OLE THE TOWER-KEEPER [2]
loose high up in
the north, saw them drifting about on icebergs, long before Noah's ark
was constructed, saw them sink down to the bottom of the sea, and
re-appear with a sand-bank, with that one that peered forth from the
flood and said, 'This shall be Zealand!' I saw them become the
dwelling-place of birds that are unknown to us, and then become the
seat of wild chiefs of whom we know nothing, until with their axes
they cut their Runic signs into a few of these stones, which then came
into the calendar of time. But as for me, I had gone quite beyond
all lapse of time, and had become a cipher and a nothing. Then three
or four beautiful falling stars came down, which cleared the air,
and gave my thoughts another direction. You know what a falling star
is, do you not? The learned men are not at all clear about it. I
have my own ideas about shooting stars, as the common people in many
parts call them, and my idea is this: How often are silent
thanksgivings offered up for one who has done a good and noble action!
The thanks are often speechless, but they are not lost for all that. I
think these thanks are caught up, and the sunbeams bring the silent,
hidden thankfulness over the head of the benefactor; and if it be a
whole people that has been expressing its gratitude through a long
lapse of time, the thankfulness appears as a nosegay of flowers, and
at length falls in the form of a shooting star over the good man's
grave. I am always very much pleased when I see a shooting star,
especially in the New Year's night, and then find out for whom the
gift of gratitude was intended. Lately a gleaming star fell in the
southwest, as a tribute of thanksgiving to many- many! 'For whom was
that star intended?' thought I. It fell, no doubt, on the hill by
the Bay of Plensberg, where the Danebrog waves over the graves of
Schleppegrell, Lasloes, and their comrades. One star also fell in
the midst of the land, fell upon Soro, a flower on the grave of
Holberg, the thanks of the year from a great many - thanks for his
charming plays!
"It is a great and pleasant thought to know that a shooting star
falls upon our graves. On mine certainly none will fall- no sunbeam
brings thanks to me, for here there is nothing worthy of thanks. I
shall not get the patent lacquer," said Ole, "for my fate on earth
is only grease, after all."
SECOND VISIT
It was New Year's day, and I went up on the tower. Ole spoke of
the toasts that were drunk on the transition from the Old Year into
the New- from one grave into the other, as he said. And he told me a
story about the glasses, and this story had a very deep meaning. It
was this:
"When on the New Year's night the clock strikes twelve, the people
at the table rise up with full glasses in their hands, and drain these
glasses, and drink success to the New Year. They begin the year with
the glass in their hands; that is a good beginning for drunkards. They
begin the New Year by going to bed, and that's a good beginning for
drones. Sleep is sure to play a great part in the New Year, and the
glass likewise. Do you know what dwells in the glass?" asked Ole. "I
will tell you. There dwell in the glass, first, health, and then
pleasure, then the most complete sensual delight; and misfortune and
the bitterest woe dwell in the glass also. Now, suppose we count the
glasses- of course I count the different degrees in the glasses for
different people.
"You see, the first glass, that's the glass of health, and in that
the herb of health is found growing. Put it up on the beam in the
ceiling, and at the end of the year you may be sitting in the arbor of
health.
"If you take the second glass- from this a little bird soars
upward, twittering in guileless cheerfulness, so that a man may listen
to his song, and perhaps join in 'Fair is life! no downcast looks!
Take courage, and march onward!'
"Out of the third glass rises a little winged urchin, who cannot
the north, saw them drifting about on icebergs, long before Noah's ark
was constructed, saw them sink down to the bottom of the sea, and
re-appear with a sand-bank, with that one that peered forth from the
flood and said, 'This shall be Zealand!' I saw them become the
dwelling-place of birds that are unknown to us, and then become the
seat of wild chiefs of whom we know nothing, until with their axes
they cut their Runic signs into a few of these stones, which then came
into the calendar of time. But as for me, I had gone quite beyond
all lapse of time, and had become a cipher and a nothing. Then three
or four beautiful falling stars came down, which cleared the air,
and gave my thoughts another direction. You know what a falling star
is, do you not? The learned men are not at all clear about it. I
have my own ideas about shooting stars, as the common people in many
parts call them, and my idea is this: How often are silent
thanksgivings offered up for one who has done a good and noble action!
The thanks are often speechless, but they are not lost for all that. I
think these thanks are caught up, and the sunbeams bring the silent,
hidden thankfulness over the head of the benefactor; and if it be a
whole people that has been expressing its gratitude through a long
lapse of time, the thankfulness appears as a nosegay of flowers, and
at length falls in the form of a shooting star over the good man's
grave. I am always very much pleased when I see a shooting star,
especially in the New Year's night, and then find out for whom the
gift of gratitude was intended. Lately a gleaming star fell in the
southwest, as a tribute of thanksgiving to many- many! 'For whom was
that star intended?' thought I. It fell, no doubt, on the hill by
the Bay of Plensberg, where the Danebrog waves over the graves of
Schleppegrell, Lasloes, and their comrades. One star also fell in
the midst of the land, fell upon Soro, a flower on the grave of
Holberg, the thanks of the year from a great many - thanks for his
charming plays!
"It is a great and pleasant thought to know that a shooting star
falls upon our graves. On mine certainly none will fall- no sunbeam
brings thanks to me, for here there is nothing worthy of thanks. I
shall not get the patent lacquer," said Ole, "for my fate on earth
is only grease, after all."
SECOND VISIT
It was New Year's day, and I went up on the tower. Ole spoke of
the toasts that were drunk on the transition from the Old Year into
the New- from one grave into the other, as he said. And he told me a
story about the glasses, and this story had a very deep meaning. It
was this:
"When on the New Year's night the clock strikes twelve, the people
at the table rise up with full glasses in their hands, and drain these
glasses, and drink success to the New Year. They begin the year with
the glass in their hands; that is a good beginning for drunkards. They
begin the New Year by going to bed, and that's a good beginning for
drones. Sleep is sure to play a great part in the New Year, and the
glass likewise. Do you know what dwells in the glass?" asked Ole. "I
will tell you. There dwell in the glass, first, health, and then
pleasure, then the most complete sensual delight; and misfortune and
the bitterest woe dwell in the glass also. Now, suppose we count the
glasses- of course I count the different degrees in the glasses for
different people.
"You see, the first glass, that's the glass of health, and in that
the herb of health is found growing. Put it up on the beam in the
ceiling, and at the end of the year you may be sitting in the arbor of
health.
"If you take the second glass- from this a little bird soars
upward, twittering in guileless cheerfulness, so that a man may listen
to his song, and perhaps join in 'Fair is life! no downcast looks!
Take courage, and march onward!'
"Out of the third glass rises a little winged urchin, who cannot