| Where did we get this
story from? Would you like to know? |
Hvorfra vi har Historien?
-Vil Du vide det? |
| We got it from the grocer's
paper barrel. |
Vi har den fra Fjerdingen,
den med de gamle Papirer i. |
| Many good and even rare
books have ended up in the paper barrel. When they are taken
out again, it is not to be read but to be used as wrapping for
coffee, sugar, cheese, butter, and pickled herrings--the latter
gets a double portion--which proves that written matter has
a practical value. |
Mangen god og sjelden
Bog er gaaet i Spekhøkeren og Urtekræmmeren, ikke som Læsning,
men som Nødvendigheds Artikel. De maae have Papir til Kræmmerhuus
for Stivelse og Kaffebønner, Papir om Spegesild, Smør og Ost.
Skrevne Sager ere ogsaa brugelige. |
| Often things go into
the paper barrel that shouldn't. |
Tidt gaaer i Bøtte,
hvad der ikke skulde gaae i Bøtte. |
| I have a friend who
knows all about it, because he is not only the son of a greengrocer,
who has a store in the basement; but he is apprenticed to a
grocer. The young man had advanced himself from the cellar to
the street floor. He is very well read in barrel literature:
both the handwritten and the printed. He has a whole library
of it, but he has two stores to choose from. It is an interesting
collection. There are several love letters; official governmennt
communications that were thrown in a wastepaper basket by an
absent-minded bureaucrat; and some long, gossipy letters filled
with scandal that must never be told to a soul. My young friend
is a rescuer of literature and has saved, if not books, then
many pages of books that deserved to be read more than once. |
Jeg kjender en Urtekræmmerdreng,
Søn af en Spekhøker; han er gaaet tilveirs fra Kjelderen til
Stue-Boutiken; et Menneske med stor Læsning, Kræmmerhuus-Læsning,
baade den trykte og den skrevne. Han har en interessant Samling,
og i den flere vigtige Actstykker fra Een og Anden altfor beskæftiget
tankespredt Embedsmands Papirskurv; eet og andet fortroligt
Brev fra Veninde til Veninde: Scandale-Meddelelser, som ikke
maatte gaae videre, ikke omtales af noget Menneske. Han er en
levende Redningsanstalt for en ikke ringe Deel af Literaturen
og har i den et stort Omraade, han har Forældrenes og Principalens
Bod og har der reddet mangen Bog eller Blade af en Bog, der
nok kunde fortjene at læses to Gange. |
| He has shown me his
collection, both of printed and handwritten documents. A few
sheets of large folio paper caught my attention because of the
beautiful handwriting. |
Han har viist mig sin
Samling trykte og skrevne Sager fra Bøtten, rigest fra Spekhøkerens.
Der laae et Par Blade af en større Skriverbog; den særdeles
smukke og tydelige Haandskrift tildrog sig strax min Opmærksomhed.
|
| "That belonged to the
student," my friend explained. "The one who lived across from
us. He died last month. He suffered terribly from toothaches.
It is amusing to read about. There are only a few pages left.
There was a whole book, if not more, when my father bought it
from his landlady. He paid half a pound of green soap for it.
This is all I managed to save; the rest had already been used
for wrapping." |
"Det har Studenten skrevet!"
sagde han, "Studenten, som boede her ligeoverfor og døde for
en Maaned siden. Han har lidt svært af Tandpine, seer man. Det
er ganske morsomt at læse! Her er kun lidt endnu af det Skrevne,
det var en heel Bog og lidt til; mine Forældre gav et halvt
Pund grøn Sæbe for det til Studentens Vertinde. Her er, hvad
jeg fik holdt tilbage." |
| I borrowed it, I read
it, and now I will let you read it. |
Jeg laante det, jeg
læste det og nu meddeler jeg det. |
| Its title was: |
Overskriften var: |
| AUNTIE TOOTHACHE |
Tante Tandpine. I. |
| When I was a little
boy, Auntie always fed me sweets. My teeth survived it. Now
when I am older and have become a student she still spoils me
with sweets; she calls me a poet. |
- Tante gav mig Slik-Sødt,
da jeg var Lille. Mine Tænder holdt det ud, bleve ikke fordærvede;
nu er jeg bleven ældre, bleven Student; hun forkjæler mig endnu
med Sødt, siger at jeg er Digter. |
| I have something of
a poet in me, but not enough. Sometimes as I walk through the
streets of the city it seems to me to be a giant library. All
the houses are bookcases, each floor a shelf with books. Here
is an everyday story, written realistically; there an old-fashioned
comedy; and beside it, where the gauze curtains hang, a scientific
treatise. Pornography and literature of real value are on the
same shelf. I can daydream and philosophize while I walk through
my "library." |
Jeg har i mig Noget
af Poeten, men ikke nok. Tidt naar jeg gaaer i Byens Gader synes
det mig, som gaaer jeg i et stort Bibliothek; Husene ere Bogreoler,
hver Etage en Hylde med Bøger. Der staaer en Hverdagshistorie,
der en god gammel Komedie, videnskabelige Værker i alle Fag,
her Smuds-Literatur og god Læsning. Jeg kan phantasere og philosophere
over alt det Bogværk. |
| Yes, there is something
of a poet in me, but not enough. I think many people have as
much of a poet in them as I do, without calling themselves one. |
Der er Noget i mig af
Poeten, men ikke nok. Mange Mennesker have vist ligesaa Meget
i sig deraf som jeg, og bære dog ikke Skilt eller Halsbaand
med Navnet Poet. |
| They are lucky and I
am lucky too, for to have an imagination is a blessing, even
when it is so small that it cannot be shared. It is like a sun
ray that fills your soul and your mind. It comes as a sudden
smell of flowers, a melody that one knows and remembers, but
cannot recall where from. |
Der er givet dem og
mig en Gudsgave, en Velsignelse, stor nok for En selv, men altfor
lille til at stykkes ud igjen til Andre. Den kommer som en Solstraale,
fylder Sjæl og Tanke; den kommer som en Blomsterduft, som en
Melodi man kjender og husker dog ikke hvorfra. |
| The other evening as
I sat in my room I had no book to read and was in need of one,
when a leaf fell from the linden tree outside. The wind carried
it through the open window into my room. |
Forleden Aften, jeg
sad i min Stue, trængte til Læsning, havde ingen Bog, intet
Blad, faldt i det Samme et Blad, friskt og grønt, fra Lindetræet.
