| PART ONE: THE BEGINNING |
I. En Begyndelse. |
| In one of the houses
on East Street, near the King's New Square, which is in the
very center of Copenhagen, a big party was being held. It was
one of those parties you have to have once in a while, to which
you invite everyone who has invited you to a party; then the
slate is clean and you can be invited out again. Half of the
guests were already playing cards; the other half were sitting
in the parlor, waiting for the hostess to entertain them. The
conversation lagged, until someone mentioned the Middle Ages;
and someone else remarked that he thought that that earlier
era was better than our own. Then Councilman Knap held forth
ardently on his favorite theory that olden times were far superior
to the present. He quite convinced his hostess; and they both
agreed to disagree with Oersted's evaluation, to be found in
the almanac, which asserts that on the whole modern times are
the best. The councilman said that he thought the reign of King
Hans was the period in which life had been pleasantest and happiest. |
Det var i Kjøbenhavn,
paa Østergade i eet af Husene, ikke langt fra Kongens Nytorv,
at der var stort Selskab, for det maa man have imellem, saa
er det gjort og saa kan man blive inviteret igjen. Den ene Halvdeel
af Selskabet sad allerede ved Spillebordene, og den anden Halvdeel
ventede paa hvad der vilde komme ud af Fruens: "ja, nu
skulde vi see til at finde paa noget!" Saavidt var man
og Samtalen gik, som den kunde. Blandt andet faldt ogsaa Talen
paa Middelalderen, Enkelte ansaae denne for langt bedre end
vor Tid, ja Justitsraad Knap forsvarede saa ivrig denne Mening,
at Fruen strax holdt med ham, og begge ivrede da mod Ørsteds
Ord i Almanaken om gamle og nye Tider, hvori vor Tidsalder i
det Væsentlige sættes øverst. Justitsraaden ansaae Kong Hans's
Tid for den deiligste og allerlykkeligste. |
| While that discussion
is going on, let us go out into the entrance hall, where the
wraps, coats, walking canes, umbrellas, and galoshes have been
deposited. Here sat two women: one was young, the other old.
At first sight you might believe that they were personal maids
who had accompanied their mistresses--some ancient dowager or
withered old maid--to the party. But on closer examination this
thought was dismissed; they were, in any case, not ordinary
servants. Their hands were too delicate, they carried themselves
too royally, and their clothes were of a strange, if not daring,
fashion. They were fairies. The younger one was only a lady's
maid to the lady in waiting of the Fairy of Happiness; and she
distributed only lesser blessings. The older one looked very
serious and was the Fairy of Sorrow herself; she always delivers
her gifts personally to make sure you receive them. |
Under al den Snak for
og imod, der ikke blev afbrudt uden et Øieblik ved Avisen der
kom, men i den stod der ikke noget der var værd at læse, ville
vi gaae ud i det forreste Værelse, hvor Overtøi, Stokke, Paraplyer
og Kalosker havde Plads. Her sad to Piger, en ung og en gammel;
man skulde troe, at de vare komne for at følge deres Herskab,
en eller anden gammel Frøken eller Enkefrue, men saae man lidt
nøiere paa dem, saa begreb man snart, at de ikke vare almindelige
Tjenestepiger, dertil vare deres Hænder for fine, deres Holdning
og hele Bevægelse for kongelig, for det var den, og Klæderne
havde ogsaa et ganske eget dristigt Snit. Det var to Feer, den
yngste var vel ikke Lykken selv, men een af hendes Kammerjomfruers
Kammerpiger, der bringe de mindre Lykkens Gaver omkring, den
ældre saae saa inderlig alvorlig ud, det var Sorgen, hun gaaer
altid selv i egen høie Person sine Ærinder, saa veed hun, at
de blive vel udførte. |
| They were telling each
other what they had done during that day. The fairy who was
only a servant of the lady in waiting to the Fairy of Happiness
had very little to tell. She had saved a hat from being drenched;
she had obtained a greeting--a slight inclining of the head:
a nod--for an honest and decent man from a very elegant nonentity,
and small things of that nature. |
De fortalte hinanden,
hvor de denne Dag havde været; hun, som var Kammerjomfruens
Kammerpige hos Lykken, havde endnu kun besørget nogle ubetydelige
Ærinder, hun havde, sagde hun, frelst en ny Hat fra Regnskyl,
skaffet en ærlig Mand en Hilsen af et fornemt Nul og saadant
noget, men hvad hun endnu havde tilbage var noget ganske Ualmindeligt. |
| "But I'll let you in
on a secret," she added. "Today is my birthday and as a present
I have been given the honor of giving humanity a very special
pair of galoshes. They are magic galoshes and anyone who has
them on is transported instantly to the time in history or the
place in the world that he desires to be. And so, at last, some
people will have a chance to be happy on earth!" |
"Jeg maa da fortælle,"
sagde hun, "at det er min Geburtsdag idag, og til Ære for
denne er mig betroet et Par Kalosker, som jeg skal bringe Menneskeheden.
Disse Kalosker have den Egenskab, at Enhver, som faaer dem paa,
øieblikkelig er paa det Sted eller i den Tid, hvor han
helst vil være, ethvert Ønske med Hensyn til Tid eller Sted
bliver strax opfyldt, og Mennesket saaledes endelig engang lykkelig
herneden!" |
| "Do you believe that?"
asked Sorrow. "People will be even more unhappy than they were
before and will bless that moment when they get rid of the galoshes." |
"Jo, det kan Du
troe!" sagde Sorgen, "han bliver saare ulykkelig og
velsigner det Øieblik, han igjen er fri for Kaloskerne!" |
| "Don't be silly," said
the younger fairy. "I'll leave the galoshes here by the door;
somebody will take them by mistake and obtain happiness!" |
"Hvor vil Du hen!"
sagde den Anden, "nu stiller jeg dem her ved Døren, Een
tager Feil og bliver den Lykkelige!" |
| So ended the fairies'
conversation. |
See det var den Samtale. |
| PART TWO: WHAT HAPPENED
TO THE COUNCILMAN |
II. Hvorledes det gik
Justitsraaden. |
| It was late and Councilman
Knap, who was getting ready to go home, was so engrossed in
thinking about the times of King Hans that he put on the magic
galoshes instead of his own. As he stepped out onto East Street,
he was back in the time of King Hans, which meant that he put
his foot down in half a foot of slush and mud because in King
Hans's times there was no such thing as a sidewalk. |
Det var sildigt; Justitsraad
Knap, fordybet i Kong Hans's Tid, vilde hjem og nu var det ham
styret saa, at han, istedet for sine Kalosker, fik Lykkens paa
og traadte ud paa Østergade; men han var ved Kaloskernes Tryllekraft
traadt tilbage i Kong Hans's Tid, og derfor satte han Foden
lige ud i Dynd og Mudder paa Gaden, eftersom der i de Tider
endnu ikke fandtes Brolægning. |
| "It's terribly muddy!"
he muttered. "Where is the sidewalk? And what happened to the
street lamp?" |
"Det er jo forfærdeligt,
hvor sølet her er!" sagde Justitsraaden. "Hele Fortouget
er væk og alle Lygterne slukkede!" |
| The moon had not risen
high enough to shed any light on the street; the air was dense
and heavy. Everything seemed to be shrouded in darkness. At
the comer of the street, below the picture of the Virgin, burned
a tiny oil lamp. Its light was so dim that the councilman did
not notice it until he was standing right underneath the painting
of the Mother and Child. |
Maanen var endnu ikke
kommet høit nok op, Luften desuden temmelig tyk, saa Alt rundtom
flød hen i Mørke. Paa det nærmeste Hjørne hang imidlertid en
Laterne foran et Madonnabillede, men den Lysning var saa godt
som ingen, han bemærkede den først, i det han stod lige derunder
og hans Øine faldt paa det malede Billede med Moderen og Barnet. |
| "I'll bet this is an
art gallery," he thought. "And they've forgotten to take down
their sign." |
"Det er nok,"
tænkte han, "et Kunstkabinet, hvor de have glemt at tage
Skildtet ind!" |
| Two men, dressed as
men did in the time of King Hans, walked past him. |
Et Par Mennesker, i
Tidsalderens Dragt, gik ham forbi. |
| I wonder why they were
wearing those clothes? I'lI bet they're coming from a masquerade."
|
"Hvordan var det
de saae ud! de kom nok fra Maskerade!" |
| Suddenly he heard pipes
and drums. Flares lighted up the street. The councilman stopped
to look at the strange procession. First there was a group of
drummers, who beat their instruments with great force; they
were followed by some soldiers carrying torches and armed with
crossbows; finally a man, obviously of great importance and
belonging to the church, went by. The councilman was so surprised
by the sight that he asked a passer-by who the dignitary was. |
Med eet lød Trommer
og Piber, stærke Blus lyste; Justitsraaden standsede og saae
nu et forunderligt Tog komme forbi. Allerforrest gik en heel
Trop Trommeslagere, som ret artigt behandlede deres Instrument,
dem fulgte Drabanter med Buer og Armbøsser. Den Fornemste i
Toget var en geistlig Mand. Forbauset spurgte Justitsranden,
hvad dette havde at betyde og hvo denne Mand var. |
| "He is the Bishop of
Zealand," was the answer. |
"Det er Sjællands
Biskop!" svarede man. |
| "My God, what has happened
to the bishop?" sighed the councilman, shaking his head. "No,"
he thought. 'That couldn't have been the bishop." And, still
in a quandary, he walked the full length of East Street and
across High Bridge Square; but he could not find the bridge
to the Castle Square. In the darkness he could make out the
banks of a stream, where he came upon two young men who were
lying in a boat. |
"Herre Gud, hvad
gaaer der af Bispen?" sukkede Justitsraaden og rystede
med Hovedet, Bispen kunde det dog umuligt være. Grundende herover
og uden at see til Høire eller Venstre gik Justitsraaden gjennem
Østergade og over Høibroplads. Broen til Slotspladsen var ikke
at finde, han skimtede en sid Aabred og stødte endelig her paa
to Karle, der laae med en Baad. |
| "Would you like to be
rowed over to the island, sir?" one of them asked. |
"Vil Herren sættes
over paa Holmen?" spurgte de. |
| "Over to the island!"
exclaimed the councilman, who still did not realize that he
had taken a journey backward in time. "I want to go to Christian's
Harbor, I live on Little Beech Road." |
"Over paa Holmen?"
sagde Justitsraaden, der jo ikke vidste i hvilken Tidsalder
han vandrede, "jeg vil ud paa Christianshavn i lille Torvegade!" |
| Amazed, the two young
men just stared at him. |
Karlene saae paa ham. |
| "Just tell me where
the bridge is," demanded the councilman. "It is disgraceful
that none of the lamps is lighted; and there is mud everywhere,
as if one were walking in a swamp." |
"Siig mig bare,
hvor Broen er!" sagde han. "Det er skjændigt, her
ingen Lygter ere tændte, og saa er det et Søle, som om man gik
i en Mose!" |
| The more he and the
ferrymen talked, the less comprehensible they were to each other. |
Jo længer han talte
med Baadsmændene, des uforstaaeligere bleve de ham. |
| "I can't understand
your dialect," he said finally, and turned his back on them.
But where was the bridge? And where was the railing that followed
the edge of the stream, to prevent people from falling into
it? "It's a scandal that such conditions are allowed." And he
had never been as disgusted with his own times as he was now.
"I'll go to the King's New Square where I can get a cab, otherwise
I'll never get home." |
"Jeg forstaaer
ikke jeres bornholmsk!" sagde han tilsidst vred, og vendte
dem Ryggen. Broen kunde han ikke finde; Rækværk var der heller
ikke! "Det er en Skandale, som her seer ud!" sagde
han. Aldrig havde han fundet sin Tidsalder elendigere, end denne
Aften. "Jeg troer, jeg vil tage en Droske!" tænkte
han, men hvor vare Droskerne? Ingen var at see. "Jeg faaer
gaae tilbage til Kongens Nytorv, der holde vel Vogne, ellers
kommer jeg, nok aldrig ud paa Christianshavn!" |
| When he reached the
end of East Street, the moon came out. |
Nu gik han da til Østergade
og var næsten igjennem den, idet Maanen kom frem. |
| "What is that strange
structure?" he muttered to himself when he saw the old eastern
gates of the city. He spied a little door and opened it, and
expected to be in the King's New Square, |
"Herre Gud, hvad
er det for et Stillads de har stillet op!" sagde han, ved
at see Østerport, som paa den Tid havde Plads for Enden af Østergade. |
| but he found himself
on a meadow. A channel cut across it; a few bushes were growing;
and there were the sheds used for storage by the sea captains
from Holland; the whole area was then called the Dutch Meadows. |
Endelig fandt han dog
en Laage, og gjennem denne kom han ud paa vort Nytorv, men det
var en stor Enggrund; enkelte Buske struttede frem og tvers
over Engen gik en bred Kanal eller Strøm. Nogle usle Træboder
for de hollandske Skippere, efter hvilke Stedet havde Navnet
Hallandsaas, laae paa den modsatte Bred. |
| "Either I have walked
into a mirage or I am drunk," whimpered the poor councilman.
"Oh, what is this all about? Where am I?" |
"Enten seer jeg
fata morgana, som man kalder det, eller jeg er fuld!" jamrede
Justitsraaden. "Hvad er dog dette! hvad er dog dette?" |
| Convinced that he was
very ill, he turned back. When he again stood on East Street,
the moonlight had made it possible for him to notice that most
of the buildings were half-timbered houses with thatched roofs. |
Han vendte om igjen
i den faste Tro, at han var syg; i det han kom ind i Gaden,
saae han lidt nøiere paa Husene, de fleste vare Bindingsværk
og mange havde kun Straatag. |
| "I am not well," he
sighed. "Even though I have had only one glass of punch, it
didn't agree with me. It was wrong of them to serve baked salmon
and punch, they don't go together. I think I shall return and
tell my hostess. They would want to know how wretchedly I feel.
