.
Cell Wall
Many kinds of prokaryotes and eukaryotes contain a structure outside the cell membrane called the cell wall. With only a few exceptions, all prokaryotes have thick, rigid cell walls that give them their shape. Among the eukaryotes, some protists, and all fungi and plants, have cell walls. Cell walls are not identical in these organisms, however. In fungi, the cell wall contains a polysaccharide called chitin. Plant cells, in contrast, have no chitin; their cell walls are composed exclusively of the polysaccharide cellulose.
Cell walls provide support and help cells resist mechanical pressures, but they are not solid, so materials are able to pass through rather easily. Cell walls are not selective devices, as plasma membranes are.
The cell (from Latin cella, meaning “small room”) is the basic structural, functional, and biological unit of all known living organisms. A cell is the smallest unit of life that can replicate independently, and cells are often called the “building blocks of life”. The study of cells is called cell biology.
Cells consist of cytoplasm enclosed within a membrane, which contains many biomolecules such as proteins and nucleic acids. Organisms can be classified as unicellular (consisting of a single cell; including bacteria) or multicellular (including plants and animals). While the number of cells in plants and animals varies from species to species, humans contain more than 10 trillion (1012) cell. Most plant and animal cells are visible only under a microscope, with dimensions between 1 and 100 micrometers.
The cell was discovered by Robert Hooke in 1665, who named the biological unit for its resemblance to cell inhabited by Christian monks in a monastery. Cell theory, first developed in 1839 by Matthias Jakob Schleiden and Theodor Schwann, states that all organisms are composed of one or more cell, that cell are the fundamental unit of structure and function in all living organisms, that all cell come from preexisting cell, and that all cell contain the hereditary information necessary for regulating cell functions and for transmitting information to the next generation of cells. Cells emerged on Earth at least 3.5 billion years ago.
Types of Cells
Eukaryote and Prokaryote
Prokaryote Cells
Prokaryotic cells were the first form of life on Earth, characterized by having vital biological processes including cell signaling and being self-sustaining. They are simpler and smaller than eukaryotic cells and lack membrane-bound organelles such as the nucleus. Prokaryotes include two of the domains of life, bacteria, and archaea. The DNA of a prokaryotic cell consists of a single chromosome that is in direct contact with the cytoplasm. The nuclear region in the cytoplasm is called the nucleoid. Most prokaryotes are the smallest of all organisms ranging from 0.5 to 2.0 µm in diameter.
A prokaryotic cell has three architectural regions:
I. Enclosing the cell is the cell envelope generally consisting of a plasma membrane covered by a cell wall which, for some bacteria, may be further covered by a third layer called a capsule. Though most prokaryotes have both a cell membrane and a cell wall, there are exceptions such as Mycoplasma (bacteria) and Thermo-plasma (archaea) which only possess the cell membrane layer. The envelope gives rigidity to the cell and separates the interior of the cell from its environment, serving as a protective filter. The cell wall consists of peptidoglycan in bacteria and acts as an additional barrier against exterior forces. It also prevents the cell from expanding and bursting (cytolysis) from osmotic pressure due to a hypotonic environment. Some eukaryotic cells (plant cells and fungal cells) also have a cell wall.
II. Inside the cell is the cytoplasmic region that contains the genome (DNA), ribosomes and various sorts of inclusions. The genetic material is freely found in the cytoplasm. Prokaryotes can carry extrachromosomal DNA elements called plasmids, which are usually circular. Linear bacterial plasmids have been identified in several species of spirochete bacteria, including members of the genus Borrelia notably Borrelia burgdorferi, which causes Lyme disease. Though not forming a nucleus, the DNA is condensed in a nucleoid. Plasmids encode additional genes, such as antibiotic resistance genes.
III. On the outside, flagella and pili project from the cell’s surface. These are structures (not present in all prokaryotes) made of proteins that facilitate movement and communication between cells.
The Structure of Prokaryote and Eukaryote Cells
Eukaryote Cells
Plants, animals, fungi, slime moulds, protozoa, and algae are all eukaryotic. These cells are about fifteen times wider than a typical prokaryote and can be as much as a thousand times greater in volume. The main distinguishing feature of eukaryotes as compared to prokaryotes is compartmentalization: the presence of membrane-bound organelles (compartments) in which specific metabolic activities take place. Most important among these is a cell nucleus, an organelle that houses the cell’s DNA. This nucleus gives the eukaryote its name, which means “true kernel (nucleus)”. Other differences include:
I. The plasma membrane resembles that of prokaryotes in function, with minor differences in the setup. Cell walls may or may not be present.
II. The eukaryotic DNA is organized in one or more linear molecules, called chromosomes, which are associated with histone proteins. All chromosomal DNA is stored in the cell nucleus, separated from the cytoplasm by a membrane. Some eukaryotic organelles such as mitochondria also contain some DNA.
III. Many eukaryotic cell are ciliated with primary cilia. Primary cilia play important roles in chemosensation, mechanosensation, and thermosensation. Cilia may thus be “viewed as a sensory cellular antenna that coordinates a large number of cellular signaling pathways, sometimes coupling the signaling to ciliary motility or alternatively to cell division and differentiation.”
IV. Motile cells of eukaryotes can move using motile cilia or flagella. Motile cells are absent in conifers and flowering plants. Eukaryotic flagella are less complex than those of prokaryotes.
The study of living organisms, divided into many specialized fields that cover their morphology, physiology, anatomy, behavior, origin, and distribution; The plants and animals of a particular area, and the physiology, behavior, and other qualities of a particular organism or class of organisms.
Biology is a natural science concerned with the study of life and living organisms, including their structure, function, growth, evolution, distribution, identification and taxonomy. Modern biology is a vast and eclectic field, composed of many branches and sub disciplines. However, despite the broad scope of biology, there are certain general and unifying concepts within it that govern all study and research, consolidating it into single, coherent field. In general, biology recognizes the cell as the basic unit of life, genes as the basic unit of heredity, and evolution as the engine that propels the synthesis and creation of new species. It is also understood today that all the organisms survive by consuming and transforming energy and by regulating their internal environment to maintain a stable and vital condition known as homeostasis.
History of Biology:
The term biology is derived from the Greek word βίος, bios, “life” and the suffix -λογία, -logia, “study of.” The Latin-language form of the term first appeared in 1736 when Swedish scientist Carl Linnaeus (Carl von Linné) used biologi in his Bibliotheca botanica. It was used again in 1766 in a work entitled Philosophiae Naturalis sive physicae: tomus III, Continens Geologian, biologian, phytologian generalis, by Michael Christoph Hanov, a disciple of Christian Wolff. The first German use, Biologie, was in a 1771 translation of Linnaeus’ work. In 1797, Theodor Georg August Roose used the term in the preface of a book, Grundzüge der Lehre van der Lebenskraft. Karl Friedrich Burdach used the term in 1800 in a more restricted sense of the study of human beings from a morphological, physiological and psychological perspective (Propädeutik zum Studien der GE Samm ten Heilkunst). The term came into its modern usage with the six-volume treatise Biologie, oder Philosophie der lebenden Natur (1802–22) by Gottfried Reinhold Treviranus, who announced; The objects of our research will be the different forms and manifestations of life, the conditions and laws under which these phenomena occur, and the causes through which they have been effected. The science that concerns itself with these objects we will indicate by the name biology [Biologie] or the doctrine of life [Lebenslehre].
Biology is the study of living things. It encompasses the cellular basis of living things, the energy metabolism that underlies the activities of life, and the genetic basis for inheritance in organisms. Biology also includes the study of evolutionary relationships among organisms and the diversity of life on Earth. It considers the biology of microorganisms, plants, and animals, for example, and it brings together the structural and functional relationships that underlie their day-to-day activities. Biology draws on the sciences of chemistry and physics for its foundations and applies the laws of these disciplines to living things.
Biology – Living World Scale
Many sub disciplines and special areas of biology exist, which can be conveniently divided into practical and theoretical categories. Types of practical biology include plant breeding, wildlife management, medical science, and crop production. Theoretical biology encompasses such disciplines as physiology (the study of the function of living things), biochemistry (the study of the chemistry of organisms), taxonomy (classification), ecology (the study of populations and their interactions with each other and their environments), and microbiology (the study of microscopic organisms).
Their fascination with biology has a long history. Even early humans had to study the animals that they hunted and know where to find the plants that they gathered for food. The invention of agriculture was the first great advance of human civilization. Medicine has been important to us from earliest history as well. The earliest known medical texts are from China (2500 B.C.), Mesopotamia (2112 B.C.), and Egypt (1800 B.C.).
In classical times, Aristotle is often considered to be the first to practice scientific zoology. He is known to have performed extensive studies of marine life and plants. His student, Theophrastus, wrote one of the West’s earliest known botanical texts in 300 B.C. on the structure, life cycle and uses of plants. The Roman physician Galen used his experience in patching up gladiators for the arena to write texts on surgical procedures in A.D. 158.
During the Renaissance, Leonardo da Vinci risked censure by participating in human dissection and making detailed anatomical drawings that are still considered among the most beautiful ever made. Invention of the printing press and the ability to reproduce woodcut illustrations meant that information was much easier to record and disseminate. One of the first illustrated biology books is a botanical text written by German botanist Leonhard Fuchs in 1542. Binomial classification was inaugurated by Carolus Linnaeus in 1735, using Latin names to group species according to their characteristics.