Luftningen bar det ind af Vinduet til mig. |
| I picked it up and looked
at its green surface with its many veins. A little bug was studying
it too; at least, it plodded across the leaf as if that were
what it was doing. Suddenly it struck me that such was human
wisdom. Don't we study merely the leaf, and yet lecture about
the whole tree: root, crown, and trunk--God, death, and immortality?
And all we know anything about is the leaf. |
Jeg betragtede de mange
forgrenede Aarer; et lille Kryb bevægede sig hen over disse,
som vilde det gjøre et grundigt Studium af Bladet. Da maatte
jeg tænke paa Menneske-Viisdom; vi kravle ogsaa om paa Bladet,
kjende kun det, og saa holde vi strax Foredrag over det hele
store Træ, Roden, Stammen og Kronen; det store Træ: Gud, Verden
og Udødelighed, og kjende af det Hele, kun et lille Blad! |
| Just at that moment
Aunt Mille came to visit me. |
Som jeg sad der, fik
jeg Besøg af Tante Mille. |
| I told her my thoughts
and showed her the leaf, upon which the insect was still crawling.
|
Jeg viste hende Bladet
med Krybet, sagde hende mine Tanker derved, og hendes Øine lyste.
|
| She clapped her hands.
"You are a poet!" she exclaimed. "Maybe the greatest we have.
If only I live to see you fulfill your destiny, then I shall
die contented. Ever since the funeral of Brewer Rasmussen I
have been amazed by your imagination!" |
"Du er Digter!" sagde
hun, "maaskee den største vi har! skulde jeg opleve det, saa
gaaer jeg gjerne i min Grav. Du har altid, lige fra Brygger
Rasmussens Begravelse, forbauset mig ved din mægtige Phantasi!"
|
| This is what Auntie
said, word for word; and then she kissed me. |
Det sagde Tante Mille
og kyssede mig. |
| But who was Auntie Mille
and who was Brewer Rasmussen? |
Hvem var Tante Mille
og hvem var Brygger Rasmussen? |
| II |
II. |
| My mother's aunt was
called by us children simply Auntie, we had no other name for
her. |
Moders Tante blev af
os Børn kaldt Tante, vi havde intet andet Navn til hende. |
| She gave us jam and
sugar sandwiches, though she knew it was bad for our teeth.
As she said herself, she could not help indulging such sweet
children. It seemed to her cruel to deny them something they
so adored, |
Hun gav os Syltetøi
og Sukker, uagtet det var en stor Fortræd for vore Tænder, men
hun var svag ligeoverfor de søde Børn, sagde hun. Det var jo
grusomt at negte dem den Smule Sødt, som de holde saa meget
af. |
| and therefore we all
loved Auntie. |
Og derfor holdt vi saa
meget af Tante. |
| She was an old maid.
As long as I can remember, she had been old. It was as if her
age had reached a certain point and then stood still. |
Hun var gammel Frøken,
saa langt jeg kan huske tilbage, altid gammel! Hun stod stille
i Alderen. |
| She used to suffer from
toothaches, and talked about it a good deal; therefore her friend
Brewer Rasmussen nicknamed her "Auntie Toothache." |
I tidligere Aar led
hun meget af Tandpine og talte altid derom, og saa var det,
hendes Ven, Brygger Rasmussen, var vittig og kaldte hende Tante
Tandpine. |
| The brewer, who had
sold his brewery and now lived on his savings, often visited
Auntie. He was a little older than she, and he did not have
a whole tooth in his mouth, only black stubs. |
Han bryggede ikke i
de sidste Aar, levede af sine Rente-Penge, kom tidt til Tante
og var ældre end hun. Han havde slet ingen Tænder, kun nogle
sorte Stumper. |
| He said that this was
because he had eaten too much sugar as a child, and we children
should be careful or the same thing would happen to us. |
Som Lille havde han
spiist for meget Sukker, sagde han til os Børn, og saa kom man
til at see saaledes ud. |
| Auntie had obviously
not eaten any sugar as a child, because she had the most beautiful
white teeth. |
Tante havde vist aldrig
i sin Barndom spiist Sukker; hun havde de deiligste hvide Tænder.