. . . But it might be embarrassing; they may have gone to bed
already." |
"Nei, jeg er slet
ikke vel!" sukkede han, "og jeg drak dog kun eet Glas
Punsch! men jeg kan ikke taale det! og det var ogsaa inderligt
galt, at give os Punsch og varm Lax! det skal jeg ogsaa sige
Agentinden! Skulde jeg gaae tilbage igjen og lade dem vide,
hvorledes jeg har det! men det er saa flaut! og mon de ere oppe
endnu!" |
| He searched for the
house where he had attended the party, but he couldn't find
it. |
Han søgte efter Gaarden,
men den var ikke til at finde. |
| "Oh, this is horrible!
I can't even recognize East Street. Where are all the shops?
The houses look as bad as those in the provinces. I am ill.
I must not be proud, I need help. This is the house where I
dined, I think. . . . It doesn't look the same. But there's
a light on. Someone is up. I am terribly sick, I'll have to
go in." |
"Det er dog forfærdeligt!
jeg kan ikke kjende Østergade igjen! ikke een Boutik er der!
gamle, elendige Rønner seer jeg, som om jeg var i Roeskilde
eller Ringsted! Ak jeg er syg! det kan ikke hjælpe at genere
sig! Men hvor i Verden er dog Agentens Gaard? Den er ikke sig
selv mere! men derinde ere dog Folk oppe; ak! jeg er ganske
vist syg!" |
| The door was ajar and
he pushed it open. It was an inn, a tavern of the times. There
were several people there: a sea captain, a couple of tradesmen
or artisans, and two scholars. They were drinking beer and looking
thoughtfully into their tankards. Since they were deep in a
discussion, they paid no attention whatever to the new arrival. |
Nu stødte han paa en
halvaaben Dør, hvor Lyset faldt ud gjennem Sprækken. Det var
et af den Tids Herbergeersteder, en Art Ølhuus. Stuen havde
Udseende af de holsteenske Diler; endeel Godtfolk, bestaaende
af Skippere, kjøbenhavnske Borgere og et Par Lærde sad her i
dyb Diskurs ved deres Kruus og gav kun liden Agt paa ham som
traadte ind. |
| "I am sorry to disturb
you," began Councilman Knap to the innkeeper's wife, "but I
am not feeling well. Could I trouble you to call a droshky?
I have to go to Christian's Harbor and there must still be some
cabs at the King's New Square. |
"Om Forladelse,"
sagde Justitsraaden til Vertinden, som kom hen imod ham, "jeg
har faaet saa inderlig ondt! vil De ikke skaffe mig en Droske
ud til Christianshavn!" |
| The woman stared at
him, shook her head, and then spoke to him in German. The councilman
thought she could only understand German and therefore repeated
his request in that tongue. This, together with his strange
dress, convinced the innkeeper's wife that he was a foreigner.
She realized, too, that he was ill and she brought him a glass
of water. It had been drawn from the well in her garden and
was very brackish. |
Konen saae paa ham og
rystede med Hovedet; derpaa tiltalte hun ham i det tydske Sprog.
Justitsraaden antog, at hun ikke kunde den danske Tunge og fremførte
derfor sit Ønske i Tydsk; dette tilligemed hans Dragt bestyrkede
Konen i, at han var en Udlænding; at han befandt sig ilde, begreb
hun snart og gav ham derfor et Kruus Vand, rigtignok noget brak,
det var hentet ude fra Brønden. |
| The councilman buried
his head in his hands, sighed, and tried to understand what
could have happened. He felt that he must say something, and
noticing a large sheet of paper lying on a table nearby, |
Justitsraaden støttede
sit Hoved paa sin Haand, trak Veiret dybt og grundede over alt
det Sælsomme omkring sig. |
| he asked, "Is that this
evening's newspaper?" |
"Er det 'Dagen'
for iaften," spurgte han for at sige noget, idet han saae
Konen flytte et stort Papir. |
| The innkeeper's wife
did not understand what he meant; but she handed him the sheet
of paper. It was a woodcut of a vision in the sky above the
city of Cologne. On seeing such an old print, the councilman
got very excited. |
Hun forstod ikke, hvad
han meente, men rakte ham Bladet, det var et Træsnit, der viste
et Luftsyn, seet udi den Stad Cøln. |
| "This is very valuable!
Where have you found it? It is rare and very interesting! What's
written below the woodcut is nonsense, of course. Today we know
that what they saw in the sky was the northern lights; and they
are probably caused by electricity." |
"Det er meget gammelt!"
sagde Justitsraaden og blev ganske oprømt ved at træffe paa
saadant et gammelt Stykke. "Hvor er De dog kommet over
det sjeldne Blad? Det er meget interessant, skjøndt det Hele
er en Fabel! man forklarer slige Luftsyn ved at det er Nordlys,
man har seet; rimeligviis fremkomme de ved Electriciteten!" |
| Two of the men who sat
near him heard what the councilman had said. One of them rose
from his seat, politely doffed his hat, and said in a very serious
tone, "You must be a very learned man." |
De som sad nærmest og
hørte hans Tale, saae forundrede paa ham og Een af dem reiste
sig, tog ærbødigt Hatten af og sagde med den alvorligste Mine:
"I er vist en meget lærd Mand, Monsieur!" |
| "Oh no!" protested
Councilman Knap. "I know just a little about a lot of things,
as one is expected to." |
"0, nei!"
svarede Justitsraaden, "jeg kan tale med om et og andet,
som man jo skal kunne det!" |
| "Modestia is
one of the highest virtues," exclaimed the other man. "Though
I must comment: mihi secus videtur, to what you have
said. But I should be only too glad to suspend my judicium." |
"Modestia
er en skjønne Dyd!" sagde Manden, "iøvrigt maa jeg
sige til Eders Tale, mihi secus videtur, dog suspenderer
jeg gjerne her mit Judicium!" |
| "May I be so bold as
to ask whom I have the pleasure of speaking to?" asked the councilman. |
"Tør jeg ikke spørge,
hvem jeg har den Fornøielse at tale med?" spurgte Justitsraaden. |
| "I hold a baccalaureus
in the Holy Writ," he replied. |
"Jeg er Baccalaureus
udi den hellige Skrift!" svarede Manden. |
| The councilman thought
that the man fitted his title. He was convinced that he was
talking to an old schoolmaster from darkest Jutland, where one
still could encounter such eccentrics. |
Dette Svar var Justitsraaden
nok, Titelen svarede her til Dragten; det er vist, tænkte han,
en gammel Landsbyskolemester, en aparte Fyr, som man endnu kan
træffe dem oppe i Jylland. |
| "Here is not locus
docendi," continued the old man. "But still I beg you to
speak, for I am sure you are well read in ancient literature." |
"Her er vel ikke locus
docendi," begyndte Manden, "dog beder jeg, I vil bemøie
Eder med at tale! I har en stor Læsning vist i de Gamle!" |
| "Of course," the councilman
replied, "I like to read the classics, but I like to read modern
authors as well. But not these new novels about everyday people;
there are so many of them already." |
"0, ja saamæn!" svarede
Justitsraaden, "jeg læser gjerne gamle nyttige Skrifter, men
jeg kan ogsaa godt lide de nyere, kun ikke "Hverdagshistorierne,"
dem have vi nok af i Virligheden!" |
| "Everyday people?" |
"Hverdagshistorier?"
spurgte vor Baccalaureus. |
| "I mean the new naturalistic
novels about the poor; they are filled with such romantic ideas,"
the councilman explained. |
"Ja, jeg mener disse
nye Romaner man har." |
| "Oh yes!" the scholar
smiled. "They are very well done. The king prefers the romances
about Sir Iffven and Sir Gaudian, knights of King Arthur of
the Round Table." |
"0," smilede Manden,
"der er dog et stort Snille i dem og de læses ved Hoffet; Kongen
ynder særdeles Romanen om Hr. Iffven og Hr. Gaudian, der handler
om Kong Artus og hans Kjæmper ved det runde Bord, han har skjæmtet
derover med sine høie Herrer!" |
| "I don't know which
novel you are referring to, was it written by Heiberg?" asked
the councilman, who was talking of the most popular Danish author
of the middle of the nineteenth century. |
"Ja, den har jeg ikke
læst endnu!" sagde Justitsraaden, "det maa være en ganske ny
en, Heiberg har ladet udkomme!" |
| "No, not Heiberg," the
man replied, much surprised. "It was put out by Godfred von
Gehmen." |
"Nei," svarede Manden,
"den er ikke udkommet ved Heiberg, men ved Godfred von Gehmen!" |
| "Von Gehmen, so that's
the author, he has a very old name; that's what the first printer
in Denmark was called." |
"Saa det er Forfatteren!"
sagde Justitsraaden, "det er et meget gammelt Navn! det er jo
den første Bogtrykker, der har været i Danmark?" |
| "Yes, he is our first
and foremost printer of books," agreed the scholar. The conversation
continued quite pleasantly for a while. One of the tradesmen
talked about the plague that had harassed Copenhagen a few years
before--by which he meant in 1484. The councilman nodded; he
thought the man was talking about the cholera epidemic that
had taken place when he was a young man. The conversation then
turned to the activities of the English privateers, who in 1490
had captured the ships in the very harbor of Copenhagen; and
since the councilman believed that the War of 1801 was being
discussed, he agreed wholeheartedly when the English were condemned.
But then matters got worse; every few minutes he exchanged an
undertaker's smile with one of the other guests. The councilman
thought the scholar very ignorant; and that man found him too
fantastic and daring. Sometimes they just sat staring at each
other in wonder; then the baccalaureus would break into Latin,
thinking that the councilman understood that language more easily;
but it was to no avail. |
"Ja, det er vor første
Bogtrykker!" sagde Manden. Saaledes gik det ganske godt; nu
talte en af de gode Borgermænd om den særdeles Pestilense, der
havde regjeret for et Par Aar siden, og meente den i 1484, Justitsraaden
antog, at det var Cholera Talen var om, og saa gik Diskursen
ret godt. Fribytterkrigen 1490 laae saa nær, at den maatte berøres,
de engelske Fribyttere havde taget Skibene paa Rheden, sagde
de; og Justitsraaden, der ret havde levet ind i Begivenheden
1801, stemte fortræffeligt i med mod Engelskmanden. Den øvrige
Tale derimod gik ikke saa vel, hvert Øieblik blev det gjensidig
Bedemands-Stiil; den gode Baccalaureus var altfor uvidende,
og Justitsraadens simpleste Yttringer klang ham igjen for dristige
og for phantastiske. De saae paa hinanden, og blev det altfor
galt, saa talte Baccalaureus Latin, idet han saa troede bedre
at blive forstaaet, men det hjalp dog ikke. |
| "How goes it with you,
good man?" the innkeeper's wife tugged the councilman's sleeve
in order to attract his attention; and the poor man--who while
he was talking had forgotten what had happened to him--all at
once recalled all his misery. |
"Hvorledes er det med
Dem!" spurgte Vertinden, og trak Justitsraaden i Ærmet; nu kom
hans Besindelse tilbage, for imedens han talte havde han reent
glemt Alt hvad der var gaaet forud. |
| "Oh, my God! Where am
I?" he wailed, and almost fainted. |
"Herre Gud, hvor er
jeg!" sagde han og svimlede ved at betænke det. |
| "We want claret, mead,
and Bremer beer!" shouted one of the customers. And you"--he
pointed at the councilman--"are going to drink with us." |
"Klaret ville vi drikke!
Mjød og Bremer-Øl", raabte En af Gjæsterne, "og I skal drikke
med!" |
| Two girls, one of them
wearing a bonnet of two different colors, curtsied and served
them. |
To Piger kom ind, den
ene havde to Couleurer i Huen. De skjænkede og neiede; Justitsraaden
løb det iiskoldt ned af Ryggen. |
| The councilman shivered,
as if he were freezing. "What is this all about? What is happening
to me?" he whimpered. But he had to drink and so he did; and
he emptied his tankard as often as the other customers. One
of the tradesmen accused the councilman of being drunk. The
councilman said that he did not doubt that he was, and begged
the other man to get him a cab so he could go home. "A what?"
the man demanded. "A cab . . . I want to hire a cab, a droshky."
"He's a Muscovite!" someone shouted angrily. |
"Hvad er dog dette!
hvad er dog dette!" sagde han, men han maatte drikke med dem;
de toge ganske artigt fat paa den gode Mand, han var meget fortvivlet,
og da En af dem sagde, at han var drukken, tvivlede han aldeles
ikke paa Mandens Ord, bad dem bare om at skaffe sig en Droske,
og saa troede de, han talte moskovitisk. |
| Never before had Councilman
Knap been in such vulgar company. He decided that his country
must have returned to heathenism. "This is the most horrible
moment of my life," he mumbled. And it was then that he got
the idea of escaping by diving under the table and crawling
toward the door. But just as he was nearing the portal his newly
found friends discovered him and decided that he must not escape.
