| "Everything in the world
goes up and down, and I can't get any farther up than I am right
now," said the watchman of the tower, whose name was Ole. "Up
and down, we all have to try it, and most of us end up as the
watchman of a tower, who sees the world and everything in it
from above." |
"I Verden gaaer det
op og ned og ned og op! nu kan jeg ikke komme høiere!" sagde
Taarnvægteren Ole. "Op og ned og ned og op maae de Fleste prøve;
i Grunden blive vi Alle tilsidst Taarnvægtere; see Livet og
Tingene ovenfra!" |
| That was the way my
friend Ole, the watchman of the tower, spoke. He was an amusing,
talkative fellow, who seemed to poke fun at most things and
yet was serious at heart. They say that he came of good family
and that his father had been a city alderman, or could have
been one if he had wanted to. Ole had studied, and been an assistant
teacher in some school that a deacon kept. He was supposed to
get room and board, plus his clothes washed and his boots polished.
It was the latter that caused the trouble. Ole was still young
and liked to cut a figure, if not in the town, then at least
on the street where he lived. He insisted that his shoes were
to be polished with proper English blacking, but the deacon
said lard would do just as well. They had an argument in the
course of which they accused each other of miserliness and vanity.
The blacking blackened their friendship and they parted. What
Ole had asked from the deacon he also demanded of the world:
English blacking, and all he ever got was lard! This had made
him turn into a hermit; and the only place a hermitage could
be found in a large city, which also provided a living, was
in a church tower. He ascended into the sky and smoked his pipe
all alone, while from his lofty post--as a hired watchman--he
looked out over the city. He looked above and he looked below;
and he read books and he thought and thought. He liked to talk
about all that he had seen and not seen, and he loved to discuss
what he had read in books and in himself while on his lonely
duty. I often lent him books--good books--and a man can be judged
by the company he keeps. He didn't like English governess novels,
or their French cousins: they were brewed on the rose branch,
without the flower; and on drafts from doors their author never
had entered. He liked biographies and books of natural history.
I visited him at least once a year, usually just after New Year,
for he always has something interesting to say about that event. |
Saaledes talte Ole paa
Taarnet, min Ven, den gamle Vægter, en morsom, snaksom Fyr,
der syntes at sige Alt og dog gjemte saa Meget i Alvor paa Hjertebunden;
ja, han var kommen af Godtfolk, der vare dem, som sagde, at
han var en Conferentsraads Søn, eller kunde have været det!
studeret havde han, været Hjelpelærer, Hjelpedegn, men hvad
kunde det hjelpe! da boede han hos Degnen, skulde have Alting
frit i Huset; da var han ung og fiin endnu, som man siger: han
vilde have sine Støvler børstede med Blanksværte, men Degnen
vilde kun give Fedtsværte, og derover kom de i Uenighed; den
Ene talte om Gjerrighed, den Anden talte om Forfængelighed,
Sværten blev Fjendskabets sorte Grund, og saa skiltes de ad;
men hvad han forlangte af Degnen, forlangte han ogsaa af Verden:
Blank-Sværte, og han fik altid kun Fedtsværte; - saa gik han
væk fra alle Mennesker og blev Eremit, men Eremitage med Levebrød
midt i en stor Stad findes kun paa Kirketaarnet, der steg han
op og røg sin Pibe paa sin eensomme Gang; han saae ned, og han
saae op, tænkte derved og fortalte, paa sin Maade, om, hvad
han saae og ikke saae, hvad han læste i Bøger og i sig selv.
Jeg laante ham tidt Læsning, gode Bøger, og paa dem man omgaaes
skal man kjendes. Han holdt ikke af engelske Gouvernante-Romaner,
sagde han, heller ikke af de franske, der vare bryggede paa
Trækvind og Rosinstilke, nei, Levnetsbeskrivelser vilde han
have, Bøger om Naturens Undere. Jeg besøgte ham idetmindste
eengang om Aaret, sædvanlig strax efter Nytaar, han havde altid
da Eet og Andet, der knyttede sig til hans Tanker ved Aarets
Omskiftelse. |
| I shall tell you what
he said on two of my visits and try to do it in his own words,
as well as I remember them: |
Jeg skal fortælle to
Besøg, og give hans egne Ord, om jeg kan det. |
| THE FIRST VISIT |
Første Besøg. |
| Among the books that
I had lent Ole last was one about cobblestones. These are the
stones that nature has worn round and smooth, and they are often
used for paving streets. This book had interested Ole especially.
|
Mellem de Bøger, jeg
sidst havde laant Ole, var en Bog om Rullestenene, den, der
især havde fornøiet og opfyldt ham. |
| "They certainly are
old Methuselahs, those cobblestones," he began. "Here I have
walked on them without ever having given them a thought. On
the beaches and in the fields one sees them by the thousands.