Microscopes opened up new worlds for scientists. In 1665, Robert Hooke, used a simple compound microscope to examine a thin sliver of cork. He observed that the plant tissue consisted of rectangular units that reminded him of the tiny rooms used by monks. He called these units “cells.” In 1676, Anton von Leeuwenhoek published the first drawings of living single celled organisms. Theodore Schwann added the information that animal tissue is also composed of cells in 1839.
During the Victorian era, and throughout the 19th century, “Natural Science” became something of a mania. Thousands of new species were discovered and described by intrepid adventurers and by backyard botanists and entomologists alike. In 1812, Georges Cuvier described fossils and hypothesized that Earth had undergone “successive bouts of Creation and destruction” over long periods of time. On Nov. 24, 1859, Charles Darwin published “On the Origin of Species,” the text that forever changed the world by showing that all living things are interrelated and that species were not separately created but arise from ancestral forms that are changed and shaped by adaptation to their environment.
While much of the world’s attention was captured by biology questions at the macroscopic organism level, a quiet monk was investigating how living things pass traits from one generation to the next. Gregor Mendel is now known as the father of genetics although is papers on inheritance, published in 1866, went largely unnoticed at the time. His work was rediscovered in 1900 and further understanding of inheritance rapidly followed.
The 20th and 21st centuries may be known to future generations as the beginning of the “Biological Revolution.” Beginning with Watson and Crick explaining the structure and function of DNA in 1953, all fields of biology have expanded exponentially and touch every aspect of our lives. Medicine will be changed by development of therapies tailored to a patient’s genetic blueprint or by combining biology and technology with brain-controlled prosthetics. Economies hinge on the proper management of ecological resources, balancing human needs with conservation. We may discover ways to save our oceans while using them to produce enough food to feed the nations. We may “grow” batteries from bacteria or light buildings with bioluminescent fungi. The possibilities are endless; biology is just coming into its own.
Characteristics of Living Things:
Defining a living thing is a difficult proposition, as is defining “life”—that property possessed by living things. However, a living thing possesses certain properties that help define what life is.
Biology Human Life-cycle
Complex organization: Living things have a level of complexity and organization not found in lifeless objects. At its most fundamental level, a living thing is composed of one or more cells. These units, generally too small to be seen with the naked eye, are organized into tissues. A tissue is a series of cells that accomplish a shared function. Tissues, in turn, form organs, such as the stomach and kidney. A number of organs working together compose an organ system. An organism is a complex series of various organ systems.
Metabolism: Living things exhibit a rapid turnover of chemical materials, which is referred to as metabolism. Metabolism involves exchanges of chemical matter with the external environment and extensive transformations of organic matter within the cells of a living organism. Metabolism generally involves the release or use of chemical energy. Nonliving things do not display metabolism.
Responsiveness: All living things are able to respond to stimuli in the external environment. For example, living things respond to changes in light, heat, sound, and chemical and mechanical contact. To detect stimuli, organisms have means for receiving information, such as eyes, ears, and taste buds.
To respond effectively to changes in the environment, an organism must coordinate its responses. A system of nerves and a number of chemical regulators called hormones coordinate activities within an organism. The organism responds to the stimuli by means of a number of effectors, such as muscles and glands. Energy is generally used in the process.
Organisms change their behavior in response to changes in the surrounding environment. For example, an organism may move in response to its environment. Responses such as this occur in definite patterns and make up the behavior of an organism. The behavior is active, not passive; an animal responding to a stimulus is different from a stone rolling down a hill. Living things display responsiveness; nonliving things do not.
Growth: Growth requires an organism to take in material from the environment and organize the material into its own structures. To accomplish growth, an organism expends some of the energy it acquires during metabolism. An organism has a pattern for accomplishing the building of growth structures.
During growth, a living organism transforms material that is unlike itself into materials that are like it. A person, for example, digests a meal of meat and vegetables and transforms the chemical material into more of himself or herself. A nonliving organism does not display this characteristic.
Reproduction: A living thing has the ability to produce copies of itself by the process known as reproduction. These copies are made while the organism is still living. Among plants and simple animals, reproduction is often an extension of the growth process. More complex organisms engage in a type of reproduction called sexual reproduction, in which two parents contribute to the formation of a new individual. During this process, a new combination of traits can be produced.
Asexual reproduction involves only one parent, and the resulting cells are generally identical to the parent cell. For example, bacteria grow and quickly reach maturity, after which they split into two organisms by a process of asexual reproduction called binary fission.
Evolution: Living organisms have the ability to adapt to their environment through the process of evolution. During evolution, changes occur in populations, and the organisms in the population become better able to metabolize, respond, and reproduce. They develop abilities to cope with their environment that their ancestors did not have.
Evolution also results in a greater variety of organisms than existed in previous eras. This proliferation of populations of organisms is unique to living things.
Ecology: The environment influences the living things that it surrounds. Ecology is the study of relationships between organisms and their relationships with their environment. Both biotic factors (living things) and abiotic factors (non-living things) can alter the environment. Rain and sunlight are non-living components, for example, that greatly influence the environment. Living things may migrate or hibernate if the environment becomes difficult to live in.
“The Swineherd” the Short Story was Written by Hans Christian Andersen; There was once a poor Prince, who had a kingdom. His kingdom was very small, but still quite large enough to marry upon; and he wished to marry.
It was certainly rather cool of him to say to the Emperor’s daughter, “Will you have me?” But so he did; for his name was renowned far and wide; and there were a hundred princesses who would have answered, “Yes!” and “Thank you kindly.” We shall see what this princess said. Listen!
It happened that where the Prince’s father lay buried, there grew a rose tree—a most beautiful rose tree, which blossomed only once in every five years, and even then bore only one flower, but that was a rose! It smelt so sweet that all cares and sorrows were forgotten by him who inhaled its fragrance.
And furthermore, the Prince had a nightingale, who could sing in such a manner that it seemed as though all sweet melodies dwelt in her little throat. So the Princess was to have the rose, and the nightingale; and they were accordingly put into large silver caskets, and sent to her.
The Emperor had them brought into a large hall, where the Princess was playing at “Visiting,” with the ladies of the court; and when she saw the caskets with the presents, she clapped her hands for joy.
“Ah, if it were but a little pussy-cat!” said she; but the rose tree, with its beautiful rose came to view.
“Oh, how prettily it is made!” said all the court ladies.
“It is more than pretty,” said the Emperor, “it is charming!”
But the Princess touched it, and was almost ready to cry.
“Fie, papa!” said she. “It is not made at all, it is natural!”
“Let us see what is in the other casket, before we get into a bad humor,” said the Emperor. So the nightingale came forth and sang so delightfully that at first no one could say anything ill-humored of her.
“Superbe! Charmant!” exclaimed the ladies; for they all used to chatter French, each one worse than her neighbor.
“How much the bird reminds me of the musical box that belonged to our blessed Empress,” said an old knight. “Oh yes! These are the same tones, the same execution.”
“Yes! yes!” said the Emperor, and he wept like a child at the remembrance.
“I will still hope that it is not a real bird,” said the Princess.
“Yes, it is a real bird,” said those who had brought it. “Well then let the bird fly,” said the Princess; and she positively refused to see the Prince.
However, he was not to be discouraged; he daubed his face over brown and black; pulled his cap over his ears, and knocked at the door.
“Good day to my lord, the Emperor!” said he. “Can I have employment at the palace?”
“Why, yes,” said the Emperor. “I want some one to take care of the pigs, for we have a great many of them.”
So the Prince was appointed “Imperial Swineherd.” He had a dirty little room close by the pigsty; and there he sat the whole day, and worked. By the evening he had made a pretty little kitchen-pot. Little bells were hung all round it; and when the pot was boiling, these bells tinkled in the most charming manner, and played the old melody,
“Ach! du lieber Augustin,
Alles ist weg, weg, weg!”*
* “Ah! dear Augustine!
All is gone, gone, gone!”
But what was still more curious, whoever held his finger in the smoke of the kitchen-pot, immediately smelt all the dishes that were cooking on every hearth in the city—this, you see, was something quite different from the rose.
Now the Princess happened to walk that way; and when she heard the tune, she stood quite still, and seemed pleased; for she could play “Lieber Augustine”; it was the only piece she knew; and she played it with one finger.
“Why there is my piece,” said the Princess. “That swineherd must certainly have been well educated! Go in and ask him the price of the instrument.”
So one of the court-ladies must run in; however, she drew on wooden slippers first.
“What will you take for the kitchen-pot?” said the lady.
“I will have ten kisses from the Princess,” said the swineherd.
“Yes, indeed!” said the lady.
“I cannot sell it for less,” rejoined the swineherd.
“He is an impudent fellow!” said the Princess, and she walked on; but when she had gone a little way, the bells tinkled so prettily
“Ach! du lieber Augustin,
Alles ist weg, weg, weg!”
“Stay,” said the Princess. “Ask him if he will have ten kisses from the ladies of my court.”
“No, thank you!” said the swineherd. “Ten kisses from the Princess, or I keep the kitchen-pot myself.”
“That must not be, either!” said the Princess. “But do you all stand before me that no one may see us.”
And the court-ladies placed themselves in front of her, and spread out their dresses—the swineherd got ten kisses, and the Princess—the kitchen-pot.