They grabbed him by the legs; and luckily for him, they pulled
off the galoshes, and that was the end of the magic. |
Aldrig havde han været
i saa raat og simpelt Selskab; man skulde troe, Landet var gaaet
tilbage i Hedendømmet, meente han, "det er det skrækkeligste
Øieblik i mit Liv!" men i det samme fik han den Tanke, at han
vilde bukke sig ned under Bordet, krybe hen til Døren og saa
see til at slippe ud, men i det han var ved Udgangen, mærkede
de Andre, hvad han havde for, de grebe ham ved Benene, og da,
til hans gode Lykke, gik Kaloskerne af og - med disse, hele
Trylleriet. |
| Councilman Knap was
lying on the sidewalk. The street lamp was burning brightly
above him. The house before him was familiar. He was back on
the East Street he knew. Not far from him sat a night watchman,
who was sleeping. |
Justitsraaden saae ganske
tydeligt foran sig en klar Lygte brænde, og bag denne laae en
stor Gaard; han kjendte den og Nabogaardene, det var paa Østergade,
saaledes som vi Alle kjende den, han laae med Benene hen imod
en Port, og lige overfor sad Vægteren og sov. |
| "My God, I must have
lain here in the street and dreamed it all. Yes, this is East
Street. How horribly that one glass of punch upset me." |
"Du min Skaber, har
jeg ligget her paa Gaden og drømt!" sagde han. "Ja, det er Østergade!
hvor velsignet lys og broget! Det er dog skrækkeligt, hvor det
Glas Punsch maa have virket paa mig!" |
| A few minutes later
he was sitting in a cab, on his way to his home in Christian's
Harbor. He thought of the misery and the terror he had just
experienced; and he praised with all his heart the reality of
his own time, which despite all its faults was superior to the
age he had just been in. And that was very sensible of the councilman. |
To Minuter efter sad
han i en Droske, som kjørte til Christianshavn med ham; han
tænkte paa den Angst og Nød, han havde overstaaet, og priste
af Hjertet den lykkelige Virkelighed, vor Tid, der med alle
sine Mangler dog var langt bedre, end den han nylig havde været
i, og see det var fornuftigt af Justitsraaden! |
| PART THREE: THE ADVENTURES
OF THE NIGHT WATCHMAN |
III. Vægterens Eventyr. |
| "Look, there are an
old pair of galoshes," said the night watchman. "They must belong
to the lieutenant. They are lying right outside his front door." |
"Der ligger saamæn et
Par Kalosker!" sagde Vægteren. "Det er vistnok Lieutenantens,
som boer deroppe. De ligge lige ved Porten!" |
| The night watchman would
gladly have rung the bell and delivered the galoshes to their
owner, but it was late and he was afraid of waking everyone
in the house. |
Gjerne havde den ærlige
Mand ringet paa og afleveret dem, thi der var Lys endnu, men
han vilde ikke vække de andre Folk i Huset og derfor lod han
være. |
| "Such overshoes must
keep your feet warm. I wonder what it feels like to have them
on?" he remarked as he pulled the galoshes over his shoes. "How
soft the leather is." They fitted him perfectly. "Life is strange,"
the night watchman philosophized, while he looked up at the
lieutenant's windows, where a light was still burning. "He could
be in his comfortable bed, sleeping; but he isn't, he's pacing
the floor. He is a happy man.. He has neither wife nor children,
and every evening he is invited to another party. I wish I were
the lieutenant, then I should be happy." |
"Det maa være ganske
luunt, at have et saadant Par Tingester paa!" sagde han. "De
er saa linde i Læderet!" De sluttede om hans Fødder. "Hvor det
dog er løierligt i Verden! nu kunde han gaae i sin gode Seng,
men see, om han gjør det! op og ned af Gulvet tridser han! det
er et lykkeligt Menneske! han har hverken Mutter eller Rollingerne!
hver Aften er han i Selskab, gid at jeg var ham, ja saa var
jeg en lykkelig Mand!" |
| No sooner had he said
his desire aloud than the galoshes fulfilled it. The night watchman
entered the body and the soul of the lieutenant. He was standing
in his room and in his hand he had a sheet of pink paper, on
which had been written a poem. The lieutenant had composed it
himself. And who has not, at some time or other, felt like writing
poetry? You have a thought. You write it down, and there is
a poem. This one was called: |
I det han sagde sit
Ønske, virkede Kaloskerne, han havde taget paa, Vægteren gik
over i Lieutenantens hele Person og Tænkning. Der stod han oppe
i Værelset og holdt mellem Fingrene et lille rosenrødt Papir,
hvorpaa var et Digt, et Digt af Hr. Lieutenanten selv; for hvo
har ikke engang i sit Liv været stemt til at digte, og nedskriver
man da Tanken, saa har man Verset. Her stod skrevet: |
"I Wish I Were Rich!"
"I wish I were rich"--Oh, this I swore Before my first
long pants I wore. "I wish I were rich" I cried in despair,
For then an officer's uniform I would wear. The silver spurs,
the sword I gained, But money, alas, I never obtained.
|
"Gid jeg var riig!"
"Gid jeg var riig!" det bad jeg mangen Gang, Da jeg endnu
var knap en Alen lang. Gid jeg var riig! saa blev jeg Officeer,
Fik mig en Sabel, Uniform og Fjer. Den Tid dog kom, at jeg
blev Officeer, Men ingensinde var jeg riig, desværre! Mig
hjalp vor Herre!
|
One evening when I was young and gay A tiny girl kissed
me in childish play. I was rich in fairy tales and clever,
Though, in money, as poor as ever. She cared only for these
tales so old And then I was wealthy, though not in gold.
|
Livsglad og ung, jeg sad en Aftenstund, En syvaars Pige
kyssede min Mund, Thi jeg var riig paa Sagn og Eventyr,
I Penge derimod en fattig Fyr, Men Barnet brød sig kun om
Eventyr, Da var jeg riig, men ei paa Guld desværre, Det
veed vor Herre!
|
"I wish I were rich," without hope I moan, The little girl
into a woman has grown. A maiden so perfect, so clever and
good, If she my heart's fairy tale understood, If she that
loved me once, loves me still! Oh, God! poverty breaks the
strongest will.
|
"Gid jeg var riig!" er end min Bøn til Gud, Nu er den syvaars
Pige voxet ud, Hun er saa smuk, saa klog, saa eiegod. Hvis
hun mit Hjertes Eventyr forstod, Hvis hun, som før - jeg
mener, var mig god, Dog jeg er fattig, derfor taus desværre,
Saa vil vor Herre!
|
I wish I were rich in solace and peace And the pain of
hope had long ago ceased. You, whom I love, shed over this
poem no tears. Read it, as the old read verses from youthful
years. No, better it were if these words of despair Were
writ not on paper but in the night air.
|
Gid jeg var riig paa Trøst og Rolighed, Da kom min Sorg
ei paa Papiret ned! Du, som j eg elsker, hvis Du mig forstaaer,
Læs dette, som et Digt fra Ungdoms Aar! Det er dog bedst,
hvis Du det ei forstaaer, Jeg fattig er, min Fremtid mørk
desværre, Dig signe vil vor Herre!
|
| Such are the verses
one writes when one is in love; and a sensible man does not
have them printed. A lieutenant, love, and poverty: that is
an eternal triangle, a broken cupid's arrow. That was the way
the lieutenant felt too. He leaned against the windowpane and
sighed. |
Ja, saadanne Vers skriver
man, naar man er forelsket, men en besindig Mand lader dem ikke
trykke. Lieutenant, Kjærlighed og Trang, det er en Trekant eller
ligesaagodt, det er Halvparten af Lykkens sønderbrudte Terning.
Dette følte Lieutenanten ogsaa, og derfor lagde han Hovedet
mod Vindueskarmen og sukkede ganske dybt: |
| "The poor night watchman,
down in the street, is far happier than I am. He has a home,
a wife, and children who are sad when he is sad and rejoice
when he is gay. Oh, he is far happier than I am. I wish I were
he!" |
"Den fattige Vægter
ude paa Gaden er langt lykkeligere end jeg! han kjender ikke
hvad jeg kalder Savn! han har et Hjem, en Kone og Børn, der
græde ved hans Sorg, glæde sig ved hans Glæde! o jeg var lykkeligere,
end jeg er, kunde jeg gaae lige lukt over i ham, for han er
lykkeligere end jeg!" |
| At that very moment
the night watchman became the night watchman again; since the
galoshes had made him a lieutenant, they could return him to
being himself. |
I samme Øieblik var
Vægteren igjen Vægter, thi det var ved Lykkens Kalosker han
var blevet Lieutenanten, men som vi saae, følte han sig da endnu
langt mindre tilfreds og vilde dog helst være hvad han egentlig
var. Altsaa Vægteren var igjen Vægter. |
| "That was a terrible
dream,," he mumbled. "I was the lieutenant, but that was no
blessing. I missed my wife and my little ones." |
"Det var en fæl Drøm!"
sagde han, "men løierlig nok var den. Jeg syntes, at jeg var
Lieutenant deroppe og det var slet ingen Fornøielse. Jeg savnede
Mutter og Rollingerne, som ere færdige ved at kysse mig Øinene
ud!" |
| He shook his head; the
dream stayed with him. A shooting star flew across the heavens. |
Han sad igjen og nikkede,
Drømmen vilde ham ikke ret ud af Tankerne, Kaloskerne havde
han endnu paa Fødderne. Et Stjerneskud spillede lige hen ad
Himmelen. |
| "There it fell," the
night watchman, who was still wearing the magic galoshes, said
to himself. "I really wouldn't mind being able to see such things
a little closer; especially the moon, for that has a good size
and wouldn't slip through your fingers. The student whose clothes
my wife washes claims that, when we die, our spirits go visiting
the stars. That's not true, I'm sure. But it would be fun to
be able to see the moon. I wish my soul would leap up there;
then, as far as I am concerned, my body could stay right here
on this step." |
"Der gik den!" sagde
han, "der ere nok alligevel! jeg havde nok Lyst til at see de
Tingester lidt nærmere, især Maanen, for den bliver da ikke
borte mellem Hænderne. Naar vi døe, sagde Studenten, som min
Kone vasker grovt for, flyve vi fra den ene til den anden. Det
er en Løgn, men artigt nok kunde det være. Gid jeg maatte gjøre
et lille Hop derop, saa kunde Kroppen gjerne blive her paa Trappen!" |
| There are certain wishes
that are best left unsaid, especially if you are wearing magic
galoshes. Listen to what happened to the poor night watchman. |
See, der ere nu visse
Ting i Verden, man maa være meget forsigtig med at udtale, men
endnu mere forsigtig bør man især være, dersom man har Lykkens
Kalosker paa Fødderne. Hør bare, hvorledes det gik Vægteren. |
| We have all traveled
by steam: either by train or across the sea on a steamer. But
the speed of steam is a snail's pace compared to the speed of
light. It flies nineteen million times quicker than the fastest
race horse; and electricity is even faster than light. Death
is an electric shock administered to our hearts; and with the
wings of electricity our souls leave our bodies. It takes the
light of the sun eight minutes and some seconds to travel more
than a hundred million miles. But with the speed of electricity
it takes the soul even less time to accomplish the same journey.
The space between planets is for the soul no greater than the
distance between our own home and that of a friend's, even when
the latter is very close by. Unfortunately, the electric shock
to the heart deprives us of our bodies; unless, like the night
watchman, one is lucky enough to be wearing magic galoshes. |
Hvad os Mennesker angaaer,
da kjende vi jo næsten Alle Hurtigheden ved Damp, vi have prøvet
den enten paa Jernbaner eller med Skibet henover Havet; dog
denne Flugt er ligesom Dovendyrets Vandring eller Sneglens Marsch
mod den Hurtighed, Lyset tager; det flyver nitten Millioner
Gange hurtigere end den bedste Veddeløber, og dog er Electriciteten
endnu hurtigere. Døden er et electrisk Stød, vi faae i Hjertet;
paa Electricitetens Vinger flyver den frigjorte Sjæl. Otte Minuter
og nogle Secunder er Sollyset om en Reise af over tyve Millioner
Mile; med Electricitetens Hurtigpost behøver Sjælen færre Minuter,
for at gjøre samme Flugt. Rummet mellem Kloderne er for den
ei større, end det i een og samme By er for os mellem vore Venners
Huse, selv om disse ligge temmeligt nær ved hinanden, imidlertid
koster dette electriske Hjertestød os Legemets Brug hernede,
dersom vi ikke, ligesom Vægteren her, have Lykkens Kalosker
paa. |
| Within seconds, the
night watchman had traveled more than two hundred thousand miles
and landed on the moon. The moon is made of much lighter material
than the earth. it is as soft as new-fallen snow. He found himself
overlooking one of the many mountain craters that you can see
in Dr. Malder's Great Atlas of the Moon. I'm sure you
know of it. A good mile down, inside the dead volcano, there
was a city. It looked like the whites of eggs poured into a
glass of water. Transparent towers, cupolas, and sail-shaped
balconies swayed in the thin atmosphere. Our own earth floated
like a fiery red globe far above him. |
I nogle Secunder var
Vægteren faret de 52,000 Mile til Maanen, der, som man veed,
er skabt af et Stof, langt lettere end vor Jord, og er hvad
vi ville kalde blød, som nysfalden Snee. Han befandt sig paa
et af de utallige mange Ringbjerge, som vi kjende af Dr. Madlers
store Kort over Maanen; for det kjender du da? indvendigt gik
Ringbjerget lige steilt ned i en Kiedel, en heel dansk Miil;
dernede laae en By, der havde et Udseende som Æggehvide i et
Glas Vand, ligesaa blød og ligesaadan med Taarne og Kupler og
seilformede Altaner, gjennemsigtige og svaiende i den tynde
Luft; vor Jord svævede, som en stor ildrød Kugle over hans Hoved. |
| The town was inhabited
by very strange-looking creatures, and all of them were, I suppose,
what you would call human. One could hardly expect that the
night watchman would be able to understand their language, but
he could. |
Der vare saamange Skabninger,
og Alle vistnok hvad vi ville kalde Mennesker, men de saae ganske
anderledes ud, end vi; de havde ogsaa et Sprog, men ingen kan
jo forlange, at Vægterens Sjæl skulde forstaae det, alligevel
kunde den det. |
| Without any difficulty
at all, he followed their discussion about our earth and whether
it was possible for people to live on it. They concluded that
the atmosphere was too heavy to allow for any highly developed,
thinking creature like a moonian to survive there. They agreed
that only on the moon could be found the conditions necessary
for life; and therefore, moonians were the first human beings. |
Vægterens Sjæl forstod
meget godt Maanebeboernes Sprog. De disputerede om vor Jord
og betvivlede, at den kunde være beboet, Luften maatte der være
for tyk til at nogen fornuftig Maane-Skabning kunde leve i den.