|
| "She takes such good
care of her teeth that she won't even sleep with them at night,"
explained Brewer Rasmussen. |
Hun sparede ogsaa paa
dem, sov ikke med dem om Natten! sagde Brygger Rasmussen. |
| We knew that this was
not a nice thing to say, but Auntie smiled and explained that
he didn't know what he was talking about. |
Det var nu at være ond,
vidste vi Børn, men Tante sagde, han meente ikke Noget med det.
|
| Another time, when both
she and Brewer Rasmussen were having lunch with us, Auntie mentioned
that she had had a nightmare, in which she dreamed that one
of her teeth fell out. |
En Formiddag ved Frokosten,
fortalte hun en fæl Drøm, hun havde om Natten: at een af hendes
Tænder var falden ud. |
| "That means that I shall
lose a true friend." |
"Det betyder," sagde
hun, "at jeg mister en sand Ven eller Veninde!" |
| "But if it was a false
tooth," said the brewer, and laughed, "then it must be a false
friend." |
"Var det en falsk Tand!"
sagde Bryggeren og smaaloe, "saa kan det kun betyde at De mister
en falsk Ven!" |
| "You are a very rude
old man!" Auntie replied. She was angrier than I have ever seen
her, either before or since. |
"De er en uhøflig gammel
Herre!" sagde Tante vred, som jeg aldrig har seet hende før
eller siden. |
| Later she said that
it was only nonsense; her old friend, who was one of the noblest
persons she had ever known, had only been teasing her. When
he died he would become one of God's little angels up in heaven.
|
Senere sagde hun, at
det kun var Dril af hendes gamle Ven; han var det ædleste Menneske
paa Jorden, og naar han engang døde, blev han til en lille Guds
Engel i Himlen! |
| I thought a great deal
about this transformation and wondered if I would be able to
recognize Brewer Rasmussen in this new shape. |
Jeg tænkte meget over
den Forvandling og om jeg vilde være istand til at kjende ham
i den nye Skikkelse. |
| When Auntie was young,
the brewer had proposed to her, but it had taken her too long
to make up her mind. She had kept putting it off until she became
an old maid, but they had remained faithful friends. |
Da Tante var ung og
han ogsaa ung, friede han til hende. Hun betænkte sig for længe,
blev siddende, blev altfor længe siddende, blev altid gammel
Frøken, men altid trofast Veninde. |
| Brewer Rasmussen died. |
Og saa døde Brygger
Rasmussen. |
| He was driven to his
grave in a hearse with four black horses and followed by a great
many mourners, among them several in uniform, wearing decorations.
|
Han blev kjørt til Graven
i den dyreste Liigvogn og havde stort Følge, Folk med Ordener
og i Uniform. |
| Auntie stood at her
window dressed in black, together with all her nieces and nephews,
except for my little brother whom the stork had brought only
three weeks before. |
Tante stod sørgeklædt
ved Vinduet med alle os Børn, paa den lille Broder nær, som
Storken havde bragt for en Uge siden. |
| When the hearse and
the mourners had passed and the street was empty again, Auntie
wanted to leave. But I didn't, I was waiting for the little
angel Brewer Rasmussen was supposed to become. I was sure that
he would show up. |
Nu var Liigvognen og
Følget forbi, Gaden tom, Tante vilde gaae, men det vilde jeg
ikke, jeg ventede paa Englen, Brygger Rasmussen; han var jo
nu bleven et lille vinget Guds Barn, og maatte vise sig. |
| "Auntie," I began, "don't
you think he's coming now? Or maybe, when the stork brings us
another little brother, it will be Angel Rasmussen?" |
"Tante!" sagde jeg.
"Troer Du ikke, at han kommer nu! eller at naar Storken igjen
bringer os en lille Broder, han da bringer os Englen Rasmussen." |
| Auntie was so impressed
by my great imagination that she said, "That child will become
a great poet." This she repeated all through my childhood, even
after I was confirmed and right up to now, when I am a student.
|
Tante blev aldeles overvældet
af min Phantasi, og sagde: "Det Barn bliver en stor Digter!"
og det gjentog hun i hele min Skolegang, ja efter min Confirmation
og nu ind i Studenter-Aarene. |
| She was and is my most
compassionate friend, both when I suffer from poetry "pains"
and when I suffer from toothaches. I have attacks of both. |
Hun var og er mig den
meest deeltagende Veninde, baade i Digter-Pine og i Tandpine.
Jeg har jo Anfald af begge to. |
| "Write down all your
thoughts," she would say. "Put them in a drawer, that is what
Jean Paul did, and he became a great author. Though I am not
fond of him; he is too narrow-minded. You must be broad. You
will broaden yourself!" |
"Skriv bare alle dine
Tanker ned," sagde hun, "og put dem i Bordskuffen; det gjorde
Jean Paul; han blev en stor Digter, som jeg rigtignok ikke holder
af, han spænder ikke! Du maa spænde! og Du vil spænde!" |
| That night I lay sleepless
and in agony because of my longing and desire to become the
great poet that Auntie saw in me; that's what I call "poet pain."