That was delightful! The pot was boiling the whole evening, and the whole of the following day. They knew perfectly well what was cooking at every fire throughout the city, from the chamberlain’s to the cobbler’s; the court-ladies danced and clapped their hands.
“We know who has soup, and who has pancakes for dinner to-day, who has cutlets, and who has eggs. How interesting!”
“Yes, but keep my secret, for I am an Emperor’s daughter.”
The swineherd—that is to say—the Prince, for no one knew that he was other than an ill-favored swineherd, let not a day pass without working at something; he at last constructed a rattle, which, when it was swung round, played all the waltzes and jig tunes, which have ever been heard since the creation of the world.
“Ah, that is superbe!” said the Princess when she passed by. “I have never heard prettier compositions! Go in and ask him the price of the instrument; but mind, he shall have no more kisses!”
“He will have a hundred kisses from the Princess!” said the lady who had been to ask.
“I think he is not in his right senses!” said the Princess, and walked on, but when she had gone a little way, she stopped again. “One must encourage art,” said she, “I am the Emperor’s daughter. Tell him he shall, as on yesterday, have ten kisses from me, and may take the rest from the ladies of the court.”
“Oh—but we should not like that at all!” said they. “What are you muttering?” asked the Princess. “If I can kiss him, surely you can. Remember that you owe everything to me.” So the ladies were obliged to go to him again.
“A hundred kisses from the Princess,” said he, “or else let everyone keep his own!”
“Stand round!” said she; and all the ladies stood round her whilst the kissing was going on.
“What can be the reason for such a crowd close by the pigsty?” said the Emperor, who happened just then to step out on the balcony; he rubbed his eyes, and put on his spectacles. “They are the ladies of the court; I must go down and see what they are about!” So he pulled up his slippers at the heel, for he had trodden them down.
As soon as he had got into the court-yard, he moved very softly, and the ladies were so much engrossed with counting the kisses, that all might go on fairly, that they did not perceive the Emperor. He rose on his tiptoes.
“What is all this?” said he, when he saw what was going on, and he boxed the Princess’s ears with his slipper, just as the swineherd was taking the eighty-sixth kiss.
“March out!” said the Emperor, for he was very angry; and both Princess and swineherd were thrust out of the city.
The Princess now stood and wept, the swineherd scolded, and the rain poured down.
“Alas! Unhappy creature that I am!” said the Princess. “If I had but married the handsome young Prince! Ah! how unfortunate I am!”
And the swineherd went behind a tree, washed the black and brown color from his face, threw off his dirty clothes, and stepped forth in his princely robes; he looked so noble that the Princess could not help bowing before him.
“I am come to despise thee,” said he. “Thou would’st not have an honorable Prince! Thou could’st not prize the rose and the nightingale, but thou wast ready to kiss the swineherd for the sake of a trumpery plaything. Thou art rightly served.”
He then went back to his own little kingdom, and shut the door of his palace in her face. Now she might well sing,
“Ach! du lieber Augustin,
Alles ist weg, weg, weg!”
“The Story of a Mother” the Short Story was Written by Hans Christian Andersen; A mother sat there with her little child. She was so downcast, so afraid that it should die! It was so pale, the small eyes had closed themselves, and it drew its breath so softly, now and then, with a deep respiration, as if it sighed; and the mother looked still more sorrowfully on the little creature.
Then a knocking was heard at the door, and in came a poor old man wrapped up as in a large horse-cloth, for it warms one, and he needed it, as it was the cold winter season! Everything out-of-doors was covered with ice and snow, and the wind blew so that it cut the face.
As the old man trembled with cold, and the little child slept a moment, the mother went and poured some ale into a pot and set it on the stove, that it might be warm for him; the old man sat and rocked the cradle, and the mother sat down on a chair close by him, and looked at her little sick child that drew its breath so deep, and raised its little hand.
“Do you not think that I shall save him?” said she. “Our Lord will not take him from me!”
And the old man—it was Death himself—he nodded so strangely, it could just as well signify yes as no. And the mother looked down in her lap, and the tears ran down over her cheeks; her head became so heavy—she had not closed her eyes for three days and nights; and now she slept, but only for a minute, when she started up and trembled with cold.
“What is that?” said she, and looked on all sides; but the old man was gone, and her little child was gone—he had taken it with him; and the old clock in the corner burred, and burred, the great leaden weight ran down to the floor, bump! and then the clock also stood still.
But the poor mother ran out of the house and cried aloud for her child.
Out there, in the midst of the snow, there sat a woman in long, black clothes; and she said, “Death has been in thy chamber, and I saw him hasten away with thy little child; he goes faster than the wind, and he never brings back what he takes!”
“Oh, only tell me which way he went!” said the mother. “Tell me the way, and I shall find him!”
“I know it!” said the woman in the black clothes. “But before I tell it, thou must first sing for me all the songs thou hast sung for thy child! I am fond of them. I have heard them before; I am Night; I saw thy tears whilst thou sang’st them!”
“I will sing them all, all!” said the mother. “But do not stop me now—I may overtake him—I may find my child!”
But Night stood still and mute. Then the mother wrung her hands, sang and wept, and there were many songs, but yet many more tears; and then Night said, “Go to the right, into the dark pine forest; thither I saw Death take his way with thy little child!”
The roads crossed each other in the depths of the forest, and she no longer knew whither she should go! then there stood a thorn-bush; there was neither leaf nor flower on it, it was also in the cold winter season, and ice-flakes hung on the branches.
“Hast thou not seen Death go past with my little child?” said the mother.
“Yes,” said the thorn-bush; “but I will not tell thee which way he took, unless thou wilt first warm me up at thy heart. I am freezing to death; I shall become a lump of ice!”
And she pressed the thorn-bush to her breast, so firmly, that it might be thoroughly warmed, and the thorns went right into her flesh, and her blood flowed in large drops, but the thornbush shot forth fresh green leaves, and there came flowers on it in the cold winter night, the heart of the afflicted mother was so warm; and the thorn-bush told her the way she should go.
She then came to a large lake, where there was neither ship nor boat. The lake was not frozen sufficiently to bear her; neither was it open, nor low enough that she could wade through it; and across it she must go if she would find her child! Then she lay down to drink up the lake, and that was an impossibility for a human being, but the afflicted mother thought that a miracle might happen nevertheless.
“Oh, what would I not give to come to my child!” said the weeping mother; and she wept still more, and her eyes sunk down in the depths of the waters, and became two precious pearls; but the water bore her up, as if she sat in a swing, and she flew in the rocking waves to the shore on the opposite side, where there stood a mile-broad, strange house, one knew not if it were a mountain with forests and caverns, or if it were built up; but the poor mother could not see it; she had wept her eyes out.
“Where shall I find Death, who took away my little child?” said she.
“He has not come here yet!” said the old grave woman, who was appointed to look after Death’s great greenhouse! “How have you been able to find the way hither? And who has helped you?”
“OUR LORD has helped me,” said she. “He is merciful, and you will also be so! Where shall I find my little child?”
“Nay, I know not,” said the woman, “and you cannot see! Many flowers and trees have withered this night; Death will soon come and plant them over again! You certainly know that every person has his or her life’s tree or flower, just as everyone happens to be settled; they look like other plants, but they have pulsations of the heart. Children’s hearts can also beat; go after yours, perhaps you may know your child’s; but what will you give me if I tell you what you shall do more?”
“I have nothing to give,” said the afflicted mother, “but I will go to the world’s end for you!”
“Nay, I have nothing to do there!” said the woman. “But you can give me your long black hair; you know yourself that it is fine, and that I like! You shall have my white hair instead, and that’s always something!”
“Do you demand nothing else?” said she. “That I will gladly give you!” And she gave her her fine black hair, and got the old woman’s snow-white hair instead.
So they went into Death’s great greenhouse, where flowers and trees grew strangely into one another. There stood fine hyacinths under glass bells, and there stood strong-stemmed peonies; there grew water plants, some so fresh, others half sick, the water-snakes lay down on them, and black crabs pinched their stalks. There stood beautiful palm-trees, oaks, and plantains; there stood parsley and flowering thyme: every tree and every flower had its name; each of them was a human life, the human frame still lived—one in China, and another in Greenland—round about in the world. There were large trees in small pots, so that they stood so stunted in growth, and ready to burst the pots; in other places, there was a little dull flower in rich mould, with moss round about it, and it was so petted and nursed. But the distressed mother bent down over all the smallest plants, and heard within them how the human heart beat; and amongst millions she knew her child’s.
“There it is!” cried she, and stretched her hands out over a little blue crocus, that hung quite sickly on one side.
“Don’t touch the flower!” said the old woman. “But place yourself here, and when Death comes—I expect him every moment—do not let him pluck the flower up, but threaten him that you will do the same with the others. Then he will be afraid! He is responsible for them to OUR LORD, and no one dares to pluck them up before HE gives leave.”
All at once an icy cold rushed through the great hall, and the blind mother could feel that it was Death that came.
“How hast thou been able to find thy way hither?” he asked. “How couldst thou come quicker than I?”
“I am a mother,” said she.
And Death stretched out his long hand towards the fine little flower, but she held her hands fast around his, so tight, and yet afraid that she should touch one of the leaves. Then Death blew on her hands, and she felt that it was colder than the cold wind, and her hands fell down powerless.
“Thou canst not do anything against me!” said Death.
“But OUR LORD can!” said she.