De ansaae alene Maanen for at have levende Væsener, den var
den egentlige Mode, hvor de gamle Klodefolk boede. |
| But let's return to
East Street and see what happened to the body of the night watchman.
|
Men vi søge ned igjen
til Østergade og see der, hvorledes Vægterens Legeme har det. |
| Lifeless, he sat on
the stairs; his spiked mace had fallen out of his hands, and
his eyes were fixed on the moon, as if they were trying to watch
his honest soul walking about up there. |
Livløst sad det paa
Trappen, Morgenstjernen var faldet det ud af Haanden og Øinene
saae op imod Maanen efter den ærlige Sjæl, som gik om deroppe. |
| "What is the time, night
watchman?" asked a passer-by. When he got no answer, he flicked
the good night watchman's nose; and the body lost its balance
and lay dead on the sidewalk. The man who had touched the night
watchman was terrified. He looked at the night watchman again:
he was dead and dead he remained! It was reported and discussed,
and the body taken to the hospital. |
"Hvad er Klokken Vægter?"
spurgte en Forbigaaende. Men hvo der ikke svarte var Vægteren;
saa knipsede han ham ganske sagte paa Næsen, og der gik Balancen;
Kroppen laae saa lang den var, Mennesket var jo dødt. Der kom
en stor Forskrækkelse over ham der knipsede; Vægteren var død
og død blev han; det blev meldt og det blev omtalt, og i Morgenstunden
bar man Kroppen ud paa Hospitalet. |
| Now think what a strange
situation it would have been if the soul had suddenly come back
to East Street looking for its body and had not found it. Probably
it would have gone first to the police station; then to the
Lost and Found Office to look among the ownerless objects; and
finally, to the hospital. But it's comforting to know that the
soul is more cunning when it's on its own and doesn't have a
body to weigh it down. |
Det kunde nu blive en
ganske artig Spads for Sjælen, dersom den kom tilbage og efter
al Sandsynlighed søgte Kroppen paa Østergade, men ingen fandt;
rimeligviis vilde den vel først løbe op paa Politikammeret,
senere hen paa Adresse-Contoiret, at den derfra kunde efterlyses
mellem bortkomne Sager, og tilsidst ud paa Hospitalet; dog vi
kunne trøste os med, at Sjælen er snildest, naar den er paa
sin egen Haand, Legemet gjør den kun dum. |
| As you know, the body
was taken to the hospital and put into the bathroom to be washed.
But first, of course, it had to be undressed; and the very first
article of clothing that was removed were the galoshes. And
the soul had to return; straight down from the moon it came
and the night watchman came back to life at once. He declared
that this had been the worst night in his life and he wouldn't
go through another like it, not even for two marks; but now
it was over and done with. |
Som sagt, Vægterens
Krop kom paa Hospitalet, blev der bragt ind paa Renselses-Stuen,
og det første man her gjorde var naturligviis at tage Kaloskerne
af, og da maatte Sjælen tilbage; den tog strax Retning lige
efter Legemet, og med eet kom der Liv i Manden. Han forsikkrede,
at det havde været den skrækkeligste Nat i hans Liv; ikke for
to Mark vilde han have saadanne Fornemmelser igjen, men nu var
jo det overstaaet. |
| The night watchman left
the hospital the same day; but the galoshes stayed behind. |
Samme Dag blev han udskrevet
igjen, men Kaloskerne bleve paa Hospitalet. |
| PART FOUR: THE TRAPPED
HEAD AND A MOST UNUSUAL TRIP |
IV. Et Hoved-Moment.
Et Deklamations-Nummer. En høist usædvanlig Reise. |
| Everyone who lives in
Copenhagen knows what the entrance to Frederiks Hospital looks
like; but since it is possible that this story will be read
as well by people who don't live there we had better describe
it. |
Enhver Kjøbenhavner
veed nu, hvorledes Indgangen til Frederiks Hospital i Kjøbenhavn
seer ud, men da rimeligviis ogsaa nogle Ikke-Kjøbenhavnere læse
denne Historie, maae vi give en kort Beskrivelse. |
| All around the hospital
there's a high fence of heavy iron bars and a gate that is locked
at night. They say that very thin medical students have been
able to squeeze themselves in and out between the bars, when
they were supposed to be on duty. The part of the body which
they always found most difficult to get through was the head.
In this--as in many other uncomfortable situations in this world--the
ones with the smallest heads were the luckiest. Enough, that
will have to do as the introduction. |
Hospitalet er skilt
fra Gaden ved et temmeligt høit Gitter, i hvilket de tykke Jernstænger
staae saa vidt fra hinanden, at der fortælles, at meget tynde
Candidater skulle have klemt sig igjennem og saaledes gjort
deres smaa Visiter ude. Den Deel af Legemet, der faldt vanskeligst
at practisere ud, blev Hovedet; her, som tidt i Verden, vare
altsaa de smaa Hoveder de lykkeligste. Dette vil være nok, som
Indledning. |
| One night, one of the
medical students, whose head could best be described--if we
are speaking only physically--as fat, was on duty. It was also
raining in torrents outside. But neither of these facts seemed
to deter him; he had something to do in town which would only
take about a quarter of an hour, and he didn't want to have
to explain to the gatekeeper the nature of his errand. He decided
to try to squeeze through two of the bars in the fence. He noticed
the galoshes that the night watchman had left behind. |
En af de unge Volonteurer,
om hvem man kun i legemlig Henseende kunde sige, at han havde
et tykt Hoved, havde just Vagt denne Aften; det var en skyllende
Regn; dog uagtet begge disse Hindringer maatte han ud, kun et
Qvarteer, det var ikke noget, syntes han, der var værd at betroe
til Portneren, naar man kunde smutte mellem Jernstængerne. Der
laae de Kalosker, Vægteren havde glemt; mindst tænkte han paa,
at de vare Lykkens, de kunde være meget gode i dette Veir, han
tog dem paa, nu var det, om han kunde klemme sig igjennem, aldrig
før havde han forsøgt det. Der stod han nu. |
| "Lucky they're here,
I can use them in this rotten weather," he thought, and put
them on. "Now all I have to do is squeeze through those bars.
If only my head were through," he mumbled aloud. And immediately
his big round head glided through the bars. Naturally, it was
the galoshes that had accomplished this for him. But now, there
he was, with his body on one side and his head on the other. |
"Gud give jeg havde
Hovedet udenfor!" sagde han, og strax, skjøndt det var meget
tykt og stort, gled det let og lykkeligt igjennem, det maatte
Kaloskerne forstaae; men nu skulde da Kroppen ud med, her stod
han. |
| He took a deep breath
and tried to squeeze his body through. "I'm too fat!" he
cried as he continued to push. "I thought my head would be the
most difficult to get through." |
"Uh, jeg er for tyk!"
sagde han, "Hovedet havde jeg tænkt, var det Værste! jeg kommer
ikke igjennem." |
| Now he tried to pull
his head back between the bars, but that was impossible. He
could move his neck but that was all. The magic galoshes had
placed him in a very difficult position. Unfortunately, he never
thought of wishing out loud that his body and his head were
both on the same side of the fence; he just pushed and pulled
and yanked. The rain was pouring down and the street was empty.
He was too far away to be heard by the gatekeeper, no matter
how loudly he shouted. He would have to stay right where he
was until morning; then a blacksmith would be called to saw
through one of the iron bars. But that would take time. All
the boys, in their blue uniforms, from the school across the
street would come to watch the blacksmith at his work, and so
would half the neighborhood and all the passers-by. And there
he would be like a prisoner in the stocks with the street filled
with people laughing at him. He felt the blood rush to his head
just thinking about it. "It will drive me mad," he muttered.
"I can feel myself going insane. Oh, how I wish my head were
free and it were all over and done with." |
Nu vilde han rask tage
Hovedet tilbage, men det gik ikke. Halsen kunde han beqvemt
bevæge, men det var ogsaa Alt. Den første Følelse var, at han
blev vred, den anden, at Humeuret sank lige ned under Nul. Lykkens
Kalosker havde bragt ham i den skrækkeligste Stilling, og ulykkeligviis
faldt det ham ikke ind, at ønske sig fri, nei, han handlede
og kom saa ikke af Stedet. Regnen skyllede ned, ikke et Menneske
var at see paa Gaden. Portklokken kunde han ikke naae, hvorledes
skulde han dog slippe løs. Han forudsaae, at her kunde han komme
til at staae til Morgenstunden, saa maatte man da sende Bud
efter en Smed, for at Jernstængerne kunde files over, men det
gik ikke saa gesvindt, hele den blaa Drengeskole ligeoverfor
vilde komme paa Benene, hele Nyboder arrivere, for at see ham
staae i Gabestokken, der vilde blive Tilløb, ganske anderledes,
end til Kjæmpe-Agaven ifjor. "Hu! Blodet stiger mig til Hovedet,
saa jeg maa blive gal! - ja jeg bliver gal! o gid jeg var vel
løs igjen, saa gik det vel over!" |
| It was a pity he hadn't
said that right away. As soon as his thoughts became words,
his head was free. He ran into the hospital as quickly as he
could. He was very disturbed by the scare the magic galoshes
had given him. |
See, det skulde han
have sagt noget før, øieblikkelig, som Tanken var udtalt, havde
han Hovedet frit, og styrtede nu ind, ganske forstyrret over
den Skræk, Lykkens Kalosker havde bragt ham i. |
| The night passed and
so did the next day, without anyone coming to the hospital to
claim the galoshes. |
Hermed maae vi slet
ikke troe, at det Hele var forbi, nei - det bliver værre endnu. |
| |
Natten gik og den følgende
Dag med, der kom ingen Bud efter Kaloskerne. |
| There was a performance
that evening in a little theater in Canon Street. There was
not an empty seat in the theater. Among the recitations there
was a new poem. We must hear it: |
Om Aftenen skulde gives
en Forestilling paa det lille Theater i Kannikestrædet. Huset
var propfuldt; mellem Declamations-Numerne blev givet et nyt
Digt. Vi skulle høre det. Titelen var: |
Grandmother's Glasses
My grandmother's head is cleverly turned; Two hundred years
ago she would have been burned. She knows every joy and
every sorrow That will happen to people tomorrow. She knows
the future, what next year will bring, For whom funeral
bells will toll or wedding bells ring. What is my future?
Denmarks? or With such secrets my grandmother will not part.
I plagued her; first she was silent, then she got mad. With
downcast eyes I tried to look sorry and sad. I am her favorite,
her sweet little darling, And so I became happy, as in springtime
the starling. For Grandmother handed me her glasses and
said,
|
Mosters Briller.
Min Bedstemoders Klogskab er bekjendt, Var man i "gammel
Tid," blev hun vist brændt. Hun veed Alt hvad der skeer,
ja meget meer, Hun lige ind i næste Aargang seer, Ja ind
i "fyrgetyve", det er noget, Men hun vil aldrig rigtig ud
med Sproget. Hvad mon vel i det næste Aar vil skee? Hvad
mærkeligt? Ja, jeg gad gjerne see Min egen Skjæbne, Kunstens,
Land og Riges, Men Bedstemoder vil, sligt skal ei siges.
Jeg plaged' hende da, og det gik godt, Først var hun taus,
saa skjændte hun saa smaat, Det var for mig en Præd'ken
opad Vægge, Jeg er jo hendes egen Kjæledægge!
|
"I grant you your wish. Put these on your head. Then go
where people are gathered, to one of these places Where
you do not see one but a thousand faces. Then look through
my glasses and you will be able To read their futures, like
cards on the table." With joy I ran, feeling bold and free.
But where should I go, where would most people be? To an
amusement park? No, I might catch cold. To a church? No,
there gather only the very old. To Main Street? Everyone
walks there in such a haste. To the theater? Yes, there
people have time to waste. So here I am, your futures to
read and tell. I will draw truth, like water from a well.
Permit me to put on Grandmother's glasses And we shall know
the future as time passes.
|
"For denne ene Gang din Lyst jeg stiller," Begyndte hun
og gav mig sine Briller, "Nu gaaer Du hen et Sted, hvor
selv Du vil, "Et Sted, hvor mange Godtfolk strømme til,
"Hvor bedst Du overseer dem, Du dig stiller, "Og seer paa
Mængden gjennem mine Briller, "Strax vil de Alle, tro Du
mig paa Ordet, "See ud, som et Spil Kort, lagt op paa Bordet;
"Af disse kan Du spaae, hvad der skal skee!"
|
Your silence as agreement I take And into cards I you now,
make.
At this point the actor who was reciting put on an old pair
of spectacles, then he continued:
It is true! How amazing! It makes me smile. I wish you
could see it, too, for a while. There are no kings, but
of knaves aplenty, in spades and clubs I count more than
twenty. The little Queen of Spades, she has her part; To
the Jack of Diamonds, she has lost her heart. Her passion
is great. Oh, I must look away. No wonder the Jack looks
so happy and gay. I see money inherited and spent in waste.
I see dark strangers arriving in haste. Oh, it is all to
me quite clear, But other questions are to be answered here.
What will happen to Denmark next year? I see it! Oh, my
goodness! Oh dear! If I tell, no newspaper will be sold,
I fear. It is better to wait the news to hear. The theater,
what is its future, its fate? Silence! I seek the director's
friendship, not his hate. As for my own future, which is
nearest to my heart, I see it clearly, but win not with
that secret part. Do you want me the happiest of all here
to find? It would be easy, but would it be kind? Do you
want me to tell which one will live the longest? Oh, that
kind of news will weaken the strongest. Should I tell this,
or that? With doubt I am filled, I wish no hope in my neighbor
killed. Maybe it is best that I no ones fortune tell And
leave each to his own heaven or hell, And show my respect
to God and to man By not trying to do what no one can.
|
Jeg sagde Tak og løb afsted og vilde see, Men, tænkte jeg,
hvor mon de Fleste komme? Paa Langelinie? Der man bli'er
forkjølet. Paa Østergade? Bah! der er saa sølet! Men i Theatret?
det var ganske deiligt, Den Aftenunderholdning falder just
beleiligt-- Her er jeg da! mig selv jeg forestiller; Tillader
De, jeg bruger Mosters Briller, Alene for at see - gaae
dog ei bort! At see, om De see ud, som et Spil Kort, Af
hvilket jeg kan spaae, hvad Tiden skjænker. - Jeg deres
Taushed som et Ja mig tænker; Til Tak skal De da blive med
indviet. Her er' vi allesammen paa Partiet. Jeg spaaer for
Dem, for mig, for Land og Rige, Nu vil vi see, hvad Kortene
kan sige. (Og saa satte han Brillerne paa.) Jo, det er rigtigt!
nei, nu maa jeg lee! 0, gid De kunde komme op at see! Hvor
her er grumme mange Herreblade, Og Hjerter Damer, her er'
hele Rade. Det Sorte der, ja det er KIø'er og Spa'er. -
Nu snart et rigtigt Overblik jeg ha'er. Spa'erdame seer
jeg der med megen Vægt Har sine Tanker vendt til Ruderknægt.
