1805, a newly married couple who loved each other lived in a small and shabby hut in odense. Husband, less than 22 years old, is a shoemaker, and shows his talent and spirituality in his poems. His wife is several years older than him. She has a loving heart and knows nothing about the world she lives in. Shortly before marriage, the young husband was already a "free" shoemaker, building a workshop and a wedding bed. The residual black cloth on the bedstead reminds people that on this wooden bedstead, the coffin of Count Trump who died of illness was parked not long ago. The second day of April is no longer a noble body surrounded by black gauze candles, but a living crying baby-I, Andersen.
It is said that in the first few days after I was born, whenever I kept screaming, my father sat by my mother's bed and read some Hall Fort. He would jokingly ask me, "Sleep or listen quietly?" But I still can't stop crying. Even when I was baptized in church, I cried so loudly that the mother always said loudly to his grumpy priest, "The child's crying is like a cat's cry!" " "-mother always can't forgive him this. Fortunately, my godfather Gomad, a poor French immigrant, comforted her that a crying child like me would sing better and better as he grew older.
In the hut where I spent my childhood, almost the whole space was occupied by the workshop and the bed where I slept. Fortunately, the walls are covered with paintings, drawers are filled with beautiful glasses and decorations, and there is a bookshelf above my father's bench, with some books and songbooks on it. The shelves on the kitchen cabinets are full of plates and dishes, which look spacious and interesting. There is a landscape painting on the panel of the door. Now that I think about it, it's like a gallery to me.
You can reach the roof through the ladder in the kitchen, and there is an earthen box in the drainage ditch separated from the neighbor's house by a wall, which is planted with leeks and celery. This is mom's garden. In my fairy tale Snow Queen, the garden is still in full bloom.
I am an only child, and I am deeply loved. My mother always told me that I was much happier than when she was a child, as if I had been raised as a noble child. When she was a child, her grandparents kicked her out to beg. She can't do this. She just sat under the bridge of a river in odense and cried all day. Such a scene is deeply imprinted in my childhood imagination, and I can't help crying when I think of it. -I showed my mother's two different personalities in The Impromptu Poet and Christian's mother in Just a Fiddler.
My father hans andersen followed me in everything, and I occupied his whole body and mind. He lives for me. So, on all Sundays, his only rest day, he will spend the whole day making toys and paintings for me. In the evening, he often reads aloud to me the works of La Fontaine and Holberg, or the stories in One Thousand and One Nights. In my memory, only at this time can I see his smile, because as a craftsman, he has never really felt happy.
When my grandfather was in the country, his family was not bad, but many unfortunate things followed: the cow died, the farm was burned, and finally my grandfather went crazy. In this way, my grandmother moved to odense with him. Although my son wants to go to grammar school most, there is no other way but to let his clever son learn to repair shoes. Several rich people in the town said they would chip in some money to start a new life, but nothing happened in the end. Poor father, his dream never came true, but he never forgot the past. I remember when I was a child, once, a grammar school student came to order a pair of new shoes and showed us his textbooks. I saw tears in my father's eyes. He kissed me affectionately and said, "this is the way I should go!" " "That night, my father said nothing.
He doesn't have much contact with his peers, but he often has relatives and friends coming to our house. As I said just now, on winter nights, he reads aloud to me and makes toys for me. In summer, almost every Sunday, he takes me for a walk in the Woods. He didn't talk to me, just sat thinking. I ran around happily, weaving the picked strawberries into a wreath. My mother only walks happily with us in May every year when all the trees in the forest sprout, and puts on her brown printed cotton dress, only in this season or when she goes to receive communion. I remember that it was her only and best long dress in those years. Whenever she goes home for a walk, she always brings back a birch branch and puts it behind the polished stove. She always sticks twigs with leaves in the cracks of the roof beams, and marks the growth of our lives with their lives. We decorated the hut with green branches and pictures. Mother always keeps the room tidy. She must make linen sheets and curtains white.
The first thing I remember is not very important, but it is unusual and deeply imprinted in my childhood memory. It was a family dance in a prison in odense. I looked at everything in front of me with trepidation, just like a Parisian child facing the Bastille. My parents know the jailer there, and he invited us to dinner. I was very young and had to hold it. For me, odense Prison is the kind of hiding place that tells the story of thieves and robbers. I often stand at a safe distance and listen to the men and women singing at the spinning wheel.
Naturally, I went to the jailer's dinner with my parents. With the jingle of the key, the huge iron gate bolted the door open and closed. The stairs are very steep. They ate and drank, and two prisoners served them. No one can convince me that even if I taste something, I can't eat this rich delicious food. Mother said I was ill and put me on the bed. But I can hear the buzzing of spinning wheels and cheerful songs nearby. I can't tell whether this is in my imagination or in reality. But one thing is clear, that is, I have been very nervous and scared. However, lying there and imagining that you have entered a castle full of robbers is still quite happy. It was very late when my parents carried me home. It was a violent night, and the rain hit my face.
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