When one walks along a cobblestoned street, one is walking on
our primeval history. From now on, every single cobblestone
has my respect! Thank you for lending me the book, it has made
me discard many old notions and has given me a different outlook
upon the world. I am eager to read more books of that kind.
The greatest of an romances is the story of our earth. Too bad
that the first volumes are written in a language we have not
yet learned. Only after one has read the stones, the layers
of earth as they were formed through periods of climatic changes,
do the living characters in the romance step forth. Mr. Adam
and Mrs. Eve do not appear before the sixth volume. Many readers
will find that a little too late, but I don't care. Of all of
the romances it is the most marvelous, and we are all in it.
We crawl and creep and yet stay in the same place while the
great ball rotates, without splashing the oceans all over us.
The crust we walk on keeps it all together, and it is so strong
we don't fall through it. It is the history of millions of years
of constant advancement. Thank you again for that book! Those
cobblestones could tell a story if they were able to. "It is
wonderful, every once in a while, to become nothing--a zero--especially
for someone placed as loftily as I am. It is amusing to think
that everyone, even those who have their boots polished with
English blacking, are merely ants with a minute of life in their
little bodies. True, there are ranks in the anthill, and some
wear ribbons and have titles, but ants they are. One feels oneself
so small and unimportant compared to these cobblestones, with
their millions of years of history behind them. I read the book
New Year's Eve and found it so fascinating that I forgot to
watch 'the wild crowd rushing to Amager,' as I usually do. I
don't suppose you know about that? |
"Ja, de ere rigtige
Jubeloldinge, disse Rullestene!" sagde han, "og dem gaaer man
tankeløs forbi! det har jeg selv gjort paa Marken og ved Stranden,
hvor de ligge i Mængde. Der træder man paa Brostenene, disse
Stumper af de allerældste Oldtids-Levninger! det har jeg selv
gjort. Nu har hver Brosteen min Høiagtelse! Tak for den Bog,
den har fyldt mig, skudt gamle Tanker og Vaner tilside, gjort
mig forhippet paa at læse noget Mere af den Slags. Jordens Roman
er dog den mærkeligste af alle Romaner! Skade, at man ikke kan
læse de første Dele, da de ere affattede i et Tungemaal, vi
ikke have lært; man maa læse i Jordlagene, i Kieselstenene,
i alle Jordperioderne, og saa træde de handlende Personer først
op i sjette Deel, Hr. Adam og Frit Eva, det er lidt seent for
mange Læsere, de ville have dem strax, det er mig det samme.
Det er en Roman, høist eventyrlig, og vi ere Allesammen med
i den. Vi krible og krable og blive paa det samme Sted, men
Kuglen dreier sig, uden at spilde Verdens-Havet over os; Skorpen,
vi gaae paa, holder sammen, vi falde ikke igjennem; og saa er
det en Historie i Millioner Aar, med bestandig Fremgang. Tak
for den Bog om Rullestenene! de ere Karle, de kunne fortælle
Noget, naar de kunne det! Er det ikke fornøieligt saadan engang
imellem at blive til Nix, naar man sidder saa høit som jeg,
og da at huskes paa, at vi Alle, selv med Blanksværte, kun ere
Minut-Myrer paa Jordtuen, om vi endogsaa ere Myrer med Ordensbaand,
Myrer med Gang og Sæde. Man bliver saa flau ung ved Siden af
disse million-aars gamle ærværdige Rullestene. Jeg læste i Bogen
Nytaarsaften og var saa henne i den, at jeg glemte min sædvanlige
Fornøielse Nytaarsnat, at see paa "den vilde Hær til Amager!"
ja, den kjender De nok ikke! |
| "But you do know about
the witches and how they fly to the mountain in Germany called
Brocken, on Midsummer night, and there keep a witches' Sabbath.