0, denne Skuen gjør mig halv beruset! Der ligge mange Penge
her til Huset, Og Fremmede fra Verdens anden Side. Men det
var ikke det vi vilde vide. Om Stænderne? Lad see! - ja
hen i Tiden! Men derom er det man skal læse siden; Hvis
nu jeg sladdrer, skader jeg jo Bladet, Jeg vil ei tage bort
det bedste Been af Fadet. Theatret da? - Hver Nyhed? Smagen?
Tonen? Nei, jeg vil staae mig godt med Directionen. Min
egen Fremtid? Ja, De veed, eens eget, Det ligger os paa
Hjertet grumme meget! Jeg seer! Jeg kan ei sige, hvad jeg
seer, Men De vil høre det, saasnart det skeer. Hvo er vel
lykkeligst af os herinde? Den Lykkeligste? Let jeg den skal
finde! Det er jo, - nei, det kan saa let genere, Ja muligtviis
vil det bedrøve Flere! Hvo lever længst? Den Dame der, den
Herre? Nei, sige Sligt, er endnu meget værre! Om -? Ja tilsidst
saa veed jeg selv det ei; Jeg er genert, saa let man En
kan krænke: Nu, jeg vil see da, hvad de troe og tænke Jeg
ved min hele Spaadoms Kraft skal skjænke. De troe? Nei,
hvad behager? Rundtomkring De troe, det ende vil med Ingenting,
De veed for vist de faae kun Klang og Kling. Saa tier jeg,
høistærede Forening, Jeg skylder Dem at have deres Mening!
|
| The actor had recited
the poem very well and there was enthusiastic applause. Among
the audience sat the young student, whom we know from the hospital.
He had completely forgotten his misadventure of the night before.
As no one had come to claim the galoshes and the weather had
not changed, the student was wearing them. |
Digtet blev ypperligt
fremsagt og Declamatoren gjorde stor Lykke. Mellem Tilskuerne
var Volonteuren fra Hospitalet, der syntes at have forglemt
sit Eventyr Natten forud, Kaloskerne havde han paa, thi de vare
ikke blevne afhentede, og da der var sølet paa Gaden, kunde
de jo gjøre ham god Tjeneste. |
| He liked the poem very
much, and he thought the idea interesting. |
Digtet syntes han godt
om. |
| He wouldn't mind having
such a pair of glasses; but he had no particular desire to see
the future through them. What would interest him was to be able
to see into other people's hearts. "The future you'll find out
about soon enough anyway," he thought. "But what goes on in
another man's soul, never. Now take the people who are sitting
in the first row; if one could climb into their hearts, as if
each one were a different store . . . oh, how my eyes would
go shopping! Inside that lady over there"--he bent forward and
glanced at a very well-dressed woman--"I'd find a fashion show.
. . . The woman next to her has an empty store, in need of being
cleaned. . . . Others would sell solider things, there'd be
more than one hardware store, I am sure." The student sighed.
"I know one little store I'd love to visit; but the owner of
that store has already hired a salesman and he's the only bad
thing in the whole store. Some owners will stand in their doorways,
and, bowing politely, invite one to step in. Oh, how I wish
I could!" |
Ideen beskjæftigede
ham meget, han gad nok have saadanne Briller, maaskee, naar
man rigtigt brugte dem, kunde man see Folk lige ind i Hjerterne,
det var egentligt interessantere, meente han, end at see, hvad
der skulde skee næste Aar, for det fik man nok at vide, men
derimod det andet aldrig. "Jeg kan tænke mig nu hele den Række
af Herrer og Damer der paa første Bænk, - kunde man see dem
lige ind i Brystet, ja, der maatte da være en Aabning, en Slags
Boutik; naa, hvor mine Øine skulde gaae i Boutikker! hos den
Dame der vilde jeg vist finde en stor Modehandel! hos hende
der er Boutikken tom, dog kan den trænge til at reengjøres;
men der vilde ogsaa være solide Boutikker! ak ja!" sukkede han,
"jeg veed een, i den er Alting solidt, men der er allerede en
Bodsvend, det er det eneste daarlige i hele Boutikken! Fra en
og anden vilde det raabe: "Vær saa god og træd indenfor!" Ja,
gid jeg kunde træde indenfor, som en net lille Tanke gaae gjennem.
Hjerterne!" |
| That was enough for
the galoshes. The student became at once invisible and was sent
on the most unusual journey that anyone has ever taken: a trip
through the hearts of all the people in the front row of a theater.
The first was the heart of a lady; and the student thought he
had entered an orthopedic institute, as the place where doctors
remove and straighten bones is called. He was in a room filled
with plaster casts of crooked backs, deformed limbs, misshapen
bodies. Here the lady preserved all the faults of her friends.
She had personally cast them and kept them as a museum, which
she visited every day. |
See, det var nok for
Kaloskerne, hele Volonteuren svandt sammen og en høist usædvanlig
Reise begyndte midt igjennem Hjerterne paa den forreste Række
Tilskuere. Det første Hjerte, han kom igjennem, var en Dames;
men øieblikkelig troede han at være paa det orthopædiske Institut,
som man kalder det Huus, hvor Doktoren tager Menneske-Knuder
bort og faaer Folk til at blive ranke, der var han i det Værelse,
hvor Gips-Afstøbningerne af de forvoxne Lemmer hænge paa Væggen;
dog her var Forskjellen denne, at ude paa Institutet tages de,
i det Patienten kommer ind, men her i Hjertet vare de tagne
og opbevarede, i det de gode Personer vare gaaet ud. Det var
Afstøbninger af Veninder, deres legemlige og aandelige Feil,
som her opbevaredes. |
| He got out as quickly
as he could and entered the next person. He seemed to be in
a great cathedral; innocent white doves flew above the altar.
He would have liked to stay and fall on his knees to worship
there, but he had to travel on. Yet even so short a visit had
done him good. He could still hear the tones from the organ;
he felt as if he were a better person, and not so undeserving
to enter the next temple. This was a garret where a poor, ill
mother lay in bed; but God's glorious sun shone in through the
windows, and beautiful roses grew in boxes on the roof. Two
bluebirds sang in childish joy, while the sick mother blessed
her daughter. |
Hurtigt var han i et
andet qvindeligt Hjerte, men dette syntes ham en stor hellig
Kirke. Uskyldighedens hvide Due flagrede over Høi-Altret; hvor
gjerne var han ikke sjunket paa Knæ, men fort maatte han ind
i det næste Hjerte, men endnu hørte han Orgeltonerne, og selv,
syntes han, at være blevet et nyt og bedre Menneske, følte sig
ikke uværdig til at betræde den næste Helligdom, der viste et
fattigt Tagkammer, med en syg Moder; men gjennem det aabne Vindue
straalede Guds varme Sol, deilige Roser nikkede fra den lille
Trækasse paa Taget, og to himmelblaa Fugle sang om barnlig Glæde,
medens den syge Moder nedbad Velsignelse over Datteren. |
| Now he was crawling
on his hands and knees through a butcher shop. Everywhere there
was meat and more meat. He was in the heart of a very rich and
highly respected man whose name was well known to all. Then
he climbed into the heart of this prominent man's wife. |
Nu krøb han paa Hænder
og Fødder gjennem en overfyldt Slagterbod, det var Kjød og kun
Kjød han stødte paa, det var Hjertet i en riig, respectabel
Mand, hvis Navn vist maa findes i Veiviseren. |
| It was an old pigeon
coop that was about to fall apart. Her husband's portrait was
a weather vane, which was connected to the doors of the coop
in such a way that, when he turned, the doors opened or closed. |
Nu var han i hans Gemalindes
Hjerte, det var et gammelt forfaldet Dueslag; Mandens Portrait
blev brugt som Veirhane, denne stod i Forbindelse med Dørene,
og saaledes gik disse op og i, saasnart som Manden dreiede sig. |
| Now he was in a cabinet
of mirrors like the one in Rosenborg Castle. But here the mirrors
all greatly enlarged the objects they reflected. On the floor,
sitting as still as the Dalai Lama, was this person's tiny personality
marveling at its own greatness. |
Derpaa kom han i et
Speilkabinet, som det vi have paa Slottet Rosenborg, men Speilene
forstørrede i en utrolig Grad. Midt paa Gulvet sad, som en Dalai-Lama,
Personens ubetydelige Jeg, forbauset ved at see sin egen Storhed. |
| He had entered a sewing
box. The place was filled with sharp needles. "I'll bet that
this is the heart of an old maid I have gotten into," he thought.
But he was wrong. It was the heart of a young officer who had
already been decorated several times. He was called a man of
esprit! |
Herefter troede han
sig i et snevert Naalehuus, fuldt af spidse Naale, det er bestemt
"Hjertet af en gammel ugift Jomfru!" maatte han tænke, men det
var ikke Tilfældet, det var en ganske ung Militair med flere
Ordener, just, som man sagde, en Mand med Aand og Hjerte. |
| Very confused, the student
tumbled out of the hearts that he had wished to visit. He could
not collect his thoughts, and decided that his too lively imagination
was playing tricks on him. |
Ganske fortumlet kom
den syndige Volonteur ud af det sidste Hjerte i Rækken, han
formaaede ikke at ordne sine Tanker, men meente, at det var
hans alt for stærke Phantasie, der var løbet af med ham. |
| "Oh, my God," he sighed.
"I think I must have a disposition for madness. Isn't it hot
in here? I feel so flushed!" Then he recalled all that had happened
to him the night before, how his head had been caught between
the iron bars of the fence. "That's where it happened," he muttered.
"You have to catch things like that at the outset. What I need
is a Russian steam bath. I wish I were lying on the highest
shelf in the hot room, right now." |
"Herre Gud," sukkede
han, "jeg har bestemt Ansats til at blive gal! her er ogsaa
utilgiveligt hedt herinde! Blodet stiger mig til Hovedet!" og
nu erindrede han sig den store Begivenhed Aftenen forud, hvorledes
hans Hoved havde siddet fast mellem Jernstængerne ved Hospitalet.
"Der har jeg bestemt faaet det!" meente han. "Jeg maae tage
den Ting itide. Et russisk Bad kunde være godt. Gid jeg allerede
laae paa den øverste Hylde!" |
| There he was on the
top shelf of the steam bath with all his clothes on, including
the galoshes. Drops of water dripped from the ceiling down on
his face. |
Og saa laae han paa
den øverste Hylde i Dampbadet, men han laae med alle Klæderne,
med Støvler og Kalosker paa; de hede Vanddraaber fra Loftet
dryppede ham i Ansigtet. |
| "Ow!" he shouted, and
jumped down from the shelf and ran to the showers. An attendant
screamed: what was a fully dressed man doing in a steam bath? |
"Hu!" skreeg han og
foer ned for at faae et Styrtebad. Den opvartende Karl gav ogsaa
et høit Skrig ved at see det paaklædte Menneske derinde. |
| The student was quick-witted
enough to whisper, "It's a bet." But the first thing he did,
when he got back home and into his own room, was to plaster
a Spanish fly on his back, in the hope that it would draw out
the madness. |
Volonteuren havde imidlertid
saamegen Fatning, at han hvidskede til ham: "Det er et Væddemaal!"
men det første han gjorde, da han kom paa sit eget Værelse,
var at faae et stort spansk Flueplaster i Nakken og et ned af
Ryggen, for at Galskaben kunde trække ud. |
| The next morning he
had a bloody back; and that was all he had got out of wearing
the magic galoshes. |
Næste Morgen havde han
da en blodig Ryg, det var det han vandt ved Lykkens Kalosker. |
| PART FIVE: THE COPYIST'S
METAMORPHOSIS |
V. Copistens Forvandling. |
| The night watchman--have
you forgotten him?--well, he had not forgotten the galoshes
that he had found in the street. He went back to the hospital
for them; and when neither the lieutenant nor anyone else in
the neighborhood would claim them, he took them to the police
station. |
Vægteren, som vi vistnok
ikke have glemt, huskede imidlertid paa Kaloskerne, som han
havde fundet og bragt med ud paa Hospitalet; han afhentede dem,
men da hverken Lieutenanten eller nogen anden i Gaden vilde
kjendes ved dem, bleve de afleverede paa Politikammeret. |
| "Why, they look just
like mine," said one of the copyists who worked there. He put
the galoshes down next to his own. "Not even a shoemaker could
tell them apart." |
"Det seer ud, som det
var mine egne Kalosker!" sagde en af de Herrer Copister, idet
han betragtede Hittegodset og stillede dem om ved Siden af sine.
"Der maa mere, end et Skomagerøie, til at skille dem fra hverandre!" |
| "Excuse me . . ." A
policeman had entered; he had some papers that he wanted the
copyist to make duplicates of. |
"Herr Copist!" sagde
en Betjent, som traadte ind med nogle Papirer. |
| The two men talked for
a while. When the policeman left and the copyist looked down
once more at the two pairs of galoshes he didn't know which
were his. Was it the pair on the right or the one on the left?
"It must be the ones that are wet," he thought. But that was
wrong, for the wet pair were the magic galoshes. But why shouldn't
someone who works for the police be allowed to make a mistake?