But there is a suffering that is more ferocious, and that is
a toothache, for it pokes and squeezes you until you are no
longer a man but a squirming worm, chewing on a spice bag. |
Natten efter den Tale
laae jeg i Længsel og Vaande, i Trang og Lyst til at blive den
store Digter, Tante saae og fornam i mig; jeg laae i Digter-Pine!
men der er en værre Pine: Tandpine; den masede og qvasede mig;
jeg blev en krympende Orm, med Krydderpose og spansk Flue. |
| "Oh, that pain I know,"
said Auntie. |
"Det kjender jeg!" sagde
Tante. |
| Her lips smiled sorrowfully;
her teeth were pure white. |
Der var et Sorgens Smiil
om hendes Mund; hendes Tænder skinnede saa hvide. |
| But now I must begin
the third section of the story of myself and Auntie. |
Men jeg maa begynde
et nyt Afsnit i min og Tantes Historie. |
| III |
III. |
| I had moved to new lodgings
and had lived there about a month and was telling Auntie about
it. |
Jeg var flyttet ind
i en ny Huusleilighed og havde boet der en Maaned. Herom talte
jeg med Tante. |
| "The family that I have
rented my room from care so little what happens to me, I can
ring the bell three times without anyone answering it. It just
occurred to me that it could be because no one hears it, for
the house is a circus of noises, from wind and weather and human
beings. I live just above the entrance. Every cart or carriage
that passes below makes the pictures on my walls dance. When
the janitor finally shuts the gate at night, it sounds and feels
like an earthquake. The whole house shakes. If I am already
in bed, the jolt goes through every limb of my body, but they
say that that is good for the nerves. If the wind blows--and
when does it not blow in this country? --then the big iron hasps
that hold the windows, when they are open, bang against the
walls; and the bell above the neighbor's portal tolls with every
gust of wind. |
"Jeg boer hos en stille
Familie; den tænker ikke paa mig, selv om jeg ringer tre Gange.
Forresten er det et sandt Spectakel-Huus med Lyd og Larm af
Veir og Vind og Mennesker. Jeg boer lige over Porten; hver Vogn,
som kjører ud eller ind, faaer Skilderierne paa Væggen til at
bevæge sig. Porten smælder og rusker i Huset, som var det en
Jordrystelse. Ligger jeg i Sengen, gaae Stødene gjennem. alle
mine Lemmer; men det skal være nervestyrkende. Blæser det, og
blæse gjør det altid her til Lands, saa dingle de lange Vindues-Kramper
udenfor frem og tilbage og slaae mod Muren. Naboens Portklokke
til Gaarden ringer ved hvert Vindstød. |
| "The other lodgers come
home in bunches, at every hour of the night. The fellow who
has rented the room above mine gives trombone lessons during
the day; at night before he goes to bed, which is never before
midnight, he always takes a brisk walk around his room, wearing
his iron-shod alpine boots. |
Vore Huusbeboere komme
klatviis hjem, sildigt paa Aftenen, heelt ud paa Natten; den
Logerende, lige over mig, som om Dagen giver Timer i Basunblæsen,
kommer senest hjem og lægger sig ikke, før han først har gaaet
en lille Midnatstour, med tunge Trin og jernbeslaaede Støvler. |
| "There are no storm
windows, but there is a broken window, the landlady has glued
paper over it. When the winds blow it makes a noise like a bumblebee.
That is good bedtime music. When I finally do fall asleep, I
am awakened early by the cock crowing in a henyard that is in
the back of the house. The hen and the rooster wish to let me
know that it will soon be morning. My landlord has two small
horses but no stables. He keeps the animals in a small room
to the right of the gateway, underneath my room. The poor beasts
have so little space that, in order to get exercise, they kick
at the walls and the door. |
Dobbelte Vinduer er
der ikke, men der er en knækket Rude, den har Vertinden klistret
Papir over, Vinden blæser alligevel ind gjennem Sprækken og
frembringer en Lyd som af en summende Bremse. Det er Sovemusik.
Falder jeg saa endelig i Søvn, da bliver jeg snart vækket af
Hanegal. - Hane og Høne melde fra Hønse-Aflukket hos Kjeldermanden,
at det vil snart blive Morgen. De smaa Norbakker, de have ikke
Stald, de ere tøirede i Sandhullet under Trappen, sparke mod
Døren og Panelet for at røre sig. |
| "As soon as the sun
is up the janitor, whose domicile is in the garret, puts on
his wooden shoes and runs down the stairs. He opens the gate
with a bang and the whole house shakes. When that is over the
lodger above me starts his morning exercises; this physical-training
act is accomplished with great iron balls. He holds one in each
hand, but they are too heavy for him, and time and again they
fall to the floor--which is my ceiling. "Then it is time for
children to go to school. They run through the house screaming
and shouting as if they were being tortured. I open my window
to get some fresh air for my health. But I am reminded that
across the yard there is a tannery. All in all, it is a very
nice house, and I live with a quiet family." |
Dagen dæmrer; Portneren,
som med Familie sover paa Qvisten, buldrer ned ad Trappen; Trætøflerne
klappre, Porten smælder, Huset ryster, og er det overstaaet,
begynder den Logerende oven over at øve sig i Gymnastik, løfter
i hver Haand en tung Jernkugle, som han ikke kan holde paa;
den falder og falder igjen, medens paa samme Tid Husets Ungdom,
som skal i Skole, kommer styrtende skrigende. Jeg gaaer til
Vinduet, aabner det for at faae frisk Luft, og det er vederqvægende,
naar jeg kan faae den, og ikke Jomfruen i Baghuset vasker Handsker
i Pletvand, det er hendes Levebrød. Forresten er det et rart
Huus og jeg boer hos en stille Familie." |
| This was about the way
I described my lodgings to Auntie; possibly the spoken words
were a little livelier than the written, I often find that that
is so. |
Det var det Referat,
jeg gav Tante om min Huusleilighed; jeg gav det livligere, det
mundtlige Foredrag har friskere Ord-Lyd end det skrevne. |
| "You are a poet!" screamed
Auntie. "Write it down, it is as good as Dickens. I think it
is better; at least, I find it more interesting. You draw as
you talk. I can see the house in front of me. I shudder! . .