“I only do His bidding!” said Death. “I am His gardener, I take all His flowers and trees, and plant them out in the great garden of Paradise, in the unknown land; but how they grow there, and how it is there I dare not tell thee.”
“Give me back my child!” said the mother, and she wept and prayed. At once she seized hold of two beautiful flowers close by, with each hand, and cried out to Death, “I will tear all thy flowers off, for I am in despair.”
“Touch them not!” said Death. “Thou say’st that thou art so unhappy, and now thou wilt make another mother equally unhappy.”
“Another mother!” said the poor woman, and directly let go her hold of both the flowers.
“There, thou hast thine eyes,” said Death; “I fished them up from the lake, they shone so bright; I knew not they were thine. Take them again, they are now brighter than before; now look down into the deep well close by; I shall tell thee the names of the two flowers thou wouldst have torn up, and thou wilt see their whole future life—their whole human existence: and see what thou wast about to disturb and destroy.”
And she looked down into the well; and it was a happiness to see how the one became a blessing to the world, to see how much happiness and joy were felt everywhere. And she saw the other’s life, and it was sorrow and distress, horror, and wretchedness.
“Both of them are God’s will!” said Death.
“Which of them is Misfortune’s flower and which is that of Happiness?” asked she.
“That I will not tell thee,” said Death; “but this thou shalt know from me, that the one flower was thy own child! it was thy child’s fate thou saw’st—thy own child’s future life!”
Then the mother screamed with terror, “Which of them was my child? Tell it me! Save the innocent! Save my child from all that misery! Rather take it away! Take it into God’s kingdom! Forget my tears, forget my prayers, and all that I have done!”
“I do not understand thee!” said Death. “Wilt thou have thy child again, or shall I go with it there, where thou dost not know!”
Then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and prayed to our Lord: “Oh, hear me not when I pray against Thy will, which is the best! hear me not! hear me not!”
And she bowed her head down in her lap, and Death took her child and went with it into the unknown land.
“The Shadow” the Short Story was Written by Hans Christian Andersen; It is in the hot lands that the sun burns, sure enough! there the people become quite a mahogany brown, ay, and in the HOTTEST lands they are burnt to Negroes. But now it was only to the HOT lands that a learned man had come from the cold; there he thought that he could run about just as when at home, but he soon found out his mistake.
He, and all sensible folks, were obliged to stay within doors—the window-shutters and doors were closed the whole day; it looked as if the whole house slept, or there was no one at home.
The narrow street with the high houses, was built so that the sunshine must fall there from morning till evening—it was really not to be borne.
The learned man from the cold lands—he was a young man, and seemed to be a clever man—sat in a glowing oven; it took effect on him, he became quite meagre—even his shadow shrunk in, for the sun had also an effect on it. It was first towards evening when the sun was down, that they began to freshen up again.
In the warm lands every window has a balcony, and the people came out on all the balconies in the street—for one must have air, even if one be accustomed to be mahogany!* It was lively both up and down the street. Tailors, and shoemakers, and all the folks, moved out into the street—chairs and tables were brought forth—and candles burnt—yes, above a thousand lights were burning—and the one talked and the other sung; and people walked and church-bells rang, and asses went along with a dingle-dingle-dong! for they too had bells on. The street boys were screaming and hooting, and shouting and shooting, with devils and detonating balls—and there came corpse bearers and hood wearers—for there were funerals with psalm and hymn—and then the din of carriages driving and company arriving: yes, it was, in truth, lively enough down in the street. Only in that single house, which stood opposite that in which the learned foreigner lived, it was quite still; and yet some one lived there, for there stood flowers in the balcony—they grew so well in the sun’s heat! and that they could not do unless they were watered—and some one must water them—there must be somebody there. The door opposite was also opened late in the evening, but it was dark within, at least in the front room; further in there was heard the sound of music. The learned foreigner thought it quite marvellous, but now—it might be that he only imagined it—for he found everything marvellous out there, in the warm lands, if there had only been no sun. The stranger’s landlord said that he didn’t know who had taken the house opposite, one saw no person about, and as to the music, it appeared to him to be extremely tiresome. “It is as if some one sat there, and practised a piece that he could not master—always the same piece. ‘I shall master it!’ says he; but yet he cannot master it, however long he plays.”
* The word mahogany can be understood, in Danish, as having two meanings. In general, it means the reddish-brown wood itself; but in jest, it signifies “excessively fine,” which arose from an anecdote of Nyboder, in Copenhagen, (the seamen’s quarter.) A sailor’s wife, who was always proud and fine, in her way, came to her neighbor, and complained that she had got a splinter in her finger. “What of?” asked the neighbor’s wife. “It is a mahogany splinter,” said the other. “Mahogany! It cannot be less with you!” exclaimed the woman—and thence the proverb, “It is so mahogany!”—(that is, so excessively fine)—is derived.
One night the stranger awoke—he slept with the doors of the balcony open—the curtain before it was raised by the wind, and he thought that a strange lustre came from the opposite neighbor’s house; all the flowers shone like flames, in the most beautiful colors, and in the midst of the flowers stood a slender, graceful maiden—it was as if she also shone; the light really hurt his eyes. He now opened them quite wide—yes, he was quite awake; with one spring he was on the floor; he crept gently behind the curtain, but the maiden was gone; the flowers shone no longer, but there they stood, fresh and blooming as ever; the door was ajar, and, far within, the music sounded so soft and delightful, one could really melt away in sweet thoughts from it. Yet it was like a piece of enchantment. And who lived there? Where was the actual entrance? The whole of the ground-floor was a row of shops, and there people could not always be running through.
One evening the stranger sat out on the balcony. The light burnt in the room behind him; and thus it was quite natural that his shadow should fall on his opposite neighbor’s wall. Yes! there it sat, directly opposite, between the flowers on the balcony; and when the stranger moved, the shadow also moved: for that it always does.
“I think my shadow is the only living thing one sees over there,” said the learned man. “See, how nicely it sits between the flowers. The door stands half-open: now the shadow should be cunning, and go into the room, look about, and then come and tell me what it had seen. Come, now! Be useful, and do me a service,” said he, in jest. “Have the kindness to step in. Now! Art thou going?” and then he nodded to the shadow, and the shadow nodded again. “Well then, go! But don’t stay away.”
The stranger rose, and his shadow on the opposite neighbor’s balcony rose also; the stranger turned round and the shadow also turned round. Yes! if anyone had paid particular attention to it, they would have seen, quite distinctly, that the shadow went in through the half-open balcony-door of their opposite neighbor, just as the stranger went into his own room, and let the long curtain fall down after him.
Next morning, the learned man went out to drink coffee and read the newspapers.
“What is that?” said he, as he came out into the sunshine. “I have no shadow! So then, it has actually gone last night, and not come again. It is really tiresome!”
This annoyed him: not so much because the shadow was gone, but because he knew there was a story about a man without a shadow.* It was known to everybody at home, in the cold lands; and if the learned man now came there and told his story, they would say that he was imitating it, and that he had no need to do. He would, therefore, not talk about it at all; and that was wisely thought.
Peter Schlemihl, the shadowless man.
In the evening he went out again on the balcony. He had placed the light directly behind him, for he knew that the shadow would always have its master for a screen, but he could not entice it. He made himself little; he made himself great: but no shadow came again. He said, “Hem! hem!” but it was of no use.
It was vexatious; but in the warm lands everything grows so quickly; and after the lapse of eight days he observed, to his great joy, that a new shadow came in the sunshine. In the course of three weeks he had a very fair shadow, which, when he set out for his home in the northern lands, grew more and more in the journey, so that at last it was so long and so large, that it was more than sufficient.
The learned man then came home, and he wrote books about what was true in the world, and about what was good and what was beautiful; and there passed days and years—yes! many years passed away.
One evening, as he was sitting in his room, there was a gentle knocking at the door.
“Come in!” said he; but no one came in; so he opened the door, and there stood before him such an extremely lean man, that he felt quite strange. As to the rest, the man was very finely dressed—he must be a gentleman.
“Whom have I the honor of speaking?” asked the learned man.
“Yes! I thought as much,” said the fine man. “I thought you would not know me. I have got so much body. I have even got flesh and clothes. You certainly never thought of seeing me so well off. Do you not know your old shadow? You certainly thought I should never more return. Things have gone on well with me since I was last with you. I have, in all respects, become very well off. Shall I purchase my freedom from service? If so, I can do it”; and then he rattled a whole bunch of valuable seals that hung to his watch, and he stuck his hand in the thick gold chain he wore around his neck—nay! how all his fingers glittered with diamond rings; and then all were pure gems.
“Nay; I cannot recover from my surprise!” said the learned man. “What is the meaning of all this?”
“Something common, is it not,” said the shadow. “But you yourself do not belong to the common order; and I, as you know well, have from a child followed in your footsteps. As soon as you found I was capable to go out alone in the world, I went my own way. I am in the most brilliant circumstances, but there came a sort of desire over me to see you once more before you die; you will die, I suppose? I also wished to see this land again—for you know we always love our native land. I know you have got another shadow again; have I anything to pay to it or you? If so, you will oblige me by saying what it is.”
“Nay, is it really thou?” said the learned man. “It is most remarkable: I never imagined that one’s old shadow could come again as a man.”
“Tell me what I have to pay,” said the shadow; “for I don’t like to be in any sort of debt.”