The scrivener put them on and stuck the papers he had just been
given in his pocket. He had decided to do the rest of his work
at home, It was Sunday morning, and when he stepped outside
the weather was so lovely that he changed his mind and set out
for Frederiksberg. |
Copisten vendte sig
om, talte med Manden, men da det var forbi og han saae paa Kaloskerne,
var han i stor Vilderede med, om det var dem til Venstre, eller
dem til Høire, som tilhørte ham. "Det maa være dem, som ere
vaade!" tænkte han; men det var just feil tænkt, thi det var
Lykkens, men hvorfor skulde ikke ogsaa Politiet kunne feile!
han tog dem paa, fik nogle Papirer i Lommen, andre under Armen,
hjemme, skulde de gjennemlæses og afskrives; men nu var det
just Søndagformiddag og Veiret godt, en Tour til Frederiksberg,
tænkte han, kunde jeg have godt af! og saa gik han derud. |
| A walk would do him
good. No one was More conscientious or hardworking than he was,
and he deserved a little outing: didn't he spend almost all
his time behind a desk? As he walked along, he thought of nothing
at all; and therefore the galoshes had no opportunity to show
their magic power. |
Ingen kunde være et
mere stille og flittigt Menneske, end denne unge Mand, vi unde
ham ret denne lille Spadseretour, den vilde vistnok være saare
velgjørende for ham oven paa den megen Sidden; i Begyndelsen
gik han kun, uden at tænke paa nogen Ting, derfor havde Kaloskerne
ikke Leilighed til at vise deres Tryllekraft. |
| In a park, along a shaded
path, he met a friend, a young poet, who told him that on the
following day he was going abroad. |
I Alleen mødte han en
Bekjendt, en ung Digter, der fortalte ham, at han Dagen efter
vilde begynde sin Sommerreise. |
| "So you're off again,"
remarked the copyist. "You poets are so happy and free. You
can fly wherever you want to; the rest of us have a chain around
our ankles." |
"Naa, skal De nu afsted
igjen!" sagde Copisten. "De er da ogsaa et lykkeligt, frit Menneske.
De kan flyve hvorhen De vil, vi Andre har en Lænke om Benet!" |
| "True," the poet replied.
"But the other end of that chain is fastened to a breadbox.
You don't have to worry about tomorrow; and when you grow old
you'll have a pension." |
"Men den sidder fast
til Brødtræet!" svarede Digteren. "De behøver ikke at sørge
for den Dag i Morgen, og bliver De gammel, saa faaer De Pension!" |
| "But you lead a better
life," said the copyist. "Both of us use the pen, but I only
copy unimportant trivialities, while you write poetry and are
complimented by the whole world. That must be a pleasure." |
"De har det dog bedst!"
sagde Copisten, "at sidde og digte, det er jo en Fornøielse!
hele Verden siger Dem Behageligheder, og saa er De Deres egen
Herre! jo, De skulde prøve, at sidde i Retten med de trivielle
Sager!" |
| The poet shook his head
and so did the copyist. They parted, each with his own opinion
intact. |
Digteren rystede med
Hovedet, Copisten rystede ogsaa med Hovedet, hver beholdt sin
Mening og saa skiltes de ad. |
| "Poets are a queer lot,"
thought the scrivener. "I wouldn't mind being one. I am sure
I shouldn't write such whining verse as most of them do. This
is a day for a poet. The spring air is clear; the clouds look
newly washed; and there is the smell of greenness everywhere.
I haven't felt like this for many years." |
"Det er et eget Folkefærd,
de Poeter!" sagde Copisten, "jeg gad nok prøve paa at gaae ind
i saadan en Natur, selv blive en Poet, jeg er vis paa, at jeg
ikke skulde skrive saadanne Klynkevers, som de andre! -- Det
er ret en Foraarsdag for en Digter! Luften er saa usædvanlig
klar, Skyerne saa smukke, og der er en Duft ved det Grønne!
ja, i mange Aar har jeg ikke følt det, som i dette Øieblik." |
| He had become a poet
already. It wasn't very noticeable; but the idea that poets
are different from other human beings is very foolish. There
are many people who are more poetic and more sensitive than
some of our best poets. What makes the poet unique is that he
has a spiritual memory. He can retain his thoughts and his feelings
until he has clarified them in words; and this other people
cannot do. This was the gift that had now been given to the
copyist. But change needs a period of transition, and this was
what the copyist had just gone through. |
Vi mærke allerede,
at han er blevet Digter; iøinefaldende var det vel ikke, thi
det er en taabelig Forestilling, at tænke sig en Digter anderledes
end andre Mennesker, der kan mellem disse være langt mere poetiske
Naturer, end mangen stor erkjendt Digter er det; Forskjellen
bliver kun, at Digteren har en bedre aandelig Hukommelse, han
kan holde paa Ideen og Følelsen til den klart og tydeligt er
gaaet over i Ordet, det kunne de Andre ikke. Men at gaae over
fra en hverdags Natur til en begavet er altid en Overgang, og
den havde Copisten nu gjort. |
| "How lovely the air
smells," mumbled the poet. "It reminds me of the smell of violets
in my Aunt Lone's apartment. . . . Strange, I haven't thought
of her for years. She was a very kind old maid who lived behind
the Stock Exchange. No matter how cold the winter was, she always
had something--a flower or a branch that was in bloom or just
about to sprout--standing in a vase. In midwinter, I have seen
violets in her home. I remember how I used to put a copper coin
on her stove; and then when it was hot, take if off and put
it up against the window where it would melt a hole in the ice
on the frozen glass pane. Through that peephole I saw the world
in a strange perspective! Down by the canals stood the icebound
ships, deserted except for the screeching crows. When the first
breeze of spring began to blow, everything changed. The port
was filled with activity. People bustled about, and then they
would sing and shout, 'Hurrah!' as the ice was sawn into pieces
and the ships were made ready for their journeys to foreign
lands. And I have sat behind a desk in the police station making
out other peoples passports, but never my own. That is my fate."
He sighed deeply and stood still. "I have never felt like this
before. It must be the spring air. I am uneasy and happy at
the same time." From his pocket he took out a sheaf of papers.
"These dry pages will give me something else to think about,"
he said and held them up, so that he could read. MOTHER SIGBRITH,
a tragedy in five acts. That was what was written on
the first sheet and it was in his own handwriting. "What's this
all about? How can I have written a tragedy?" He started to
leaf through the pages. THE INTRIGUES ON THE RAMPARTS OF THE
CITY, a comedy. "Where did these plays come from? Somebody
must have stuck them in my pocket," he reasoned. "Why, there's
a letter, too." It was a note from the director of a theater.
His plays had been rejected and not very politely. "Oh . . .
Hum . . ." grumbled the copyist, who was now a playwright, and
sat down on a bench. His imagination was so alive; and he felt
so tenderly toward the world. Without thinking, he bent down
and picked a flower. It was only a little daisy that had been
growing in the grass, yet it was able to explain to him, in
one minute, what it would have taken a botanist long hours to
tell. The little flower related the myth of its birth, told
of the power of the sun: how it forced its petals to unfurl
and give off their lovely scent. This made the poet think of
how our lives, too, were a struggle and that it was this that
aroused so many of the feelings we have. Sunlight and air, the
flower explained, were her suitors, but Sunlight was her favorite;
and she obeyed it and always held her head up toward it. When
it disappeared and night came, she closed her petals and slept
in the air's embrace. "The Sunlight makes me beautiful," said
the daisy. "But it is the air that gives you breath, so you
can live," whispered the poet. |
"Den deilige Duft!"
sagde han, "hvor minder den mig ikke om Violerne hos Tante Lone!
Ja, det var da jeg var en lille Dreng! Herre Gud, det har jeg
i mange Tider ikke tænkt paa! den gode gamle Pige! hun boede
der omme bag Børsen. Altid havde hun en Qvist eller et Par grønne
Skud i Vand, Vinteren maatte være saa stræng den vilde. Violerne
duftede, mens jeg lagde de opvarmede Kobberskillinger paa den
frosne Rude og gjorde Kighuller. Det var et artigt Perspectiv.
Udenfor i Canalen laae Skibene indefrosne, forladte af hele
Mandskabet, en skrigende Krage var da hele Besætningen; men
naar saa Foraaret luftede, saa blev der travlt; under Sang og
Hurraraab saugede man Isen itu, Skibene bleve tjærede og taklede,
saa foer de til fremmede Lande; jeg er blevet her, og maa altid
blive, altid sidde paa Politikammeret og see de Andre tage Pas
til at reise udenlands, det er min Lod! 0, ja!" sukkede han
dybt, men standsede i det samme pludselig. "Herre Gud, hvad
gaaer der dog af mig! saadan har jeg aldrig før tænkt eller
følt! Det maa være Foraarsluften! det er baade ængsteligt og
behageligt!" Han greb i Lommen til sine Papirer. "Disse give
mig andet at tænke paa!" sagde han og lod Øinene glide hen over
det første Blad. "Fru Sigbrith, original Tragedie i fem Acter,"
læste han, "hvad er det! og det er jo min egen Haand. Har jeg
skrevet den Tragedie? Intriguen paa Volden eller store Bededag,
Vaudeville. - Men hvor har jeg faaet den? Man maa have puttet
mig det i Lommen, her er et Brev?" ja, det var fra Theater-Directionen,
Stykkerne vare forkastede og Brevet selv var slet ikke høfligt
stilet. "Hm! hm!" sagde Copisten, og satte sig ned paa en Bænk;
hans Tanke var saa levende, hans Hjerte saa blødt; uvilkaarligt
greb han en af de nærmeste Blomster, det var en simpel lille
Gaaseurt; hvad Botanikeren først gjennem mange Forelæsninger
siger os, forkyndte den i eet Minut; den fortalte Mythen om
sin Fødsel, den fortalte om Sollysets Magt, der udspændte de
fine Blade og tvang dem til at dufte, da tænkte han paa Livets
Kampe, der ligedan vække Følelserne i vort Bryst. Luft og Lys
var Blomstens Beilere, men Lyset var den begunstigede, efter
Lyset bøiede den sig, forsvandt dette, da rullede den sine Blade
sammen og sov ind under Luftens Omarmelse. "Det er Lyset, der
smykker mig!" sagde Blomsten; "men Luften lader dig aande!"
hviskede Digterstemmen. |
| Nearby a boy was splashing
the water in a ditch with a big stick; and green branches were
being sprayed with muddy water. The copyist began to think of
how each drop of water contained millions of tiny, invisible
animals, which were so small, in comparison to himself, that
their journey into the air, from the ditch to the bush, must
have felt , to them as he would feel if he were cast high above
the clouds. The copyist smiled at his own thoughts, and how
he seemed to have changed. "I must be asleep and dreaming. How
curious it is that I can be in a dream and yet feel so natural.
I hope I shall be able to remember all that's happened when
I wake up. Now I feel so alive and see everything so clearly....
Tomorrow it will all seem like nonsense, I know. All the clever
and beautiful things we dream about are like subterranean gold;
when brought out into the light of day, they are merely stones.
. . . Alas!" Sadly, the copyist was looking at a little bird
that sang as it jumped from branch to branch. "That bird is
better off than I am. It is happier. To fly! That is the greatest
art. Lucky is he who was born with wings. I wish I were a little
lark." |
Tæt ved stod en Dreng
og slog med sin Stok i en muddret Grøft, Vanddraaberne stænkede
op imellem de grønne Grene, og Copisten tænkte paa de Millioner
usynlige Dyr, der i Draaberne bleve kastede i en Høide, der
efter deres Størrelse var for dem, som det vilde være for os
at hvirvles høit over Skyerne. Idet Copisten tænkte herpaa og
paa hele den Forandring, der var foregaaet med ham, smilte han:
"jeg sover og drømmer! mærkværdigt er det alligevel, hvor man
dog kan drømme naturligt og selv vide, at det kun er en Drøm.
Gid jeg imorgen kunde huske det, naar jeg vaagner; nu synes
jeg at være ganske usædvanlig oplagt! jeg har et klart Blik
over Alting, føler mig saa opvakt, men jeg er vis paa, at naar
jeg imorgen husker noget af det, saa er det Vrøvl, det har jeg
prøvet før! Det gaaer med alt det Kloge og Prægtige, man hører
og siger i Drømme, som med de Underjordiskes Guld: idet man
faaer det, er det rigt og herligt, men seet ved Dagen, kun Stene
og visne Blade: Ak," sukkede han ganske veemodig og saae paa
de syngende Fugle, der nok saa fornøiede hoppede fra Green til
Green. "De har det meget bedre end jeg! flyve, det er en deilig
Kunst, lykkelig den, som er født med den! ja skulde jeg gaae
over i noget, saa skulde det være saadan en lille Lærke!" |
| No sooner had he uttered
the wish than the sleeves of his jacket became wings; his clothes,
feathers; and the magic galoshes, claws. The copyist, feeling
the transformation, laughed. "I have never had a dream as foolish
as this before." He flew up into a tree and started to sing.
But there was no poetry in his song. The magic galoshes were
thorough; and like everyone else who does things thoroughly,
the galoshes could only do one thing at a time. When the copyist
wanted to be a poet, he became one; but when he decided that
he would rather be a small bird, then he lost his poetic nature. |
I det samme slog Kjoleskjøder
og Ærmer sammen i Vinger, Klæderne bleve Fjer og Kaloskerne
Kløer; han mærkede det meget godt og loe indvortes: "saa, nu
kan jeg da see, jeg drømmer! men saa naragtigt har jeg aldrig
gjort det før;" og han fløi op i de grønne Grene og sang, men
der var ikke Poesie i Sangen, thi Digternaturen var borte; Kaloskerne
kunde, som enhver der gjør noget til Gavns, kun gjøre een Ting
af Gangen, han vilde være Digter, det blev han, nu vilde han
være en lille Fugl, men ved at blive denne, ophørte den forrige
Eiendommelighed. |
| "This is a fine state
of affairs," he peeped. "In the daytime I work in the police
station, copying the most unimaginative reports; and at night
I fly as a lark, out here in the Frederiksberg Gardens. One
could write a comedy about that." |
"Det er artigt nok,"
sagde han, "om Dagen sidder jeg paa Politikammeret mellem de
solideste Afhandlinger, om Natten kan jeg drømme at flyve som
Lærke i Frederiksberghave, der kunde s'gu' skrives en heel Folkecomedie
derom!" |
| He flew down on the
grass and turned his head in all directions before picking up
a piece of straw that, considering his size, appeared as large
as a North African palm tree. |
Nu fløi han ned i Græsset,
dreiede Hovedet om til alle Sider og slog med Næbet paa de smidige
Græsstraae, der i Forhold til hans nærværende Størrelse syntes
store, som Nord-Afrikas Palmegrene. |
| Suddenly everything
was black as night around him. Some huge thing had enveloped
him. It was a boy's cap, which an urchin had thrown over him.