Well, we have a local affair that is something like it. I call
it 'the wild crowd rushing to Amager.' It takes place New Year's
Eve and all the bad poets and poetesses, journalists, and artists
of notoriety and no talent participate. They fly through the
air on their pens and brushes out to Amager. It is not so far
away, only ten miles or so. They would never have made it to
Brocken; a journalists pen is no witch's broom. I watch them
every New Year's Eve, and I could mention most of them by name
but I won't, they are dangerous people to cross. They don't
like the general public to find out about their ride. "I have
a sort of niece, who sells fish in the market place and claims
to have a job on the side, supplying three of our most respectable
newspapers with fresh curses, maledictions, oaths, and generally
abusive words and phrases. She was invited to the feast and,
since she keeps no pen of her own and can't ride, she was carried
out there. Half of what she says is lies, but if half of it
is true, then it is much too much! When they all were gathered
out on Amager, they started their feast with a song; they had
each written one, and naturally, everyone sang his own song,
for that was the best. But that didn't matter so much, for they
all were sung to the same tune. Then they gathered in groups,
according to their interests: those who lived on gossip in one
group, those who wrote under pseudonyms in an other--that, by
the way, is lard trying to pass itself off as English blacking.
"The executioner and his boy were there. The boy was tougher
than the master. They stood in the group of literary critics.
They were dressed either as schoolteachers or as garbage collectors,
and were busy giving everything grades. "In the midst of all
this gaiety, an enormous toadstool shot up from the earth and
made a roof over the whole gathering. It was created from everything
they had written or painted during the preceding year. Great
sparks flew from it; they were the thoughts and ideas that had
been borrowed. Now they were flying back to their owners; it
looked like a fireworks display. After that they played hide-and-seek.
But since none of them wanted to hide, though they all had good
reason to, and everyone wanted to be found, that was not a success.
The lesser poets played 'I love you'; but they couldn't remember
the rules, and nobody paid attention to them. The witty made
puns and laughed at them themselves. It was all very merry,
my niece claimed. She told me a good deal more, all very funny
and very malicious. But I think that one should be a good human
being and not criticize others. But as you can well imagine,
since I know about the feast, I usually do take a look New Year's
Eve to see who has been invited. If I miss one in 'the wild
crowd rushing to Amager' one year, then I can be sure that six
new ones have joined it. But this year I forgot to watch them,
I was so busy reading about the cobblestones and following them
on their journey. "I saw them loosening themselves way up north,
and drifting with the ice south, million of years before Noah
built his ark. I saw them sink to the bottom of the sea and
then reappear. There they were, sticking up out of the water,
saying: 'I am going to be Zealand one day.' Types of birds that
disappeared long ago nested among them; and wild chieftains
of savage tribes whom we have never heard of built their thrones
of them. Not until quite recently, when the ax, for the first
time, bit some runic letters into the stones, do we reach historical
times, leaving all those millions of years that make me feel
like a zero totally unaccounted for." Luckily, just at that
moment four shooting stars lighted up the heavens and that turned
Ole's thoughts in a different direction. "You know what a shooting
star is? Well, the wise men don't know either, really. I have
my own idea about them. How often, in the secrecy of their hearts,
do people give thanks and bless those who have done something
good and beautiful? These silent thanks do not fall forgotten
to earth; I think the sun rays catch them and carry them to
the person for whom they were meant. Now if lots of people,
perhaps even a whole nation, experience such feelings of gratitude,
then they fall as a shooting star on their benefactor's grave.