“How canst thou talk so?” said the learned man. “What debt is there to talk about? Make thyself as free as anyone else. I am extremely glad to hear of thy good fortune: sit down, old friend, and tell me a little how it has gone with thee, and what thou hast seen at our opposite neighbor’s there—in the warm lands.”
“Yes, I will tell you all about it,” said the shadow, and sat down: “but then you must also promise me, that, wherever you may meet me, you will never say to anyone here in the town that I have been your shadow. I intend to get betrothed, for I can provide for more than one family.”
“Be quite at thy ease about that,” said the learned man; “I shall not say to anyone who thou actually art: here is my hand—I promise it, and a man’s bond is his word.”
“A word is a shadow,” said the shadow, “and as such it must speak.”
It was really quite astonishing how much of a man it was. It was dressed entirely in black, and of the very finest cloth; it had patent leather boots, and a hat that could be folded together, so that it was bare crown and brim; not to speak of what we already know it had—seals, gold neck-chain, and diamond rings; yes, the shadow was well-dressed, and it was just that which made it quite a man.
“Now I shall tell you my adventures,” said the shadow; and then he sat, with the polished boots, as heavily as he could, on the arm of the learned man’s new shadow, which lay like a poodle-dog at his feet. Now this was perhaps from arrogance; and the shadow on the ground kept itself so still and quiet, that it might hear all that passed: it wished to know how it could get free, and work its way up, so as to become its own master.
“Do you know who lived in our opposite neighbor’s house?” said the shadow. “It was the most charming of all beings, it was Poesy! I was there for three weeks, and that has as much effect as if one had lived three thousand years, and read all that was composed and written; that is what I say, and it is right. I have seen everything and I know everything!”
“Poesy!” cried the learned man. “Yes, yes, she often dwells a recluse in large cities! Poesy! Yes, I have seen her—a single short moment, but sleep came into my eyes! She stood on the balcony and shone as the Aurora Borealis shines. Go on, go on—thou wert on the balcony, and went through the doorway, and then—”
“Then I was in the antechamber,” said the shadow. “You always sat and looked over to the antechamber. There was no light; there was a sort of twilight, but the one door stood open directly opposite the other through a long row of rooms and saloons, and there it was lighted up. I should have been completely killed if I had gone over to the maiden; but I was circumspect, I took time to think, and that one must always do.”
“And what didst thou then see?” asked the learned man.
“I saw everything, and I shall tell all to you: but—it is no pride on my part—as a free man, and with the knowledge I have, not to speak of my position in life, my excellent circumstances—I certainly wish that you would say YOU* to me!”
* It is the custom in Denmark for intimate acquaintances to use the second person singular, “Du,” (thou) when speaking to each other. When a friendship is formed between men, they generally affirm it, when occasion offers, either in public or private, by drinking to each other and exclaiming, “thy health,” at the same time striking their glasses together. This is called drinking “Duus”: they are then, “Duus Brodre,” (thou brothers) and ever afterwards use the pronoun “thou,” to each other, it being regarded as more familiar than “De,” (you). Father and mother, sister and brother say thou to one another—without regard to age or rank. Master and mistress say thou to their servants the superior to the inferior. But servants and inferiors do not use the same term to their masters, or superiors—nor is it ever used when speaking to a stranger, or anyone with whom they are but slightly acquainted—they then say as in English—you.
“I beg your pardon,” said the learned man; “it is an old habit with me. YOU are perfectly right, and I shall remember it; but now you must tell me all YOU saw!”
“Everything!” said the shadow. “For I saw everything, and I know everything!”
“How did it look in the furthest saloon?” asked the learned man. “Was it there as in the fresh woods? Was it there as in a holy church? Were the saloons like the starlit firmament when we stand on the high mountains?”
“Everything was there!” said the shadow. “I did not go quite in, I remained in the foremost room, in the twilight, but I stood there quite well; I saw everything, and I know everything! I have been in the antechamber at the court of Poesy.”
“But WHAT DID you see? Did all the gods of the olden times pass through the large saloons? Did the old heroes combat there? Did sweet children play there, and relate their dreams?”
“I tell you I was there, and you can conceive that I saw everything there was to be seen. Had you come over there, you would not have been a man; but I became so! And besides, I learned to know my inward nature, my innate qualities, the relationship I had with Poesy. At the time I was with you, I thought not of that, but always—you know it well—when the sun rose, and when the sun went down, I became so strangely great; in the moonlight I was very near being more distinct than yourself; at that time I did not understand my nature; it was revealed to me in the antechamber! I became a man! I came out matured; but you were no longer in the warm lands; as a man I was ashamed to go as I did. I was in want of boots, of clothes, of the whole human varnish that makes a man perceptible. I took my way—I tell it to you, but you will not put it in any book—I took my way to the cake woman—I hid myself behind her; the woman didn’t think how much she concealed. I went out first in the evening; I ran about the streets in the moonlight; I made myself long up the walls—it tickles the back so delightfully! I ran up, and ran down, peeped into the highest windows, into the saloons, and on the roofs, I peeped in where no one could peep, and I saw what no one else saw, what no one else should see! This is, in fact, a base world! I would not be a man if it were not now once accepted and regarded as something to be so! I saw the most unimaginable things with the women, with the men, with parents, and with the sweet, matchless children; I saw,” said the shadow, “what no human being must know, but what they would all so willingly know—what is bad in their neighbor. Had I written a newspaper, it would have been read! But I wrote direct to the persons themselves, and there was consternation in all the towns where I came. They were so afraid of me, and yet they were so excessively fond of me. The professors made a professor of me; the tailors gave me new clothes—I am well furnished; the master of the mint struck new coin for me, and the women said I was so handsome! And so I became the man I am. And I now bid you farewell. Here is my card—I live on the sunny side of the street, and am always at home in rainy weather!” And so away went the shadow. “That was most extraordinary!” said the learned man. Years and days passed away, then the shadow came again. “How goes it?” said the shadow.
“Alas!” said the learned man. “I write about the true, and the good, and the beautiful, but no one cares to hear such things; I am quite desperate, for I take it so much to heart!”
“But I don’t!” said the shadow. “I become fat, and it is that one wants to become! You do not understand the world. You will become ill by it. You must travel! I shall make a tour this summer; will you go with me? I should like to have a travelling companion! Will you go with me, as shadow? It will be a great pleasure for me to have you with me; I shall pay the travelling expenses!”
“Nay, this is too much!” said the learned man.
“It is just as one takes it!” said the shadow. “It will do you much good to travel! Will you be my shadow? You shall have everything free on the journey!”
“Nay, that is too bad!” said the learned man.
“But it is just so with the world!” said the shadow, “and so it will be!” and away it went again.
The learned man was not at all in the most enviable state; grief and torment followed him, and what he said about the true, and the good, and the beautiful, was, to most persons, like roses for a cow! He was quite ill at last.
“You really look like a shadow!” said his friends to him; and the learned man trembled, for he thought of it.
“You must go to a watering-place!” said the shadow, who came and visited him. “There is nothing else for it! I will take you with me for old acquaintance’ sake; I will pay the travelling expenses, and you write the descriptions—and if they are a little amusing for me on the way! I will go to a watering-place—my beard does not grow out as it ought—that is also a sickness—and one must have a beard! Now you be wise and accept the offer; we shall travel as comrades!”
And so they travelled; the shadow was master, and the master was the shadow; they drove with each other, they rode and walked together, side by side, before and behind, just as the sun was; the shadow always took care to keep itself in the master’s place. Now the learned man didn’t think much about that; he was a very kind-hearted man, and particularly mild and friendly, and so he said one day to the shadow: “As we have now become companions, and in this way have grown up together from childhood, shall we not drink ‘thou’ together, it is more familiar?”
“You are right,” said the shadow, who was now the proper master. “It is said in a very straight-forward and well-meant manner. You, as a learned man, certainly know how strange nature is. Some persons cannot bear to touch grey paper, or they become ill; others shiver in every limb if one rub a pane of glass with a nail: I have just such a feeling on hearing you say thou to me; I feel myself as if pressed to the earth in my first situation with you. You see that it is a feeling; that it is not pride: I cannot allow you to say THOU to me, but I will willingly say THOU to you, so it is half done!”
So the shadow said THOU to its former master.
“This is rather too bad,” thought he, “that I must say YOU and he say THOU,” but he was now obliged to put up with it.
So they came to a watering-place where there were many strangers, and amongst them was a princess, who was troubled with seeing too well; and that was so alarming!
She directly observed that the stranger who had just come was quite a different sort of person to all the others; “He has come here in order to get his beard to grow, they say, but I see the real cause, he cannot cast a shadow.”
She had become inquisitive; and so she entered into conversation directly with the strange gentleman, on their promenades. As the daughter of a king, she needed not to stand upon trifles, so she said, “Your complaint is, that you cannot cast a shadow?”
“Your Royal Highness must be improving considerably,” said the shadow, “I know your complaint is, that you see too clearly, but it has decreased, you are cured. I just happen to have a very unusual shadow! Do you not see that person who always goes with me? Other persons have a common shadow, but I do not like what is common to all. We give our servants finer cloth for their livery than we ourselves use, and so I had my shadow trimmed up into a man: yes, you see I have even given him a shadow. It is somewhat expensive, but I like to have something for myself!”
