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the kings and queens of Denmark are interred. In Roeskilde, too, the members of the
Danish Diet assemble.
Again all suddenly disappeared. Yes, and whither? It seemed to him just as if one turned
over a leaf in a book. And now stood there an old peasant-woman, who came from Soroe,*
where grass grows in the market-place. She had an old grey linen apron hanging over her
head and back: it was so wet, it certainly must have been raining. "Yes, that it has," said
she; and she now related many pretty things out of Holberg's comedies, and about
Waldemar and Absalon; but all at once she cowered together, and her head began shaking
backwards and forwards, and she looked as she were going to make a spring. "Croak!
croak!" said she. "It is wet, it is wet; there is such a pleasant deathlike stillness in Sorbe!"
She was now suddenly a frog, "Croak"; and now she was an old woman. "One must dress
according to the weather," said she. "It is wet; it is wet. My town is just like a bottle; and
one gets in by the neck, and by the neck one must get out again! In former times I had the
finest fish, and now I have fresh rosy-cheeked boys at the bottom of the bottle, who learn
wisdom, Hebrew, Greek--Croak!"
* Sorbe, a very quiet little town, beautifully situated, surrounded by woods and lakes.
Holberg, Denmark's Moliere, founded here an academy for the sons of the nobles. The
poets Hauch and Ingemann were appointed professors here. The latter lives there still.
When she spoke it sounded just like the noise of frogs, or as if one walked with great boots
over a moor; always the same tone, so uniform and so tiring that little Tuk fell into a good
sound sleep, which, by the bye, could not do him any harm.
But even in this sleep there came a dream, or whatever else it was: his little sister Augusta,
she with the blue eyes and the fair curling hair, was suddenly a tall, beautiful girl, and
without having wings was yet able to fly; and she now flew over Zealand--over the green
woods and the blue lakes.
"Do you hear the cock crow, Tukey? Cock-a-doodle-doo! The cocks are flying up fro m
Kjoge! You will have a farm-yard, so large, oh! so very large! You will suffer neither
hunger nor thirst! You will get on in the world! You will be a rich and happy man! Your
house will exalt itself like King Waldemar's tower, and will be richly decorated with
marble statues, like that at Prastoe. You understand what I mean. Your name shall circulate
with renown all round the earth, like unto the ship that was to have sailed from Corsor; and
in Roeskilde--"
"Do not forget the diet!" said King Hroar.
"Then you will speak well and wisely, little Tukey; and when at last you sink into your
grave, you shall sleep as quietly----"
"As if I lay in Soroe," said Tuk, awaking. It was bright day, and he was now quite unable to
call to mind his dream; that, however, was not at all necessary, for one may not know what
the future will bring.
And out of bed he jumped, and read in his book, and now all at once he knew his whole
lesson. And the old washerwoman popped her head in at the door, nodded to him friendly,
and said, "Thanks, many thanks, my good child, for your help! May the good ever-loving
God fulfil your loveliest dream!"
Little Tukey did not at all know what he had dreamed, but the loving God knew it.
The Naughty Boy
Along time ago, there lived an old poet, a thoroughly kind old poet. As he was sitting one
evening in his room, a dreadful storm arose without, and the rain streamed down from
heaven; but the old poet sat warm and comfortable in his chimney-comer, where the fire
blazed and the roasting apple hissed.
"Those who have not a roof over their heads will be wetted to the skin," said the good old
poet.
"Oh let me in! Let me in! I am cold, and I'm so wet!" exclaimed suddenly a child that stood
crying at the door and knocking for admittance, while the rain poured down, and the wind
made all the windows rattle.
"Poor thing!" said the old poet, as he went to open the door. There stood a little boy, quite
naked, and the water ran down from his long golden hair; he trembled with cold, and had
he not come into a warm room he would most certainly have perished in the frightful
tempest.
"Poor child!" said the old poet, as he took the boy by the hand. "Come in, come in, and I
will soon restore thee! Thou shalt have wine and roasted apples, for thou art verily a
charming child!" And the boy was so really. His eyes were like two bright stars; and
although the water trickled down his hair, it waved in beautiful curls. He looked exactly
like a little angel, but he was so pale, and his whole body trembled with cold. He had a nice
little bow in his hand, but it was quite spoiled by the rain, and the tints of his many-colored
arrows ran one into the other.
The old poet seated himself beside his hearth, and took the little fellow on his lap; he
squeezed the water out of his dripping hair, warmed his hands between his own, and boiled
for him some sweet wine. Then the boy recovered, his cheeks again grew rosy, he jumped
down from the lap where he was sitting, and danced round the kind old poet.
"You are a merry fellow," said the old man. "What's your name?"
"My name is Cupid," answered the boy. "Don't you know me? There lies my bow; it shoots
well, I can assure you! Look, the weather is now clearing up, and the moon is shining clear
again through the window."
"Why, your bow is quite spoiled," said the old poet.
"That were sad indeed," said the boy, and he took the bow in his hand -and examined it on
every side. "Oh, it is dry again, and is not hurt at all; the string is quite tight. I will try it
directly." And he bent his bow, took aim, and shot an arrow at the old poet, right into his
heart. "You see now that my bow was not spoiled," said he laughing; and away he ran.
The naughty boy, to shoot the old poet in that way; he who had taken him into his warm
room, who had treated him so kindly, and who had given him warm wine and the very best
apples!
The poor poet lay on the earth and wept, for the arrow had really flown into his heart.
"Fie!" said he. "How naughty a boy Cupid is! I will tell all children about him, that they [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]