. You must begin to write. Just put some living creatures in
that picture: human beings--lovely people, but preferably unhappy
ones; they are the most interesting." |
"Du er Digter!" raabte
Tante. "Skriv bare din Tale op, saa er Du ligesaa god som Dickens!
ja mig interesserer Du nu meget meer! Du maler, naar Du taler!
Du beskriver dit Huus, saa man seer det! Det gyser i En! - Digt
videre! Læg noget Levende ind i det, Mennesker, yndige Mennesker,
helst ulykkelige!" |
| Well, I wrote it down.
I have described the house exactly as it is, with all its sounds
and noises, but without any plot or characters except myself.
They will come later! |
Huset skrev jeg virkeligt
ned, som det staaer med Lyd og Lyder, men kun med mig selv,
uden Handling. Den kom senere! |
| IV |
IV. |
| It was winter and late
in the evening. It was terrible weather. There was a snowstorm
and the wind was blowing so hard that I could hardly hold myself
upright. |
Der var ved Vintertid,
ud paa Aftenen, efter Komedie-Tid, et frygteligt Veir, Sneestorm,
saa at man næsten ikke kunde trænge sig frem. |
| Auntie had been at the
theater, and I had come to escort her home. I had trouble trying
to keep myself from falling and I couldn't get a cab, because
they were all taken. Auntie lived far from the theater, but
my room was nearby. Had it been otherwise, we should have had
to seek shelter in a sentry box. |
Tante var i Theatret
og jeg var der for at følge hende hjem, men man havde Besvær
med at gaae selv, end sige følge Andre. Hyrevognene vare alle
tagne i Beslag; Tante boede langt ude i Byen, min Bolig var
derimod tæt ved Theatret, havde det ikke været Tilfældet, maatte
vi have staaet i Skilderhuus indtil videre. |
| We tramped through the
deep snow with the snowflakes whirling about us. Auntie held
onto my arm. I supported her like a buttress against the wind.
Some places I even had to carry her. We only fell twice, and
then we fell softly. |
Vi stavrede frem i den
dybe Snee, omsuust af de hvirvlende Sneefnokker. Jeg løftede
hende, jeg holdt hende, jeg stødte hende frem. Kun to Gange
faldt vi, men vi faldt blødt. |
| When we came to the
entrance of the house where I lived we shook the snow off our
clothes--or at least we tried to, but when we stood, in the
vestibule we noticed that we had covered the floor with snow. |
Vi naaede min Port,
hvor vi rystede os; ogsaa paa Trappen rystede vi os og havde
dog endnu Snee nok til at fylde Gulvet med inde i Forstuen. |
| We took off our coats,
hats, and shoes; we were wet to the skin. My landlady loaned
Auntie stockings and a dressing gown. That was necessary, she
said, or Auntie would catch a cold. Then she added that Auntie
would not be able to get home that night, which was quite apparent.
She offered Auntie the couch in their living room to sleep on.
It stood next to the closed and locked door between that room
and mine. |
Vi fik af os Overtøi
og Nedertøi, og alt hvad Tøi der kunde kastes. Vertinden laante
Tante tørre Strømper og en Morgenkappe; det var nødvendigt,
sagde Vertinden og tilføiede, som sandt var, at Tante umuligt
kunde komme hjem denne Nat, bad hende tage til Takke med hendes
Dagligstue; der vilde hun rede Seng paa Sophaen foran den altid
aflaasede Dør ind til mig. |
| Auntie agreed to stay.
|
Og det skete. |
| The fire was burning
in the stove. The samovar was on the table. My room appeared
quite cozy, although not as cozy as Auntie's, which in the winter
has heavy curtains in front of all doors and windows and double
carpets on the floor, with three layers of newspapers underneath.
At Auntie's one feels as if one were inside a properly corked
bottle filled with hot air. But, as I said, even my poor room
grew cozy, while the wind blew outside. |
Ilden brændte i min
Kakkelovn, Theemaskinen kom paa Bordet, der blev hyggeligt i
den lille Stue, om ikke saa hyggeligt som hos Tante, hvor der
ved Vintertid er tykke Gardiner for Døren, tykke Gardiner for
Vinduerne, dobbelte Gulvtæpper med tre Lag tykt Papir under;
man sidder der som i en veltilproppet Flaske med varm Luft;
dog som sagt, der blev ogsaa hyggeligt hjemme hos mig; Vinden
susede udenfor. |
| Auntie talked about
her youth. She recounted her early years and Brewer Rasmussen's;
they were old memories. |
Tante talte og fortalte;
Ungdomstid kom igjen, Bryggeren kom igjen, gamle Minder. |
| She could remember when
I had got my first tooth, and the family's joy at this amazing
achievement. |
Hun kunde huske, jeg
fik den første Tand og Familieglæden herover. |
| The first tooth. The
tooth of innocence, shining as white as milk: a milk tooth! |
Den første Tand! Uskylds
Tand, skinnende som en lille hvid Melkedraabe, Melketanden.