“What!” thought the princess. “Should I really be cured! These baths are the first in the world! In our time water has wonderful powers. But I shall not leave the place, for it now begins to be amusing here. I am extremely fond of that stranger: would that his beard should not grow, for in that case he will leave us!”
In the evening, the princess and the shadow danced together in the large ball-room. She was light, but he was still lighter; she had never had such a partner in the dance. She told him from what land she came, and he knew that land; he had been there, but then she was not at home; he had peeped in at the window, above and below—he had seen both the one and the other, and so he could answer the princess, and make insinuations, so that she was quite astonished; he must be the wisest man in the whole world! She felt such respect for what he knew! So that when they again danced together she fell in love with him; and that the shadow could remark, for she almost pierced him through with her eyes. So they danced once more together; and she was about to declare herself, but she was discreet; she thought of her country and kingdom, and of the many persons she would have to reign over.
“He is a wise man,” said she to herself—”It is well; and he dances delightfully—that is also good; but has he solid knowledge? That is just as important! He must be examined.”
So she began, by degrees, to question him about the most difficult things she could think of, and which she herself could not have answered; so that the shadow made a strange face.
“You cannot answer these questions?” said the princess.
“They belong to my childhood’s learning,” said the shadow. “I really believe my shadow, by the door there, can answer them!”
“Your shadow!” said the princess. “That would indeed be marvellous!”
“I will not say for a certainty that he can,” said the shadow, “but I think so; he has now followed me for so many years, and listened to my conversation—I should think it possible. But your royal highness will permit me to observe, that he is so proud of passing himself off for a man, that when he is to be in a proper humor—and he must be so to answer well—he must be treated quite like a man.”
“Oh! I like that!” said the princess.
So she went to the learned man by the door, and she spoke to him about the sun and the moon, and about persons out of and in the world, and he answered with wisdom and prudence.
“What a man that must be who has so wise a shadow!” thought she. “It will be a real blessing to my people and kingdom if I choose him for my consort—I will do it!”
They were soon agreed, both the princess and the shadow; but no one was to know about it before she arrived in her own kingdom.
“No one—not even my shadow!” said the shadow, and he had his own thoughts about it!
Now they were in the country where the princess reigned when she was at home.
“Listen, my good friend,” said the shadow to the learned man. “I have now become as happy and mighty as anyone can be; I will, therefore, do something particular for thee! Thou shalt always live with me in the palace, drive with me in my royal carriage, and have ten thousand pounds a year; but then thou must submit to be called SHADOW by all and everyone; thou must not say that thou hast ever been a man; and once a year, when I sit on the balcony in the sunshine, thou must lie at my feet, as a shadow shall do! I must tell thee: I am going to marry the king’s daughter, and the nuptials are to take place this evening!”
“Nay, this is going too far!” said the learned man. “I will not have it; I will not do it! It is to deceive the whole country and the princess too! I will tell everything! That I am a man, and that thou art a shadow—thou art only dressed up!”
“There is no one who will believe it!” said the shadow. “Be reasonable, or I will call the guard!”
“I will go directly to the princess!” said the learned man.
“But I will go first!” said the shadow. “And thou wilt go to prison!” and that he was obliged to do—for the sentinels obeyed him whom they knew the king’s daughter was to marry.
“You tremble!” said the princess, as the shadow came into her chamber. “Has anything happened? You must not be unwell this evening, now that we are to have our nuptials celebrated.”
“I have lived to see the most cruel thing that anyone can live to see!” said the shadow. “Only imagine—yes, it is true, such a poor shadow-skull cannot bear much—only think, my shadow has become mad; he thinks that he is a man, and that I—now only think—that I am his shadow!”
“It is terrible!” said the princess; “but he is confined, is he not?”
“That he is. I am afraid that he will never recover.”
“Poor shadow!” said the princess. “He is very unfortunate; it would be a real work of charity to deliver him from the little life he has, and, when I think properly over the matter, I am of opinion that it will be necessary to do away with him in all stillness!”
“It is certainly hard,” said the shadow, “for he was a faithful servant!” and then he gave a sort of sigh.
“You are a noble character!” said the princess.
The whole city was illuminated in the evening, and the cannons went off with a bum! bum! and the soldiers presented arms. That was a marriage! The princess and the shadow went out on the balcony to show themselves, and get another hurrah!
The learned man heard nothing of all this—for they had deprived him of life.
“The RED Shoes” the Short Story was Written by Hans Christian Andersen; There was once a little girl who was very pretty and delicate, but in summer she was forced to run about with bare feet, she was so poor, and in winter wear very large wooden shoes, which made her little insteps quite red, and that looked so dangerous!
In the middle of the village lived old Dame Shoemaker; she sat and sewed together, as well as she could, a little pair of shoes out of old red strips of cloth; they were very clumsy, but it was a kind thought. They were meant for the little girl. The little girl was called Karen.
On the very day her mother was buried, Karen received the red shoes, and wore them for the first time. They were certainly not intended for mourning, but she had no others, and with stocking less feet she followed the poor straw coffin in them.
Suddenly a large old carriage drove up, and a large old lady sat in it: she looked at the little girl, felt compassion for her, and then said to the clergyman:
“Here, give me the little girl. I will adopt her!”
And Karen believed all this happened on account of the red shoes, but the old lady thought they were horrible, and they were burnt. But Karen herself was cleanly and nicely dressed; she must learn to read and sew; and people said she was a nice little thing, but the looking-glass said: “Thou art more than nice, thou art beautiful!”
Now the queen once travelled through the land, and she had her little daughter with her. And this little daughter was a princess, and people streamed to the castle, and Karen was there also, and the little princess stood in her fine white dress, in a window, and let herself be stared at; she had neither a train nor a golden crown, but splendid red morocco shoes. They were certainly far handsomer than those Dame Shoemaker had made for little Karen. Nothing in the world can be compared with red shoes.
Now Karen was old enough to be confirmed; she had new clothes and was to have new shoes also. The rich shoemaker in the city took the measure of her little foot. This took place at his house, in his room; where stood large glass-cases, filled with elegant shoes and brilliant boots. All this looked charming, but the old lady could not see well, and so had no pleasure in them. In the midst of the shoes stood a pair of red ones, just like those the princess had worn. How beautiful they were! The shoemaker said also they had been made for the child of a count, but had not fitted.
“That must be patent leather!” said the old lady. “They shine so!”
“Yes, they shine!” said Karen, and they fitted, and were bought, but the old lady knew nothing about their being red, else she would never have allowed Karen to have gone in red shoes to be confirmed. Yet such was the case.
Everybody looked at her feet; and when she stepped through the chancel door on the church pavement, it seemed to her as if the old figures on the tombs, those portraits of old preachers and preachers’ wives, with stiff ruffs, and long black dresses, fixed their eyes on her red shoes. And she thought only of them as the clergyman laid his hand upon her head, and spoke of the holy baptism, of the covenant with God, and how she should be now a matured Christian; and the organ pealed so solemnly; the sweet children’s voices sang, and the old music-directors sang, but Karen only thought of her red shoes.
In the afternoon, the old lady heard from everyone that the shoes had been red, and she said that it was very wrong of Karen, that it was not at all becoming, and that in future Karen should only go in black shoes to church, even when she should be older.
The next Sunday there was the sacrament, and Karen looked at the black shoes, looked at the red ones—looked at them again, and put on the red shoes.
The sun shone gloriously; Karen and the old lady walked along the path through the corn; it was rather dusty there.
At the church door stood an old soldier with a crutch, and with a wonderfully long beard, which was more red than white, and he bowed to the ground, and asked the old lady whether he might dust her shoes. And Karen stretched out her little foot.
“See, what beautiful dancing shoes!” said the soldier. “Sit firm when you dance”; and he put his hand out towards the soles.
And the old lady gave the old soldier alms, and went into the church with Karen.
And all the people in the church looked at Karen’s red shoes, and all the pictures, and as Karen knelt before the altar, and raised the cup to her lips, she only thought of the red shoes, and they seemed to swim in it; and she forgot to sing her psalm, and she forgot to pray, “Our Father in Heaven!”
Now all the people went out of church, and the old lady got into her carriage. Karen raised her foot to get in after her, when the old soldier said,
“Look, what beautiful dancing shoes!”
And Karen could not help dancing a step or two, and when she began her feet continued to dance; it was just as though the shoes had power over them. She danced round the church corner, she could not leave off; the coachman was obliged to run after and catch hold of her, and he lifted her in the carriage, but her feet continued to dance so that she trod on the old lady dreadfully. At length she took the shoes off, and then her legs had peace.
The shoes were placed in a closet at home, but Karen could not avoid looking at them.
Now the old lady was sick, and it was said she could not recover. She must be nursed and waited upon, and there was no one whose duty it was so much as Karen’s. But there was a great ball in the city, to which Karen was invited. She looked at the old lady, who could not recover, she looked at the red shoes, and she thought there could be no sin in it; she put on the red shoes, she might do that also, she thought. But then she went to the ball and began to dance.
When she wanted to dance to the right, the shoes would dance to the left, and when she wanted to dance up the room, the shoes danced back again, down the steps, into the street, and out of the city gate. She danced, and was forced to dance straight out into the gloomy wood.
Then it was suddenly light up among the trees, and she fancied it must be the moon, for there was a face; but it was the old soldier with the red beard; he sat there, nodded his head, and said, “Look, what beautiful dancing shoes!”