I find it very amusing, when I watch the shooting stars, especially
on New Year's Eve, to speculate as to whom each tribute is meant
for. I saw one falling in the Southwestern corner of the sky;
it was particularly bright, I think a good deal of gratitude
had gone into producing it. Whom could it be for? I felt sure
that it had fallen on the banks by Flensborg fjord, where the
graves of Schleppegrel, Laessoe, and their comrades are. One
fell not too far away, in the middle of Zealand. I am sure it
landed in Soro: a bouquet for Holberg's coffin, a thanks from
the many who have enjoyed his wonderful comedies. |
Hexenes Fart paa Kosteskaft
er bekjendt nok, den er St. Hans Nat og til Bloksbjerg, men
vi have ogsaa den vilde Hær, den er indenlandsk og nutids, den
gaaer ad Amager til Nytaarsnat. Alle de daarlige Poeter, Poetinder,
Spillemænd, Bladskrivere og kunstneriske Offentligheder, de,
som ikke due, ride Nytaarsnat gjennem Luften ud til Amager;
de sidde skrævs over deres Pensel eller Pennefjeder, Staalpen
kan ikke bære, den er for stiv. Jeg seer det, som sagt, hver
Nytaarsnat; de Fleste af dem kunde jeg nævne ved Navn, men det
er ikke værd at lægge sig ud med dem; de holde ikke af at Folk
skal vide om deres Amagerfart paa Pennefjer. Jeg har et Slags
Søskendebarn, som er Fiskerkone og leverer Skjeldsord til tre
agtede Blade, siger hun, selv har hun været derude som indbuden
Gjest, hun blev baaren derud, hun holder ikke selv Pennefjer
og kan ikke ride. Hun har fortalt det. Det Halve er Løgn, hvad
hun siger, men det Halve er allerede nok. Da hun var derude,
begyndte de med Sang, hver af Gjesterne havde skrevet sin Vise
og hver sang sin, for den var den bedste; det var lige eet,
det var samme "Melodonte". Saa opmarscherede i smaa Kammeratskaber
de, som kun virke med Snakketøiet, der var nu Sangklokkerne,
der synge paa Omgang, saa kom de smaa Trommeslagere, som tromme
ud i Familier. -Bekjendtskab blev der gjort med dem, der skrive
uden at lægge Navn til, det vil her sige, hvor Fedtsværte gaaer
for Blanksværte; der var Bødlen og hans Dreng, og Drengen var
den Skrappeste, ellers blev han ikke lagt Mærke til; der var
den gode Skraldemand, der vender Bøtten og kalder den "god,
meget god, udmærket god!" - Midt under al den Fornøielse, som
det maatte være, skød frem fra Kulen en Stilk, et Træ, en uhyre
Blomst, en stor Paddehat, et heelt Tag, det var den ærede Forsamlings
Slaraffenstang, der bar Alt, hvad de i det gamle Aar havde givet
Verden; ud fra den foer Gnister, som Ildsluer, det var alle
de laante Tanker og Ideer, de havde brugt, som nu løste sig
og foer hen, som et heelt Fyrværkeri. Der blev leget "Tampen
brænder", og de smaa Poeter legede "Hjertet brænder!"; de Vittige
sagde Brandere, ringere taaltes ikke. Vittighederne rungede,
som slog man tomme Potter paa Døre, eller Potter med Tørveaske.
Det var høist fornøieligt! sagde Søskendebarn; egentligt sagde
hun en heel Deel endnu, som var meget malitiøsk, men morsomt!
jeg siger det ikke, man skal være gode Mennesker og ikke Raisonneurer.
De indseer imidlertid, at naar man, som jeg, saaledes veed Besked
om Festen derude, er det saa rimeligt, at jeg hver Nytaarsnat
passer paa for at see den vilde Hær flyve afsted; savner jeg
et Aar Enkelte, saa er der kommet nye til, men iaar forsømte
jeg at see paa Gjesterne, jeg rullede derfra paa Rullestenene,
rullede gjennem Millioner Aar, og saae Stenene ramle løse oppe
i Nordlandene, saae dem drive paa Iisstykker længe før Noahs
Ark blev tømret, saae dem synke til Bunds og komme op igjen
paa en Sandrevle, den, der pegede op af Vandet og sagde: "dette
skal være Sjælland!" jeg saae dem blive Sæde for Fuglearter
vi ikke kjende, Sæde for vilde Høvdinger vi heller ikke kjende,
indtil Øxen bed Runemærke ind i et Par, som da kunde komme ind
i Tidsregning, men jeg var kommen aldeles ud af den, bleven
til Nix. Da faldt tre, fire deilige Stjerneskud, de lyste op,
Tankerne fik et andet Sving: - De veed da hvad et Stjerneskud
er? det vide de Lærde ellers ikke! - Jeg har nu mine Tanker
om dem, og jeg gaaer ud fra det: Hvor tidt i Løndom bliver ikke
udtalt Tak og Velsignelse over hver, som har udrettet noget
Skjønt og Godt, tidt er Takken lydløs, men den falder ikke til
Jorden! jeg tænker mig, den opfanges af Solskinnet, og Solstraalen
bringer den stillefølte lønlige Tak ned over Velgjørerens Hoved,
er det et heelt Folk, der gjennem Tider sender sin Tak, ja,
da kommer Takken som en Bouquet, falder som et Stjerneskud paa
Velgjørerens Grav. Det er mig ordenlig saadan en Fornøielse,
naar jeg seer Stjerneskud, især Nytaarsnat, at udfinde, hvem
den Taksigelses-Bouquet nu kan gjælde. Der faldt sidst et lysende
Stjerneskud i Sydvest: en Velsignelses Tak for Mange, Mange!