|
| If one arrived, then
there would soon be a rank and file. But the beautiful baby
teeth are only the avant-garde; later come the company that
should last you all your life. |
Der kom een, der kom
flere, et heelt Geled, Side om Side, oven og neden, de deiligste
Barnetænder, og dog kun Fortropperne, ikke de rigtige, som skulde
vare ved for hele Livet. |
| The last to arrive are
the wisdom teeth: one on every flank. They are born with great
difficulty and in pain. |
Ogsaa de kom og Viisdoms
Tænderne med, Fløimænd i Rækken, fødte under Pine og stor Besvær.
|
| Every tooth leaves you
again, and that out of turn, before the need for its service
is over. That day the last tooth leaves is no day of rejoicing;
on the contrary, it is a day of mourning. |
De gaae igjen, hver
en eneste! de gaae før Tjenestetiden er omme, selv den sidste
Tand gaaer, og det er ingen Festdag, det er en Veemodsdag. |
| Then one is old, even
though one's spirit may be young. |
Saa er man gammel, selv
om Humeuret er ungt. |
| Such things are not
a pleasure to talk about, and yet that's what Auntie and I happened
to discuss. We talked and talked, and it was past midnight before
Auntie went to bed in the room next door. |
Slig Tanke og Tale er
ikke fornøielig og dog kom vi til at tale om alt Dette, vi kom
tilbage i Barndomsaarene, talte og talte, Klokken blev tolv
før Tante gik til Ro i Stuen tæt ved. |
| "Good night, my boy,"
she called through the locked door. "Here I am as comfortable
as in my own bed at home." |
"God Nat, mit søde Barn!"
raabte hun, "nu sover jeg, som om jeg laae i min egen Dragkiste!"
|
| She slept peacefully,
though there was no peace in the house: neither inside nor out.
The storm shook the windows, rattled the iron hasps, and rang
the neighbor's bell. The lodger upstairs had come home and was
taking his constitutional around the room; finally he took off
his boots, threw them across the floor, and went to bed. He
slept well. I could hear his snoring through the ceiling. |
Og hun var til Ro; men
Ro blev der ikke hverken i Huset eller udenfor. Stormen ruskede
i Vinduerne, slog med de lange, dinglende Jernkramper, ringede
med Naboens Dør-Klokke i Baggaarden. Den Logerende ovenpaa var
kommen hjem. Han gik endnu en lille Nattetour op og ned; smed
Støvlerne, gik saa til Sengs og til Hvile, men han snorker saa
man med gode Øren kan høre det gjennem Loftet. |
| There was no peace for
me. I was restless. The storm didn't rest either; it was most
rudely alert. The wind kept blowing, singing through every crack
it could find. It was very lively. So were my teeth. They whistled
and sang in their own fashion, a toothache was brewing. |
Jeg fandt ikke Hvile,
jeg kom ikke til Ro; Veiret lagde sig heller ikke til Ro; det
var umaneerligt livligt. Blæsten susede og sang paa sin Maade,
mine Tænder begyndte ogsaa at blive livlige, de susede og sang
paa deres Maade. De sloge an til stor Tandpine. |
| There was a draft from
the window. The moonlight shone in and spilled its light upon
the floor. It grew sharper and then disappeared, as the wind
whipped the clouds across the sky. There was a commotion of
light and shadow, and finally the shadow on the floor seemed
to grow into a shape. At the same time I felt a gust of ice-cold
air thrust itself against my face. |
Det trak fra Vinduet.
Maanen skinnede ind paa Gulvet. Lysningen kom og gik, som Skyerne
kom og gik i Stormveiret. Der var en Uro i Skygge og Lys, men
tilsidst saae Skyggen paa Gulvet ud som Noget; jeg saae paa
dette Bevægelige og fornam en iisnende kold Blæst. |
| On the floor sat a figure.
It looked like a person drawn by a child with chalk on a blackboard:
something that is supposed to look like a man. The body is but
one thin line, the legs and arms are a line each, and the head
is only a circle. |
Paa Gulvet sad en Skikkelse,
tynd og lang, som naar et Barn tegner med Griffel paa Tavlen
Noget, der skal ligne et Menneske; en eneste tynd Streg er Legemet;
en Streg og een til ere Armene; Benene ere ogsaa hver kun en
Streg, Hovedet en Mangekant. |
| As the figure became
more visible, I realized that it had a thin and very fine gown
on, which showed that it was a female. |
Snart blev Skikkelsen
tydeligere, den fik et Slags Kjoletøi, meget tyndt, meget fiint,
men det viste, at den hørte til Hunkjønnet. |
| There was a humming
noise. Where did it come from? Was it the wind that was playing
with the broken window? Or was it the shadow on the floor that
was talking? |
Jeg hørte en Summen.
Var det hende eller Vinden, der surrede som Bremse i Rudesprækken.
|
| It was she! Madame Toothache
herself! In all her horrible, monstrous splendor. Satania infernalis!
May God free us and save us from her visit! |
Nei, det var hende selv,
Fru Tandpine! hendes Forfærdelighed Satania infernalis, Gud
frie og bevare os fra hendes Besøg. |
| "This is a nice place
to be," she hummed. "I think the house is built on a filled-in
swamp. Here the poisonous mosquitoes have buzzed. They are gone,
but I have their sting, and I sharpen it on human teeth. Look
how nice and white they shine in the mouth of the fellow in
the bed. They have tasted sour and sweet, hot and cold, nutshells
and plum pits! I will rock them loose, fertilize them with an
icy wind; they will feel a draft around their roots." |
"Her er godt at være!"
summede hun; "her er godt Qvarteer! sumpet Grund, Mosegrund.