Then she was terrified, and wanted to fling off the red shoes, but they clung fast; and she pulled down her stockings, but the shoes seemed to have grown to her feet. And she danced, and must dance, over fields and meadows, in rain and sunshine, by night and day; but at night it was the most fearful.
She danced over the churchyard, but the dead did not dance—they had something better to do than to dance. She wished to seat herself on a poor man’s grave, where the bitter tansy grew; but for her there was neither peace nor rest; and when she danced towards the open church door, she saw an angel standing there. He wore long, white garments; he had wings which reached from his shoulders to the earth; his countenance was severe and grave; and in his hand he held a sword, broad and glittering.
“Dance shalt thou!” said he. “Dance in thy red shoes till thou art pale and cold! Till thy skin shrivels up and thou art a skeleton! Dance shalt thou from door to door, and where proud, vain children dwell, thou shalt knock, that they may hear thee and tremble! Dance shalt thou—!”
“Mercy!” cried Karen. But she did not hear the angel’s reply, for the shoes carried her through the gate into the fields, across roads and bridges, and she must keep ever dancing.
One morning she danced past a door which she well knew. Within sounded a psalm; a coffin, decked with flowers, was borne forth. Then she knew that the old lady was dead, and felt that she was abandoned by all, and condemned by the angel of God.
She danced, and she was forced to dance through the gloomy night. The shoes carried her over stack and stone; she was torn till she bled; she danced over the heath till she came to a little house. Here, she knew, dwelt the executioner; and she tapped with her fingers at the window, and said, “Come out! Come out! I cannot come in, for I am forced to dance!”
And the executioner said, “Thou dost not know who I am, I fancy? I strike bad people’s heads off; and I hear that my axe rings!”
“Don’t strike my head off!” said Karen. “Then I can’t repent of my sins! But strike off my feet in the red shoes!”
And then she confessed her entire sin, and the executioner struck off her feet with the red shoes, but the shoes danced away with the little feet across the field into the deep wood.
And he carved out little wooden feet for her, and crutches, taught her the psalm criminals always sing; and she kissed the hand which had wielded the axe, and went over the heath.
“Now I have suffered enough for the red shoes!” said she. “Now I will go into the church that people may see me!” And she hastened towards the church door: but when she was near it, the red shoes danced before her, and she was terrified, and turned round. The whole week she was unhappy, and wept many bitter tears; but when Sunday returned, she said, “Well, now I have suffered and struggled enough! I really believe I am as good as many a one who sits in the church, and holds her head so high!”
And away she went boldly; but she had not got farther than the churchyard gate before she saw the red shoes dancing before her; and she was frightened, and turned back, and repented of her sin from her heart.
And she went to the parsonage, and begged that they would take her into service; she would be very industrious, she said, and would do everything she could; she did not care about the wages, only she wished to have a home, and be with good people. And the clergyman’s wife was sorry for her and took her into service; and she was industrious and thoughtful. She sat still and listened when the clergyman read the Bible in the evenings. All the children thought a great deal of her; but when they spoke of dress, and grandeur, and beauty, she shook her head.
The following Sunday, when the family was going to church, they asked her whether she would not go with them; but she glanced sorrowfully, with tears in her eyes, at her crutches. The family went to hear the word of God; but she went alone into her little chamber; there was only room for a bed and chair to stand in it; and here she sat down with her Prayer-Book; and whilst she read with a pious mind, the wind bore the strains of the organ towards her, and she raised her tearful countenance, and said, “O God, help me!”
And the sun shone so clearly, and straight before her stood the angel of God in white garments, the same she had seen that night at the church door; but he no longer carried the sharp sword, but in its stead a splendid green spray, full of roses. And he touched the ceiling with the spray, and the ceiling rose so high, and where he had touched it there gleamed a golden star. And he touched the walls, and they widened out, and she saw the organ which was playing; she saw the old pictures of the preachers and the preachers’ wives. The congregation sat in cushioned seats, and sang out of their Prayer-Books. For the church itself had come to the poor girl in her narrow chamber, or else she had come into the church. She sat in the pew with the clergyman’s family, and when they had ended the psalm and looked up, they nodded and said, “It is right that thou art come!”
“It was through mercy!” she said.
And the organ pealed, and the children’s voices in the choir sounded so sweet and soft! The clear sunshine streamed so warmly through the window into the pew where Karen sat! Her heart was so full of sunshine, peace, and joy, that it broke. Her soul flew on the sunshine to God, and there no one asked after the RED SHOES.
“The Real Princess” the Short Story was Written by Hans Christian Andersen; There was once a Prince who wished to marry a Princess; but then she must be a real Princess. He travel led all over the world in hopes of finding such a lady; but there was always something wrong. Princesses he found in plenty; but whether they were real Princesses it was impossible for him to decide, for now one thing, now another, seemed to him not quite right about the ladies. At last he returned to his palace quite cast down, because he wished so much to have a real Princess for his wife.
One evening a fearful tempest arose, it thundered and lightened, and the rain poured down from the sky in torrents: besides, it was as dark as pitch. All at once there was heard a violent knocking at the door, and the old King, the Prince’s father, went out himself to open it.
It was a Princess who was standing outside the door. What with the rain and the wind, she was in a sad condition; the water trickled down from her hair, and her clothes clung to her body. She said she was a real Princess.
“Ah! we shall soon see that!” thought the old Queen-mother; however, she said not a word of what she was going to do; but went quietly into the bedroom, took all the bed-clothes off the bed, and put three little peas on the bedstead. She then laid twenty mattresses one upon another over the three peas, and put twenty feather beds over the mattresses.
Upon this bed the Princess was to pass the night.
The next morning she was asked how she had slept. “Oh, very badly indeed!” she replied. “I have scarcely closed my eyes the whole night through. I do not know what was in my bed, but I had something hard under me, and am all over black and blue. It has hurt me so much!”
Now it was plain that the lady must be a real Princess, since she had been able to feel the three little peas through the twenty mattresses and twenty feather beds. None but a real Princess could have had such a delicate sense of feeling.
The Prince accordingly made her his wife; being now convinced that he had found a real Princess. The three peas were however put into the cabinet of curiosities, where they are still to be seen, provided they are not lost.
“The Old House” the Short Story was Written by Hans Christian Andersen; In the street, up there, was an old, a very old house—it was almost three hundred years old, for that might be known by reading the great beam on which the date of the year was carved: together with tulips and hop-binds there were whole verses spelled as in former times, and over every window was a distorted face cut out in the beam. The one story stood forward a great way over the other, and directly under the eaves was a leaden spout with a dragon’s head; the rain-water should have run out of the mouth, but it ran out of the belly, for there was a hole in the spout.
All the other houses in the street were so new and so neat, with large window panes and smooth walls, one could easily see that they would have nothing to do with the old house: they certainly thought, “How long is that old decayed thing to stand here as a spectacle in the street? And then the projecting windows stand so far out, that no one can see from our windows what happens in that direction! The steps are as broad as those of a palace and as high as to a church tower. The iron railings look just like the door to an old family vault, and then they have brass tops—that’s so stupid!”
On the other side of the street were also new and neat houses, and they thought just as the others did; but at the window opposite the old house there sat a little boy with fresh rosy cheeks and bright beaming eyes: he certainly liked the old house best, and that both in sunshine and moonshine. And when he looked across at the wall where the mortar had fallen out, he could sit and find out there the strangest figures imaginable; exactly as the street had appeared before, with steps, projecting windows, and pointed gables; he could see soldiers with halberds, and spouts where the water ran, like dragons and serpents. That was a house to look at; and there lived an old man, who wore plush breeches; and he had a coat with large brass buttons, and a wig that one could see was a real wig. Every morning there came an old fellow to him who put his rooms in order, and went on errands; otherwise, the old man in the plush breeches was quite alone in the old house. Now and then he came to the window and looked out, and the little boy nodded to him, and the old man nodded again, and so they became acquaintances, and then they were friends, although they had never spoken to each other—but that made no difference. The little boy heard his parents say, “The old man opposite is very well off, but he is so very, very lonely!”
The Sunday following, the little boy took something, and wrapped it up in a piece of paper, went downstairs, and stood in the doorway; and when the man who went on errands came past, he said to him—
“I say, master! will you give this to the old man over the way from me? I have two pewter soldiers—this is one of them, and he shall have it, for I know he is so very, very lonely.”
And the old errand man looked quite pleased, nodded, and took the pewter soldier over to the old house. Afterwards, there came a message; it was to ask if the little boy himself had not a wish to come over and pay a visit, and so he got the permission of his parents, and then went over to the old house.
And the brass balls on the iron railings shone much brighter than ever; one would have thought they were polished on account of the visit; and it was as if the carved-out trumpeters—for there were trumpeters, who stood in tulips, carved out on the door—blew with all their might, their cheeks appeared so much rounder than before. Yes, they blew—”Trateratra! The little boy comes! Trateratra!”—and then the door opened.
The whole passage was hung with portraits of knights in armor, and ladies in silken gowns, and the armor rattled, and the silken gowns rustled! And then there was a flight of stairs which went a good way upwards, and a little way downwards, and then one came on a balcony which was in a very dilapidated state, sure enough, with large holes and long crevices, but grass grew there and leaves out of them altogether, for the whole balcony outside, the yard, and the walls, were overgrown with so much green stuff, that it looked like a garden; only a balcony. Here stood old flower-pots with faces and asses’ ears, and the flowers grew just as they liked. One of the pots was quite overrun on all sides with pinks, that is to say, with the green part; shoot stood by shoot, and it said quite distinctly, “The air has cherished me, the sun has kissed me, and promised me a little flower on Sunday! a little flower on Sunday!”