hvem kunde det gjælde! det faldt bestemt, tænkte jeg, paa Skrenten
ved Flensborg Fjord, hvor Dannebroget vaier over Schleppegrells,
Læssøes og Kammeraternes Grave. Der faldt eet midt i Landet,
det faldt ned i Sorø, en Bouquet paa Holbergs Kiste, en Tak
i Aaret fra saa Mange, Tak for de herlige Komedier! |
| "It is an awesome thought,
but at the same time a happy one, to know that shooting stars
may fall on our graves. There won't be any falling on mine,
I know that; there won't even be a sun ray giving thanks. That
is because there is nothing to be thankful for. I will never
receive English blacking," sighed Ole. "Lard is my fate!" |
Det er en stor Tanke,
en glad Tanke at vide, at der falder et Stjerneskud paa vor
Grav, det gjør der nu ikke paa min, ikke en Solstraale bringer
mig Tak, for her er ikke Noget at takke for! jeg opnaaer ikke
Blanksværte," sagde Ole, "min Lod i Verden er at faae Fedtsværte." |
| THE SECOND VISIT |
Andet Besøg. |
| It was on a New Year's
Day that I visited Ole last. He talked about all the toasts
that had been made from the "old drop" to the "new drop." He
referred to the years as "drops," and I suppose that, when you
live in a tower so far above it all, each year may seem like
a drop in the ocean. He made a whole speech about glasses, and
there was a lot of sense in it. Here it is: |
Det var Nytaarsdag jeg
kom op paa Taarnet, Ole talte om Skaalerne, der blev tømt ved
Overgangen fra det gamle Dryp i det nye Dryp, som han kaldte
Aaret. Saa fik jeg hans Historie om Glassene, og der var Tanke
i den. |
| "When the bells on New
Year's Eve strike twelve, people rise and, glass in hand, toast
the New Year. One begins the year with a glass in one's hand,
a fine beginning for a drunkard. Now some start the year asleep
in bed; that is a good start, too, for a lazy person. Both sleep
and glasses will play their part in the year that comes. Do
you know what can be found in a glass?" asked Ole. "Health,
happiness, and joy! But it can also contain harm and bitter
misery. As one counts the glasses, of course, one has to take
into account what's in them and who is drinking them. |
"Naar Klokken Nytaarsnat
er slaaet tolv, reise Folk sig ved Bordet med det fulde Glas
og drikke det nye Aars Skaal. Man begynder Aaret med Glasset
i Haanden, det er en god Begyndelse for Drankere! man begynder
Aaret med at gaae tilsengs, det er en god Begyndelse for Dovenskaben!
Søvnen skal i Aarets Løb nok spille en stor Rolle, Glassene
med. Veed De, hvad der boer i Glassene?" spurgte han. "Ja, der
boer Sundhed, Glæde og Ellevildhed! der boer Fortræd og den
bittre Ulykke! Naar jeg tæller op Glassene, tæller jeg naturligviis
Graderne i Glasset for de forskjellige Mennesker. |
| "The first glass contains
health. It has a healing power, an herb, within it. Pick it
and it will grow. |
Seer Du, det første
Glas, det er nu Sundhedens Glas! i det voxer Sundhedens Urt,
stik den ind i Bjælken og ved Aarets Ende kan Du da sidde i
Sundhedens Løvhytte. |
| "Take the second glass.