Her have Myggene summet med Gift i Braadden, nu har jeg Braadden.
Den maa hvæsses paa Mennesketænder. De skinne saa hvide paa
ham her i Sengen. De have trodset Sødt og Suurt, Hedt og Koldt,
Nøddeskal og Blommesteen! men jeg skal rokke dem, blokke dem,
gjøde Roden med Trækvind, give dem fodkoldt!" |
| What a horrible harangue!
What a horrible hag! |
Det var en forfærdelig
Tale, en forfærdelig Gjest. |
| "So you are a poet!"
she squeaked. "I shall help you to compose an 'Ode to Pain.'
You will be so versed in shooting and sharp pain, I shall make
your jaded nerves jingle!" |
"Naa, saa Du er Digter!"
sagde hun, "ja jeg skal digte Dig op i alle Pinens Versemaal!
jeg skal give Dig Jern og Staal i Kroppen, faae Traad i alle
dine Nervetraade!" |
| It felt as if a hot
iron awl had been driven through my cheekbone. |
Det var som gik der
en gloende Syl ind i Kindbenet; jeg vred og vendte mig. |
| "You have a good set
of teeth!" she continued. "It is an organ to play upon--a mouth
organ! We'll have a concert with drums, flutes, trumpets. The
wisdom teeth can play the bassoons. For a great poet, great
music!" |
"Et udmærket Tandværk!"
sagde hun, "et Orgel at spille paa. Mundharpe-Concert, storartet,
med Pauker og Trompeter, Fløite piccolo, Basun i Viisdomstanden.
Stor Poet, stor Musik!" |
| Hideously did she play,
and hideous did she look, although all I saw was her hand. It
was ice-cold and she held it in front of my face: her shadowy
gray hand. She had long awl-like fingers. The thumb and the
index finger were pinchers; the middle finger was a pointed
needle; the ring finger, a drill; and the little finger stung.
|
Jo hun spillede op og
forfærdelig saae hun ud, selv om man ikke saae mere af hende
end Haanden, den skyggegraa, iiskolde Haand, med de lange syletynde
Fingre; hver af dem var et Piinsels-Redskab: Tommeltot og Slikkepot
havde Knivtang og Skrue, Langemand endte i en spids Syl, Guldbrand
var Vridbor og Lillefinger Sprøite med Myggegift. |
| "I shall teach you to
write verses," she screamed. "For a great poet a great toothache,
to a little poet a little toothache." |
"Jeg skal lære Dig Versemaal!"
sagde hun. "Stor Digter skal have stor Tandpine, lille Digter
lille Tandpine!" |
| "Oh, let me be a little
poet," I begged. "Oh, let me just be! I am no poet! I only have
attacks of poetry, as I have attacks of toothaches. Let me be!
Leave me alone!" |
"0 lad mig være lille!"
bad jeg. "Lad mig slet ikke være! og jeg er ikke Poet, jeg har
kun Anfald af at digte, Anfald, som af Tandpine! far hen! far
hen!" |
| "Do you admit that I
am greater than poetry, mathematics, philosophy, and all the
rest of the music?" she asked. "Do you confess that I am stronger
and more penetrating than all other feeling that has been painted
on canvas or carved in marble? I am older than all the others.
I was born right outside the gates of paradise, where the wet
winds blow and the toadstools grow. I made Eve put an extra
fig leaf on; and Adam--oh, believe me, that was some toothache,
the first one in the world!" |
"Erkjender Du da, at
jeg er mægtigere end Poesien, Philosophien, Mathematiken og
hele Musiken!" sagde hun. "Mægtigere end alle disse afmalede
og i Marmor hugne Fornemmelser! jeg er ældre end dem Allesammen.
Jeg blev født tæt ved Paradisets Have, udenfor, hvor Vinden
blæste og de vaade Paddehatte groede. Jeg fik Eva til at klæde
sig paa i det kolde Veir, og Adam med. Du kan troe, der var
Kraft i den første Tandpine!" |
| "I agree to anything,
to everything!" I moaned. "Just leave!" |
"Jeg troer Alt!" sagde
jeg. "Far hen! far hen!" |
| "Will you agree to give
up trying to become a poet? Never again to write a verse down
on a piece of paper or a blackboard or anything else? If you
promise, I shall let you go, but if you break your promise I
shall come back!" |
"Ja, vil Du opgive at
være Digter, aldrig sætte Vers paa Papir, Tavle eller noget
Slags Skrivemateriale, saa skal jeg slippe Dig, men jeg kommer
igjen, digter Du!" |
| "I swear I won't!" I
screamed. "Let me never sense your presence again!" |
"Jeg sværger!" sagde
jeg. "Lad mig bare aldrig see eller fornemme Dig mere!" |
| "Feel me you won't,
but see me you shall. In a more substantial form than I have
now. In the shape that is more pleasing to you than the one
I now possess. You shall see me as Aunt Mille and I shall say
to you: 'You are a dear boy and a great poet, the greatest we
have!' But if you believe that and start writing verses, then
I shall compose music to them and play them on your mouth organ.