A hand creeped in under the hat and grabbed the bird around
the back, pressing the wings tightly to its little body. The
lark peeped loudly, "You horrible, naughty little boy. I am
a copyist in the Central Police Station!" To the child, it only
sounded like the ordinary peeping of a bird. He hit its bill
and walked off with it. |
Det var kun et Øieblik
og det blev kulsort Nat omkring ham; en, som han syntes, uhyre
Gjenstand, blev kastet hen over ham, det var en stor Kasket,
som en Dreng fra Nyboder kastede over Fuglen, en Haand kom ind
og greb Copisten om Ryg og Vinger, saa han peeb; i første Forskrækkelse
raabte han høit: "Din uforskammede Hvalp! Jeg er Copist i Politikamret!"
men det lød for Drengen som et pipipi! han slog Fuglen paa Næbet
og vandrede afsted. |
| Along one of the shady
paths he met two upper-class boys coming from school. That is,
they were upper class by birth; but as far as their character
and intelligence were concerned they belonged to the lowest
class. For eight pennies they bought the lark from the poor
boy; and that's how the copyist was brought back into the city,
to stay in an apartment on the Street of the Goths. |
I Alleen mødte han to
Skoledrenge af den dannede Classe, det vil sige, som Mennesker
betragtet, som Aander vare de i Skolens nederste; de kjøbte
Fuglen for otte Skilling, og saaledes kom Copisten til Kjøbenhavn,
hjem til en Familie i Gothers gaden. |
| "It's a good thing I'm
dreaming, or else I'd be very angry," twittered the copyist.
"First I was a poet and now I am a lark. It must have been my
poetic nature that transformed me into a bird. It's not so much
fun to be a bird, especially when you fall into the hands of
boys. I wonder how this will end." |
"Det er godt, jeg drømmer!"
sagde Copisten, "ellers blev jeg s'gu' vred! først var jeg Poet,
nu en Lærke! ja det var da Poet-Naturen, der fik mig over i
det lille Dyr! Det er dog en ynkelig Ting, især naar man falder
i Hænderne paa nogle Drenge. Jeg gad nok vide, hvorledes dette
løber af!" |
| The living room was
very expensively furnished. The boys were greeted by a fat woman,
who was laughing. But she was not amused by the sight of the
lark. "A common little bird," she said. But she would let the
boys keep it for today, and pointed to an empty cage that stood
near the window. "It's Polly's birthday," she said in a false,
mockingly childish voice, "and the little bird of the field
has come to pay its respects." |
Drengene førte ham ind
i en meget elegant Stue; en tyk leende Frue tog imod dem, men
hun var slet ikke fornøiet med, at den simple Markfugl, som
hun kaldte Lærken, kom med ind, dog for i Dag vilde hun lade
det gaae, og de maatte sætte den i det tomme Buur, som stod
ved Vinduet! "det kan maaskee fornøie Poppedreng!" tilføiede
hun og loe hen til en stor grøn Papegøie, der gyngede fornemt
i sin Ring i det prægtige Messingbuur. "Det er Poppedrengs Geburtsdag!"
sagde hun dum naiv, "derfor vil den lille Markfugl gratulere!"
|
| The parrot didn't say
a single word; it swung back and forth very gracefully. But
a pretty little canary, who only last summer had been brought
from its warm, fragrant native country to cold Denmark, began
to sing. |
Poppedreng svarede ikke
et eneste Ord, men gyngede fornemt frem og tilbage, derimod
begyndte en smuk Canarifugl, der sidste Sommer var bragt hertil
fra sit varme, duftende Fædreland, høit at synge. |
| "Crybaby!" said the
lady, and threw a white cloth over its cage. |
"Skraalhans!" sagde
Fruen og kastede et hvidt Lommetørklæde over Buret. |
| "Peep," cried the canary.
"What a terrible snowstorm." It sighed and then was silent. |
"Pipi!" sukkede den,
"det var et skrækkeligt Sneeveir!" og med dette Suk taug den. |
| The cage of the lark--or,
as the lady called him, the little common bird--had been put
between the canary's and the parrot's. The only words of human
speech that Polly had mastered were: "Let us be human!" This
often sounded very comical; but everything else it said was
as impossible for human beings to understand as the canary's
song. The copyist, however, was now a lark and understood his
companions perfectly. |
Copisten, eller, som
Fruen sagde, Markfuglen, kom i et lille Buur tæt op til Canarifuglen,
ikke langt fra Papegøien. Den eneste menneskelige Tirade, Poppedreng
kunde frempluddre, og som tidt faldt ret komik, var den: "nei,
lad os nu være Mennesker!" Alt det øvrige den skreg,
var ligesaa uforstaaeligt, som Kanarifuglens Qviddren, kun ikke
for Copisten, der nu selv var en Fugl; han forstod inderligt
godt Kammeraterne. |
| "I flew beneath the
palms and flowering almond trees," sang the canary. "I flew
with my brothers and sisters above beautiful flowers, and across
a sea that was clear as glass; and the seaweed waved to us.
I have seen many parrots, too; and they told us many very long
and amusing stories." |
"Jeg fløi under den
grønne Palme og det blomstrende Mandeltræ!" sang Canarifuglen,
"jeg fløi med mine Brødre og Søstre henover de prægtige Blomster
og over den glasklare Sø, hvor Planterne nikkede paa Bunden.
Jeg saae ogsaa mange deilige Papegøier, der fortalte de morsomste
Historier, saa lange og saa mange!" |
| "They were wild birds,"
commented the parrot. "They didn't have any education or culture.
Let us be human!" it screeched. "Why don't you laugh when I
say that? The lady and her guests always laugh, why shouldn't
you? It's a great fault to lack a sense of humor. Let us be
human!" |
"Det var vilde Fugle;"
svarede Papegøien, "de havde ingen Dannelse. Nei, lad os nu
være Mennesker! - Hvorfor leer Du ikke? Naar Fruen og alle de
Fremmede kan lee deraf, saa kan Du ogsaa. Det er en stor Mangel,
ikke at kunne goutere det Moersomme. Nei, lad os nu være Mennesker!" |
| "Don't you remember
the lovely girls who danced in the tent that was pitched beneath
the flowering trees? Don't you remember the sweet fruits with
their succulent juice, and the herbs that grow all over the
hillside?" |
"0 husker Du de smukke
Piger, som dandsede under det udspændte Telt ved de blomstrende
Træer? Husker Du de søde Frugter og den kjølende Saft i de vildt
voxende Urter?" |
| "Oh yes," yawned the
parrot. "But I like it much better here. I get good food and
am properly taken care of. I am clever, what more need I ask
for? Let us be human! . . . You have a poetic soul, as it is
called; but I am educated and witty. You may be a genius, but
you are too high-strung. You are always trying to reach higher
notes, that is why you are covered up. No one would dare to
do that to me. I was so expensive, and I am witty, witty, witty.
Let us be human!" |
"0 ja!" sagde Papegøien,
"men her har jeg det langt bedre! jeg har god Mad og en intim
Behandling; jeg veed, jeg er et godt Hoved, og mere forlanger
jeg ikke. Lad os nu være Mennesker! Du er en Digtersjæl, som
de kalde det, jeg har grundige Kundskaber og Vittighed, Du har
dette Genie, men ingen Besindighed, gaaer op i disse høie Naturtoner,
og derfor dække de Dig til. Det byde de ikke mig, nei, for jeg
har kostet dem noget mere! jeg imponerer med Næbet og kan slaae
en 'Witz! Witz! Witz!' nei lad os nu være Mennesker!" |
| |
"0 mit varme, blomstrende
Fædreneland!" sang Canarifuglen, "jeg vil synge om dine
mørkegrønne Træer, om dine stille Havbugter, hvor Grenene kysse
den klare Vandflade, synge om alle mine glimrende Brødres og
Søstres Jubel, hvor 'Ørkenens Plantekilder' groe!" |
| |
"Lad dog bare være med
de Klynke-Toner," sagde Papegøien. "Siig noget, man kan lee
af! Latter er Tegn paa det høieste aandelige Standpunkt. See
om en Hund eller Hest kan lee! nei, græde kan den, men lee,
det er alene givet Menneskene. Ho, ho, ho!" loe Poppedreng og
tilføiede sin Witz: "Lad os nu være Mennesker." |
| "You--little, gray,
Danish bird," began the canary. "You are a prisoner too. I think
it is cold now, out in your forest; but, at least, there you
are free. They have forgotten to close the door to your cage;
and one of the top windows over there is open; fly, little bird,
fly!" |
"Du lille graa danske
Fugl," sagde Canarifuglen, "Du er ogsaa blevet Fange! der er
vist koldt i dine Skove, men der er dog Frihed, flyv ud! De
har glemt at lukke for dig; det øverste Vindue staaer aabent.
Flyv, flyv!" |
| In a second the copyist
was out of his cage. Just then the cat, with its green, shining
eyes, came sneaking into the room through the halfopen door
and tried to catch the lark. The canary flew around in its cage.
Polly flapped her wings and screeched, "Let us be human!" In
mortal fear, the copyist flew toward the open window and escaped.
He flew above the roofs of the houses and the streets until
he was tired and needed to rest. |
Og det gjorde Copisten,
vips var han ude af Buret; i det samme knagede den halvaabne
Dør ind til det næste Værelse, og smidig, med grønne, skinnende
Øine, sneg Huuskatten sig ind og gjorde Jagt paa ham. Canarifuglen
flagrede i Buret, Papegøien slog med Vingerne og raabte: "Lad
os nu være Mennesker!" Copisten følte den dødeligste Skræk og
fløi afsted igjennem Vinduet, over Huse og Gader; tilsidst maatte
han hvile sig lidt. |
| One of the houses seemed
more snug, more cozy, somehow friendlier than the others. A
window was open and he flew into his own room, where he perched
on the table. |
Gjenboens Huus havde
noget hjemligt; et Vindue stod aabent, han fløi derind, det
var hans eget Værelse; han satte sig paa Bordet. |
| "Let us be human," he
said. He hadn't meant anything by it, he was only repeating
what Polly had said; but he was immediately transformed into
his old shape again. |
"Lad os nu være Mennesker!"
sagde han uden selv at tænke paa hvad han sagde, det var efter
Papegøien, og i samme Øieblik var han Copisten, men han sad
paa Bordet. |
| "God preserve me!" he
muttered, climbing down from the table. "How did I ever get
up here? I must have walked in my sleep. What a strange dream
I had; it was all a lot of nonsense!" |
"Gud bevar'os!" sagde
han, "hvor er jeg kommet her op og saaledes faldet i Søvn! det
var ogsaa en urolig Drøm jeg havde. Noget dumt Tøi var den hele
Historie!" |
| PART SIX: HOW THE GALOSHES
BROUGHT LUCK |
VI. Det Bedste Kaloskerne
bragte. |
| The next morning a young
theological student who had rooms on the same floor knocked
on the copyist's door. |
Dagen efter, i den tidlige
Morgenstund, da Copisten endnu laae i Sengen, bankede det paa
hans Dør, det var Naboen i samme Etage, en Student, der læste
til at blive Præst; han traadte ind. |
| "May I borrow your galoshes?"
he asked. "I should like to smoke my pipe down in the garden,
but the grass is still wet from dew." |
"Laan mig dine Kalosker,"
sagde han, "der er saa vaadt i Haven, men Solen skinner deiligt,
jeg vilde nok ryge en Pibe dernede." |
| The copyist, who was
still in bed, told the young man to take his galoshes, which
he did. After he had put them on he went down into the garden.
It was very small and had only a plum and a pear tree; but tiny
as it was, it was a marvel, here in the middle of the city. |
Kaloskerne fik han paa
og var snart nede i Haven, der eiede et Blomme- og et Pæretree.
Selv en saa lille Have, som denne var, gjelder inde i Kjøbenhavn
for en stor Herlighed. |
| The student walked back
and forth on the little path. It was only six o'clock in the
morning. From far away he could hear the sound of the horn that
is blown as the stagecoach departs. |
Studenten gik op og
ned i Gangen; Klokken var kun sex; ude fra Gaden klang et Posthorn. |
| "Oh, to travel!" he
exclaimed. "Nothing in the world would be so wonderful as to
be able to travel. It is my greatest wish! The only cure for
my restless wanderlust. But I would like to travel far away:
to Switzerland or Italy or--?" |
"0, reise! reise!" udbrød
han, "det er dog det lykkeligste i Verden! det er mine Ønskers
høieste Maal! da vilde denne Uro, jeg føler, stilles. Men langt
bort skulde det være! jeg vilde see det herlige Schweitz, reise
i Italien og -" |
| The galoshes were very
prompt in granting wishes, which was fortunate for both him
and us, for he might have ended up too far away. As it was,
he was journeying through Switzerland. Hp was in a stagecoach
with eight other passengers. He sat squeezed in the middle.