In that is hidden a little bird that sings an innocent song,
and man listens to it and agrees: life is beautiful! Let us
not be downhearted, but live! |
Tager Du det andet Glas
-! ja, fra det flyver ud en lille Fugl, den qviddrer uskyldig
glad, saa Mennesket lytter og synger maaskee med: Livet er smukt!
vi ville ikke hænge med Hovedet! freidig frem! |
| "The third glass contains
a little winged child, half angel, half pixy. He does not tease
maliciously but is filled with fun. He climbs into our ears
and whispers amusing thoughts and warms our hearts so that we
feel young and gay and become witty and amusing, even according
to the judgment of our friends at the party. |
Fra det tredie Glas
løfter sig en lille vinget Fyr, Englebarn kan han vel ikke kaldes,
for han har Nisseblod og Nissesind, ikke til at drille, men
til at gjøre Løier! han sætter sig bag vort Øre og hvisker os
et muntert Indfald! han lægger sig i vor Hjertekule og varmer
der, saa at man bliver overgiven, bliver det gode Hoved efter
de andre Hoveders Dømmekraft! |
| "The fourth glass has
only an exclamation point in it, or maybe a question mark. This
is the point which sense and intelligence never go beyond. |
I det fjerde Glas er
hverken Urt, Fugl eller Fyr, der er Forstandens Tankestreg og
over den Streg skal man aldrig gaae! |
| "After you have drunk
the fifth glass, then you either weep over yourself or you become
sentimental. Prince Carnival jumps from the glass and draws
you into a dance, and you forget your own dignity; that is,
if you ever had any. You forget more than you should, more than
it is good for you to forget. All is song, music, and noise.
The masked ones whirl you along; the Devil's daughters in silk
dresses, with their long hair and their beautiful legs, join
the dance. And you, can you tear yourself away? |
Tages det femte Glas,
saa græder Du over Dig selv, bliver saa inderlig fornøielig
rørt, eller det knalder anderledes af! fra Glasset springer
med Knald Prinds Carneval, mundkaad og ellevild; han trækker
Dig med, Du glemmer din Værdighed, hvis Du har nogen! Du glemmer
meer, end Du skal glemme og tør glemme. Alt er Dands, Sang og
Klang; Maskerne rive Dig med, Fandens Døttre, i Flor og i Silke,
komme med løste Haar og deilige Lemmer, - riv Dig løs om Du
kan! |
| "In the sixth glass
sits the Devil himself; he is a little well-dressed man, most
charming and pleasant. He understands you and agrees with everything
you say. He even brings a lamp to light your way--not to your
home, but to his. There is an old legend about a saint who was
ordered to experience one of the seven deadly sins. He decided
that drunkenness was the least of them. But as soon as he got
drunk, then he committed the other six sins. In the sixth glass
the Devil and man mix blood; in that thrives everything evil
within us, and it grows like the grain of mustard in the Bible
until it becomes a tree so large that it shades our whole world.
Then we are fit for nothing but to be melted down again. |
Det sjette Glas! - Ja,
i det sidder Satan selv, en lille velklædt, veltalende, indtagende,
høist behagelig Mand, som aldeles forstaaer Dig, giver Dig Ret
i Alt, er dit hele Jeg! Han kommer med Lygte for at følge Dig
hjem til Sit. Der er en gammel Legende om Helgenen, som skulde
vælge een af de syv Dødssynder og han valgte, som han syntes,
den ringeste, Drukkenskab, og i den begik han alle de andre
sex Synder. Mennesket og Djævlen blande Blod, det er det sjette
Glas, og da trives alle onde Spirer inde i os; hver af dem løfter
sig med en Kraft, som det bibelske Sennepskorn, voxer til Træ
ud over den hele Verden, og de Fleste have da kun for sig at
komme i Smelteovnen og støbes om. |
| "That is the story of
the glasses," said Ole, the watchman of the tower. "It can be
told both with English blacking and with lard. I have used both."
|
Det er Glassenes Historie!"
sagde Taarnvægteren Ole, "og den kan gives baade med Blanksværte
og med Fedtsværte! jeg giver den med begge Dele!" |
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Det var det andet Besøg
hos Ole, vil Du høre om flere, saa maae Besøgene fortsættes.
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