You sweet child! Remember me when you look at Auntie." |
"See mig skal Du, men
i en fyldigere, en Dig kjærere Skikkelse, end jeg er det nu!
Du skal see mig som Tante Mille; og jeg vil sige: Digt, min
søde Dreng! Du er en stor Digter, den største maaskee vi har!
men troer Du mig, og begynder at digte, saa sætter jeg dine
Vers i Musik, spiller dem paa din Mundharpe! Du søde Barn! -
Husk paa mig, naar Du seer Tante Mille!" |
| Then she disappeared, |
Saa forsvandt hun. |
| giving me a sharp jab
with the awl before she left. The pain disappeared and I felt
as though I were gliding through still waters, where the white
lotus flower bloomed with its great green leaves. I sank beneath
the water, into the great stillness where peace reigns. |
Jeg fik til Afsked ligesom
et gloende Sylestik op i Kjæbebenet; men det dulmede snart,
jeg ligesom gled paa det bløde Vand, saae de hvide Aakander
med de grønne brede Blade bøie sig, sænke sig ned under mig,
visne, løse sig op, og jeg sank med dem, løsnedes i Fred og
Hvile -- |
| "Die, melt like the
snow," the waters sang around me. "Sail like the cloud and disappear."
|
"Døe, smelte hen som
Sneen!" sang og klang det i Vandet, "dunste hen i Skyen, fare
hen som Skyen! - -" |
| Through the waters I
saw the victorious banners on which the names of the immortal
were inscribed; the banners were made of mayfly wings. |
Ned til mig gjennem
Vandet skinnede store, lysende Navne, Indskrifter paa vaiende
Seiers-Faner, Udødeligheds Patentet - skrevet paa Døgnfluens
Vinge. |
| I slept deeply and my
sleep was dreamless. I did not hear the sighing wind, or the
banging of the gates, or the lodger above me doing his morning
exercises. |
Søvnen var dyb, Søvn
uden Drømme. Jeg hørte ikke den susende Vind, den smældende
Port, Naboens ringende Portklokke, eller den Logerendes svære
Gymnastik. |
| Oh, bliss! |
Lyksalighed! |
| A gust of wind shook
the house, and the door next to Auntie's bed rattled. She woke,
got dressed, and came into my room. |
Da kom der et Stormkast,
saa at den aflaasede Dør ind til Tante sprang op. Tante sprang
op, kom i Skoene, kom i Klæderne, kom ind til mig. |
| I was sleeping like
"one of God's little angels," she declared, and she could not
bear to wake me. |
Jeg sov som en Guds
Engel, sagde hun, og nænte ikke at vække mig. |
| A little later I opened
my eyes. I had forgotten that Auntie had spent the night there.
When I saw her I remembered my toothache: dream and reality
walked hand in hand. |
Jeg vaagnede af mig
selv, slog Øinene op, havde reent glemt, at Tante var her i
Huset, men snart huskede jeg det, huskede mit Tandpine-Syn.
Drøm og Virkelighed gik over i hinanden. |
| "Did you write anything
last night after I left?" asked Auntie. "I wish you had! You
are my poet, and a great poet you will become." |
"Du har vel ikke skrevet
Noget iaftes, efter at vi sagde hinanden Godnat?" spurgte hun.
"Gid at Du havde! Du er min Digter, og det bliver Du!" |
| It seemed to me that
she smiled curiously while she spoke. I did not know whether
it was sweet old Aunt Mille who sat on the chair across from
me or the horror of my dream, to whom I had made a promise.
|
Jeg syntes at hun smilede
saa lumskelig. Jeg vidste ikke om det var den skikkelige Tante
Mille, som elskede mig, eller den Forfærdelige, jeg i Nat havde
givet Løfte. |
| "Have you written something,
a verse, my sweet boy?" |
"Har Du digtet, søde
Barn!" |
| "No! No!" I screamed.
"Are you Aunt Mille?" |
"Nei, nei!" raabte jeg.
"Du er jo Tante Mille." |
| "Who else should I be?"
she answered; and she was Aunt Mille. |
"Hvem anden!" sagde
hun. Og det var Tante Mille. |
| She kissed me, got into
a cab, and drove home. |
Hun kyssede mig, kom
i Droske og kjørte hjem. |
| I wrote down what is
written here, but it is not in verse, and it will never be published. |
Jeg nedskrev, hvad her
staaer skrevet. Det er ikke paa Vers og det skal aldrig blive
trykt - -. |
| Here the manuscript
ended. |
Ja her holdt Manuskriptet
op. |
| It had been longer but
my friend, the grocer's apprentice, could not find the missing
pages. They had disappeared out in the world, not as literature,
but as wrapping for pickled herring, butter, and green soap.
The paper had done its duty. |
Min unge Ven, den vordende
Urtekræmmersvend, kunde ikke opdrive det Manglende, det var
gaaet ud i Verden, som Papir om Spegesild, Smør og grøn Sæbe;
det havde opfyldt sin Bestemmelse. |
| The brewer is dead.
Auntie is dead. The student is dead--the spark of whose brain
ended in the paper barrel. |
Bryggeren er død, Tante
er død, Studenten er død, ham fra hvem Tankegnisterne gik i
Bøtten. |
| |
Alt gaaer i Bøtten.
|
| The story is over: the
story of Auntie Toothache. |
Det er Enden paa Historien,
- Historien om Tante Tandpine. |