He had a headache and a kink in his neck. All his blood seemed
to have gone to his legs; in any case, his feet were swollen
and his boots pinched. He slipped back and forth between the
waking and the dozing state. In his right-hand pocket he had
some letters of credit; in his left, a passport; and on a string
around his neck hung a leather purse which contained a few louis
d'or. Every time he fell asleep, he dreamed that one of his
valuables had been lost; then he would wake with a start and
move his hand in a triangle: from left to right and to center,
to make sure that everything was there. The umbrellas, canes,
and hats hanging from the net above his head made it difficult
for him to see out of the window. And when he finally did get
a view of the magnificent Swiss mountains, which are so tremendously
impressive, he thought exactly what an acquaintance of ours
did, who was a poet and wrote his thoughts down in verse, though
he hasn't allowed it to be published yet: |
Ja, godt var det at
Kaloskerne virkede lige strax, ellers var han kommet omkring
alt for meget baade for sig selv og os Andre. Han reiste. Han
var midt inde i Schweitz, men med otte Andre pakket ind i det
Inderste af en Diligence; ondt i Hovedet havde han, træt i Nakken
følte han sig, og Blodet var sjunket ham ned i Benene, der ophovnede
og klemtes af Støvlerne. Han svævede mellem en blundende og
en vaagen Tilstand. I sin Lomme til Høire havde han Creditivet,
i sin Lomme til Venstre Passet og i en lille Skindpung paa Brystet
nogle fastsyede Louisd'orer; hver Drøm forkyndte, at en eller
anden af disse Kostbarheder var tabt, og derfor foer han feberagtig
op, og den første Bevægelse, Haanden gjorde, var en Trekant
fra Høire til Venstre og op mod Brystet, for at føle, om han
havde dem eller ei. Parapluier, Stokke og Hatte gyngede i Nættet
oven over, og forhindrede saa temmeligt Udsigten, der var høist
imponerende, han skottede til den, medens Hjertet sang, hvad
i det mindste een Digter, vi kjende, har sjunget i Schweitz,
men ikke til Dato ladet trykke: |
It is so very lovely here. I can see Mount Blanc, my dear.
Oh, this is the land of milk and honey, If only I had some
more money.
|
Ja, her er saa smukt, som Hjertet vil, Jeg øiner Montblanc,
min Kjære. Gid bare Pengene vil slaae til, Ak, saa var her
godt at være!
|
| Grand, somber, and dark
was the landscape now. The peaks of the mountains were hidden
by clouds; and the pine forests looked as scraggy as heather.
Now it was beginning to snow and the wind blew; it was very
cold. |
Stor, alvorlig og mørk
var den hele Natur rundt om. Granskovene syntes Lyngtoppe paa
de høie Klipper, hvis Top skjultes i Skytaagen; nu begyndte
det at snee; den kolde Vind blæste. |
| "Oh!" shivered the student.
"I wish I were on the other side of the Alps. There it is already
summer; and I would have cashed my letters of credit. The fear
that they might not be honored quite spoils my journey. I can't
enjoy Switzerland, I wish I were in Italy!" |
"Uh!" sukkede han, "gid
vi vare paa den anden Side af Alperne, saa var det Sommer og
saa havde jeg hævet Penge paa mit Creditiv; den Angst, jeg er
i for disse, gjør at jeg ikke nyder Schweitz, o, gid jeg var
paa den anden Side!" |
| Instantly, he was there,
traveling between Florence and Rome. Trasimeno Lake, reflecting
the rays of the setting sun, shone like gold. The mountains
surrounding it were dark blue. Here where Hannibal defeated
Flaminius grapevines peacefully intertwined their slender fingers.
Underneath a laurel tree was a group of beautiful, halfnaked
children, who were herding black swine. If this scene had been
painted on a canvas, everyone would have shouted: "Oh, beautiful
Italy!" |
Og saa var han paa den
anden Side; dybt inde i Italien var han, mellem Florents og
Rom. Søen Tracymenes laae i Aftenbelysning, som et flammende
Guld, mellem de mørkeblaa Bjerge; her, hvor Hannibal slog Flaminius,
holdt nu Viinrankerne hinanden fredeligt i de grønne Fingre;
yndige halvnøgne Børn vogtede en Flok kulsorte Sviin under en
Gruppe duftende Laurbærtræer ved Veien. Kunde vi ret give dette
Malerie, Alle vilde juble: "Deilige Italien!" men det sagde
slet ikke Theologen eller een eneste af hans Reisefæller inde
i Veturinens Vogn. |
| Inside the stagecoach,
however, neither the student of theology nor any of his companions
felt such enthusiasm. The vehicle was filled with mosquitoes
and stinging flies. The sprays of myrtle which the passengers
waved back and forth to protect themselves were of no avail;
the flies stung anyway. No one escaped; every face was swollen
and bloody from insect bites. The poor horses looked like carrion
flesh. The flies sat on them in mounds, and it helped little
that the driver stopped often to scrape them off. The sun finally
set, and the evening air was icy cold. It was very uncomfortable.
The mountains and the clouds turned a remarkable green; everything
stood out so clearly, almost brilliantly in the light of evening.--Yes,
you must go to Italy and see it for yourself; it is impossible
to describe it: a hopeless task.--The travelers would have agreed;
but they were hungry, tired, and more interested in finding
a night's lodging than looking at the beauty of nature. |
I tusindeviis fløi giftige
Fluer og Myg ind til dem, forgjæves pidskede de omkring sig
med en Myrthegren, Fluerne stak alligevel; ikke eet Menneske
var der i Vognen, uden at jo hans Ansigt var opsvulmet og blodigt
af Bid. De stakkels Heste saae ud som Aadsler, Fluerne sad i
store Kager paa dem, og kun øieblikkelig hjalp det, at
Kudsken steg ned og skrabede Dyrene af. Nu sank Solen, en kort,
men isnende Kulde gik igjennem hele Naturen, det var slet ikke
behageligt; men rundt om fik Bjerge og Skyer den deiligste grønne
Farve, saa klar, saa skinnende - ja gaae selv hen at see, det
er bedre end at læse Beskrivelsen! det var mageløst! det fandt
de Reisende ogsaa, men - Maven var tom, Legemet træt, al Hjertets
Længsel dreiede sig efter et Natteqvarteer; men hvorledes vilde
dette blive? Man saae langt inderligere efter dette, end efter
den skjønne Natur. |
| The road passed through
olive orchards. The trees looked like the gnarled willow trees
in Denmark. Finally the stagecoach stopped in front of a lonely
inn. Half a dozen crippled beggars were waiting outside the
entrance. The most respectable of them looked like "Hunger's
oldest son, who had reached maturity." All the others were either
blind, lame, or had hands without fingers. They were, in truth,
"wretchedness dressed in rags." "Eccellenza, miserabili,"
they wailed loudly and held out their maimed and deformed limbs
for inspection. The innkeeper's wife came out to receive her
guests. She was barefoot, her hair was unkempt, and her blouse
was filthy. The doors were fastened with rope and string. Half
the tiles on the floor were missing; and bats flew about above
them, just below the high ceilings. It stank foully. |
Veien gik gjennem en
Olivenskov, det var som kjørte han i Hjemmet mellem knudrede
Pile, her laae det eensomme Vertshuus. En halvsnees tiggende
Krøblinger havde leiret sig udenfor, den raskeste af dem saae
ud som "Hungerens ældste Søn, der havde naaet sin Myndigheds-Alder",
de Andre vare enten blinde, havde visne Been og krøb paa Hænderne,
eller indsvundne Arme med fingerløse Hænder. Det var ret Elendigheden
trukket frem af Pjalterne. "Eccellenza, miserabili!"
sukkede de og strakte de syge Lemmer frem. Vertinden selv med
bare Fødder, uredt Haar og kun iført en smudsig Bluse, tog imod
Gjæsterne. Dørene vare bundne sammen med Seglgarn; Gulvet i
Værelserne frembød en halv oprodet Brolægning med Muurstene;
Flagermuus fløi hen under Loftet, og Stanken herinde - |
| "I wish she would set
the table out in the stable instead," one of the travelers said.
"Then at least we would know where the stink came from." |
"Ja, vil hun dække nede
i Stalden!" sagde een af de Reisende, "dernede veed man dog
hvad det er man indaander!" |
| The windows were opened
so that fresh air might enter; but even quicker than the air
were the mutilated arms of the beggars and the sound of their
whimpering: "Miserabili. . . . Eccellenza, miserabili .
. . The walls were decorated with inscriptions, and half of
them had nothing pleasant to say about bella Italia. |
Vinduerne bleve aabnede,
for at der kunde komme lidt frisk Luft, men hurtigere end denne
kom de visne Arme ind og den evige Klynken: miserabili, Eccellenza!
Paa Væggene stode mange Inskriptioner, Halvdelen var imod bella
Italia. |
| At last the food arrived:
boiled water with a little pepper and rancid oil in it; it was
called soup. The same oil had been used in the salad. The main
dish was fried cockscomb and rotten eggs. The wine must have
been drawn from the vinegar barrel. |
Maden blev bragt frem;
der var en Suppe af Vand, kryddret med Peber og harsk Olie,
og saa nok engang den samme Olie paa Salaten; fordærvede Æg
og stegte Hanekamme vare Pragtretterne; selv Vinen havde Afsmag,
det var en sand Mixtur. |
| During the night, all
the baggage was piled up in front of the door as a barricade;
and one of the travelers was to remain awake while the others
slept. The first one to stand guard was the student of theology.
Pooh! The smell in the room was nauseating, and the heat! From
outside came the sound of the miserabili moaning in their
sleep; and inside the mosquitoes hummed, as they flew about
in search of their next victim. |
Til Natten bleve Kufferterne
stillede op for Døren; een af de Reisende havde Vagt, medens
de Andre sov; Theologen var den Vagthavende; o hvor kvalmt var
der ikke herinde! Heden trykkede, Myggene surrede og stak, miserabili
udenfor klynkede i Søvne. |
| "Traveling would be
fine if we only didn't have a body," sighed the student. "If
one's spirit were free to go by itself. No matter where I am,
there is always something that presses against my heart: something
I need or want to be rid of. I want something better than moments
like this. . . . Something better. . . . The best: but where
is it and how do you get it? I know what I really want: the
final goal, where I am sure all happiness lies!" |
"Ja, reise er godt nok!"
sukkede Studenten, "havde man bare intet Legeme! kunde dette
hvile og Aanden derimod flyve. Hvor jeg kommer, er der et Savn,
der trykker Hjertet; noget bedre, end det Øieblikkelige, er
det jeg vil have; ja noget bedre, det Bedste, men hvor og hvad
er det! jeg veed i Grunden nok, hvad jeg vil, jeg vil til et
lykkeligt Maal, det Lykkeligste af Alle!" |
| As soon as these words
were spoken, he was back in his own room. The long white curtains
were drawn. In the middle of the room was a black coffin; and
in it lay the body of the student, sleeping death's sleep. His
soul had gone on the journey he had desired for it, while his
body was still, "Call no man happy before he is in his grave."
This story strengthens Solon's words. |
Og i det Ordet var udtalt,
var han i Hjemmet; de lange hvide Gardiner hang ned for Vinduet
og midt paa Gulvet stod den sorte Liigkiste, i den laae han
i sin stille Dødssøvn, hans Ønske var opfyldt, Legemet hvilte,
Aanden reiste. Priis Ingen lykkelig, før han er i sin Grav,
var Solons Ord, her fornyedes Bekræftelsen. |
| Every dead body is an
immortal sphinx. It answers no questions and neither did the
body of the student of theology, despite his having asked the
questions himself, only a few days before, in a poem: |
Ethvert Liig er Udødelighedens
Sphinx; heller ikke Sphinxen her i den sorte Kiste besvarede
for os, hvad den Levende to Dage forud havde nedskrevet: |
Death, your silence fills with dread my heart; Your footprints
are the graves and tombs of men. When my Jacob's ladder
of thought falls apart, Shall I only arise as grass in death's
garden, then?
|
Du stærke Død, din Taushed vækker Gru; Dit Spor er jo kun
Kirkegaardens Grave. Skal Tankens Jakobs-Stige gaae itu?
Staaer jeg kun op, som Græs i Dødens Have?
|
The greatest suffering, unseen we bear, He was alone, even
to the last. Life's injustice our hearts outwear, Kind is
the earth on the coffin cast.
|
Vor største Liden tidt ei Verden seer! Du, som var ene,
lige til det sidste, I Verden meget trykker Hjertet meer,
End Jorden, som de kaste paa din Kiste!
|
| Two figures were in
the room: Sorrow herself, and the lady's maid to the lady in
waiting of the Fairy of Happiness. They were both looking down
at the dead body of the student. |
To Skikkelser bevægede
sig i Værelset; vi kjende dem begge: det var Sorgens Fee og
Lykkens Udsendte; de bøiede sig over den Døde. |
| "There, you see," began
the Fairy of Sorrow. "How much happiness did your magic galoshes
bring humanity?" |
"Seer Du," sagde Sorgen,
"hvad Lykke bragte vel dine Kalosker Menneskeheden?" |
| The servant of Happiness
replied, while she nodded toward the coffin, "At least they
brought him who is sleeping there eternal peace." |
"De bragte i det mindste
ham, som sover her, et varigt Gode!" svarede Glæden. |
| "Oh no!" Sorrow argued.
"He chose to leave life behind him, he was not called! He did
not have the strength within his soul to accomplish that which
even he himself had set as his goal. I shall do him a favor." |
"0 nei!" sagde Sorgen;
"Selv gik han bort, han blev ikke kaldet! hans aandelige Kraft
her var ikke stærk nok til at hæve de Skatte hist, som han efter
sin Bestemmelse maa hæve! Jeg vil vise ham en Velgjerning!" |
| Sorrow pulled the galoshes
off the student's feet, and the sleep of death was over; and
the resurrected young man rose. Sorrow disappeared, and so did
the galoshes; Sorrow thought they belonged to her. |
Og hun tog Kaloskerne
af hans Fødder; da var Dødssøvnen endt, den Gjenoplevede reiste
sig. Sorgen forsvandt, men ogsaa Kaloskerne; hun har vist betragtet
dem som sin Eiendom. |
|