OLE THE TOWER-KEEPER [1]
and
then to become a mere nothing, especially when a man is as highly
placed as I am. And then to think that we all, even with patent
lacquer, are nothing more than insects of a moment on that ant-hill
the earth, though we may be insects with stars and garters, places and
offices! One feels quite a novice beside these venerable
million-year-old boulders. On last New Year's eve I was reading the
book, and had lost myself in it so completely, that I forgot my
usual New Year's diversion, namely, the wild hunt to Amack. Ah, you
don't know what that is!
"The journey of the witches on broomsticks is well enough known-
that journey is taken on St. John's eve, to the Brocken; but we have a
wild journey, also which is national and modern, and that is the
journey to Amack on the night of the New Year. All indifferent poets
and poetesses, musicians, newspaper writers, and artistic
notabilities,- I mean those who are no good,- ride in the New Year's
night through the air to Amack. They sit backwards on their painting
brushes or quill pens, for steel pens won't bear them- they're too
stiff. As I told you, I see that every New Year's night, and could
mention the majority of the riders by name, but I should not like to
draw their enmity upon myself, for they don't like people to talk
about their ride to Amack on quill pens. I've a kind of niece, who
is a fishwife, and who, as she tells me, supplies three respectable
newspapers with the terms of abuse and vituperation they use, and
she has herself been at Amack as an invited guest; but she was carried
out thither, for she does not own a quill pen, nor can she ride. She
has told me all about it. Half of what she said is not true, but the
other half gives us information enough. When she was out there, the
festivities began with a song; each of the guests had written his
own song, and each one sang his own song, for he thought that the
best, and it was all one, all the same melody. Then those came
marching up, in little bands, who are only busy with their mouths.
There were ringing bells that rang alternately; and then came the
little drummers that beat their tattoo in the family circle; and
acquaintance was made with those who write without putting their
names, which here means as much as using grease instead of patent
blacking; and then there was the beadle with his boy, and the boy
was worst off, for in general he gets no notice taken of him; then,
too, there was the good street sweeper with his cart, who turns over
the dust-bin, and calls it 'good, very good, remarkably good.' And
in the midst of the pleasure that was afforded by the mere meeting
of these folks, there shot up out of the great dirt-heap at Amack a
stem, a tree, an immense flower, a great mushroom, a perfect roof,
which formed a sort of warehouse for the worthy company, for in it
hung everything they had given to the world during the Old Year. Out
of the tree poured sparks like flames of fire; these were the ideas
and thoughts, borrowed from others, which they had used, and which now
got free and rushed away like so many fireworks. They played at 'the
stick burns,' and the young poets played at 'heart-burns,' and the
witlings played off their jests, and the jests rolled away with a
thundering sound, as if empty pots were being shattered against doors.
'It was very amusing!' my niece said; in fact, she said many things
that were very malicious but very amusing, but I won't mention them,
for a man must be good-natured, and not a carping critic. But you will
easily perceive that when a man once knows the rights of the journey
to Amack, as I know them, it's quite natural that on the New Year's
night one should look out to see the wild chase go by. If in the New
Year I miss certain persons who used to be there, I am sure to
notice others who are new arrivals; but this year I omitted taking
my look at the guests, I bowled away on the boulders, rolled back
through millions of years, and saw the stones break
then to become a mere nothing, especially when a man is as highly
placed as I am. And then to think that we all, even with patent
lacquer, are nothing more than insects of a moment on that ant-hill
the earth, though we may be insects with stars and garters, places and
offices! One feels quite a novice beside these venerable
million-year-old boulders. On last New Year's eve I was reading the
book, and had lost myself in it so completely, that I forgot my
usual New Year's diversion, namely, the wild hunt to Amack. Ah, you
don't know what that is!
"The journey of the witches on broomsticks is well enough known-
that journey is taken on St. John's eve, to the Brocken; but we have a
wild journey, also which is national and modern, and that is the
journey to Amack on the night of the New Year. All indifferent poets
and poetesses, musicians, newspaper writers, and artistic
notabilities,- I mean those who are no good,- ride in the New Year's
night through the air to Amack. They sit backwards on their painting
brushes or quill pens, for steel pens won't bear them- they're too
stiff. As I told you, I see that every New Year's night, and could
mention the majority of the riders by name, but I should not like to
draw their enmity upon myself, for they don't like people to talk
about their ride to Amack on quill pens. I've a kind of niece, who
is a fishwife, and who, as she tells me, supplies three respectable
newspapers with the terms of abuse and vituperation they use, and
she has herself been at Amack as an invited guest; but she was carried
out thither, for she does not own a quill pen, nor can she ride. She
has told me all about it. Half of what she said is not true, but the
other half gives us information enough. When she was out there, the
festivities began with a song; each of the guests had written his
own song, and each one sang his own song, for he thought that the
best, and it was all one, all the same melody. Then those came
marching up, in little bands, who are only busy with their mouths.
There were ringing bells that rang alternately; and then came the
little drummers that beat their tattoo in the family circle; and
acquaintance was made with those who write without putting their
names, which here means as much as using grease instead of patent
blacking; and then there was the beadle with his boy, and the boy
was worst off, for in general he gets no notice taken of him; then,
too, there was the good street sweeper with his cart, who turns over
the dust-bin, and calls it 'good, very good, remarkably good.' And
in the midst of the pleasure that was afforded by the mere meeting
of these folks, there shot up out of the great dirt-heap at Amack a
stem, a tree, an immense flower, a great mushroom, a perfect roof,
which formed a sort of warehouse for the worthy company, for in it
hung everything they had given to the world during the Old Year. Out
of the tree poured sparks like flames of fire; these were the ideas
and thoughts, borrowed from others, which they had used, and which now
got free and rushed away like so many fireworks. They played at 'the
stick burns,' and the young poets played at 'heart-burns,' and the
witlings played off their jests, and the jests rolled away with a
thundering sound, as if empty pots were being shattered against doors.
'It was very amusing!' my niece said; in fact, she said many things
that were very malicious but very amusing, but I won't mention them,
for a man must be good-natured, and not a carping critic. But you will
easily perceive that when a man once knows the rights of the journey
to Amack, as I know them, it's quite natural that on the New Year's
night one should look out to see the wild chase go by. If in the New
Year I miss certain persons who used to be there, I am sure to
notice others who are new arrivals; but this year I omitted taking
my look at the guests, I bowled away on the boulders, rolled back
through millions of years, and saw the stones break