And then they entered a chamber where the walls were covered with hog’s leather and printed with gold flowers.
“The gilding decays,
But hog’s leather stays!”
said the walls.
And there stood easy-chairs, with such high backs, and so carved out, and with arms on both sides. “Sit down! sit down!” said they. “Ugh! how I creak; now I shall certainly get the gout, like the old clothespress, ugh!”
And then the little boy came into the room where the projecting windows were, and where the old man sat.
“I thank you for the pewter soldier, my little friend!” said the old man. “And I thank you because you come over to me.”
“Thankee! thankee!” or “cranky! cranky!” sounded from all the furniture; there was so much of it, that each article stood in the other’s way, to get a look at the little boy.
In the middle of the wall hung a picture representing a beautiful lady, so young, so glad, but dressed quite as in former times, with clothes that stood quite stiff, and with powder in her hair; she neither said “thankee, thankee!” nor “cranky, cranky!” but looked with her mild eyes at the little boy, who directly asked the old man, “Where did you get her?”
“Yonder, at the broker’s,” said the old man, “where there are so many pictures hanging. No one knows or cares about them, for they are all of them buried; but I knew her in by-gone days, and now she has been dead and gone these fifty years!”
Under the picture, in a glazed frame, there hung a bouquet of withered flowers; they were almost fifty years old; they looked so very old!
The pendulum of the great clock went to and fro, and the hands turned, and everything in the room became still older, but they did not observe it.
“They say at home,” said the little boy, “that you are so very, very lonely!”
“Oh!” said he. “The old thoughts, with what they may bring with them, come and visit me, and now you also come! I am very well off!”
Then he took a book with pictures in it down from the shelf; there were whole long processions and pageants, with the strangest characters, which one never sees now-a-days; soldiers like the knave of clubs, and citizens with waving flags: the tailors had theirs, with a pair of shears held by two lions—and the shoemakers theirs, without boots, but with an eagle that had two heads, for the shoemakers must have everything so that they can say, it is a pair! Yes, that was a picture book!
The old man now went into the other room to fetch preserves, apples, and nuts—yes, it was delightful over there in the old house.
“I cannot bear it any longer!” said the pewter soldier, who sat on the drawers. “It is so lonely and melancholy here! But when one has been in a family circle one cannot accustom oneself to this life! I cannot bear it any longer! The whole day is so long, and the evenings are still longer! Here it is not at all as it is over the way at your home, where your father and mother spoke so pleasantly, and where you and all your sweet children made such a delightful noise. Nay, how lonely the old man is—do you think that he gets kisses? Do you think he gets mild eyes or a Christmas tree? He will get nothing but a grave! I can bear it no longer!”
“You must not let it grieve you so much,” said the little boy. “I find it so very delightful here, and then all the old thoughts, with what they may bring with them, they come and visit here.”
“Yes, it’s all very well, but I see nothing of them, and I don’t know them!” said the pewter soldier. “I cannot bear it!”
“But you must!” said the little boy.
Then in came the old man with the most pleased and happy face, the most delicious preserves, apples, and nuts, and so the little boy thought no more about the pewter soldier.
The little boy returned home happy and pleased, and weeks and days passed away, and nods were made to the old house, and from the old house, and then the little boy went over there again.
The carved trumpeters blew, “Trateratra! There is the little boy! Trateratra!” and the swords and armor on the knights’ portraits rattled, and the silk gowns rustled; the hog’s leather spoke, and the old chairs had the gout in their legs and rheumatism in their backs: Ugh! it was exactly like the first time, for over there one day and an hour was just like another.
“I cannot bear it!” said the pewter soldier. “I have shed pewter tears! It is too melancholy! Rather let me go to the wars and lose arms and legs! It would at least be a change. I cannot bear it longer! Now, I know what it is to have a visit from one’s old thoughts, with what they may bring with them! I have had a visit from mine, and you may be sure it is no pleasant thing in the end; I was at last about to jump down from the drawers.”
“I saw you all over there at home so distinctly, as if you really were here; it was again that Sunday morning; all you children stood before the table and sung your Psalms, as you do every morning. You stood devoutly with folded hands; and father and mother were just as pious; and then the door was opened, and little sister Mary, who is not two years old yet, and who always dances when she hears music or singing, of whatever kind it may be, was put into the room—though she ought not to have been there—and then she began to dance, but could not keep time, because the tones were so long; and then she stood, first on the one leg, and bent her head forwards, and then on the other leg, and bent her head forwards—but all would not do. You stood very seriously all together, although it was difficult enough; but I laughed to myself, and then I fell off the table and got a bump, which I have still—for it was not right of me to laugh. But the whole now passes before me again in thought, and everything that I have lived to see; and these are the old thoughts, with what they may bring with them.
“Tell me if you still sing on Sundays? Tell me something about little Mary! And how my comrade, the other pewter soldier, lives! Yes, he is happy enough, that’s sure! I cannot bear it any longer!”
“You are given away as a present!” said the little boy. “You must remain. Can you not understand that?”
The old man now came with a drawer, in which there was much to be seen, both “tin boxes” and “balsam boxes,” old cards, so large and so gilded, such as one never sees them now. And several drawers were opened, and the piano was opened; it had landscapes on the inside of the lid, and it was so hoarse when the old man played on it! and then he hummed a song.
“Yes, she could sing that!” said he, and nodded to the portrait, which he had bought at the broker’s, and the old man’s eyes shone so bright!
“I will go to the wars! I will go to the wars!” shouted the pewter soldier as loud as he could, and threw himself off the drawers right down on the floor. What became of him? The old man sought, and the little boy sought; he was away, and he stayed away.
“I shall find him!” said the old man; but he never found him. The floor was too open—the pewter soldier had fallen through a crevice, and there he lay as in an open tomb.
That day passed, and the little boy went home, and that week passed, and several weeks too. The windows were quite frozen, the little boy was obliged to sit and breathe on them to get a peep-hole over to the old house, and there the snow had been blown into all the carved work and inscriptions; it lay quite up over the steps, just as if there was no one at home—nor was there any one at home—the old man was dead!
In the evening there was a hearse seen before the door, and he was borne into it in his coffin: he was now to go out into the country, to lie in his grave. He was driven out there, but no one followed; all his friends were dead, and the little boy kissed his hand to the coffin as it was driven away.
Some days afterwards there was an auction at the old house, and the little boy saw from his window how they carried the old knights and the old ladies away, the flower-pots with the long ears, the old chairs, and the old clothes-presses. Something came here, and something came there; the portrait of her who had been found at the brokers came to the broker’s again; and there it hung, for no one knew her more—no one cared about the old picture.
In the spring they pulled the house down, for, as people said, it was a ruin. One could see from the street right into the room with the hog’s-leather hanging, which was slashed and torn; and the green grass and leaves about the balcony hung quite wild about the falling beams. And then it was put to rights.
“That was a relief,” said the neighboring houses.
A fine house was built there, with large windows, and smooth white walls; but before it, where the old house had in fact stood, was a little garden laid out, and a wild grapevine ran up the wall of the neighboring house. Before the garden there was a large iron railing with an iron door, it looked quite splendid, and people stood still and peeped in, and the sparrows hung by scores in the vine, and chattered away at each other as well as they could, but it was not about the old house, for they could not remember it, so many years had passed—so many that the little boy had grown up to a whole man, yes, a clever man, and a pleasure to his parents; and he had just been married, and, together with his little wife, had come to live in the house here, where the garden was; and he stood by her there whilst she planted a field-flower that she found so pretty; she planted it with her little hand, and pressed the earth around it with her fingers. Oh! what was that? She had stuck herself. There sat something pointed, straight out of the soft mould.
It was—yes, guess! It was the pewter soldier, he that was lost up at the old man’s, and had tumbled and turned about amongst the timber and the rubbish, and had at last laid for many years in the ground.
The young wife wiped the dirt off the soldier, first with a green leaf, and then with her fine handkerchief—it had such a delightful smell, that it was to the pewter soldier just as if he had awaked from a trance.
“Let me see him,” said the young man. He laughed, and then shook his head. “Nay, it cannot be he; but he reminds me of a story about a pewter soldier which I had when I was a little boy!” And then he told his wife about the old house, and the old man, and about the pewter soldier that he sent over to him because he was so very, very lonely; and he told it as correctly as it had really been, so that the tears came into the eyes of his young wife, on account of the old house and the old man.
“It may possibly be, however, that it is the same pewter soldier!” said she. “I will take care of it, and remember all that you have told me, but you must show me the old man’s grave!”
“But I do not know it,” said he, “and no one knows it! All his friends were dead, no one took care of it, and I was then a little boy!”
“How very, very lonely he must have been!” said she.
“Very, very lonely!” said the pewter soldier. “But it is delightful not to be forgotten!”
“Delightful!” shouted something close by; but no one, except the pewter soldier, saw that it was a piece of the hog’s-leather hangings; it had lost all its gilding, it looked like a piece of wet clay, but it had an opinion, and it gave it:
