THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE [10]
to expand, and given to it such sweet perfume. The struggles of
life which arouse sensations in the bosom have their type in the
tiny flowers. Air and light are the lovers of the flowers, but light
is the favored one; towards light it turns, and only when light
vanishes does it fold its leaves together, and sleep in the embraces
of the air."
"It is light that adorns me," said the flower.
"But the air gives you the breath of life," whispered the poet.
Just by him stood a boy, splashing with his stick in a marshy
ditch. The water-drops spurted up among the green twigs, and the clerk
thought of the millions of animalculae which were thrown into the
air with every drop of water, at a height which must be the same to
them as it would be to us if we were hurled beyond the clouds. As
the clerk thought of all these things, and became conscious of the
great change in his own feelings, he smiled, and said to himself, "I
must be asleep and dreaming; and yet, if so, how wonderful for a dream
to be so natural and real, and to know at the same time too that it is
but a dream. I hope I shall be able to remember it all when I wake
tomorrow. My sensations seem most unaccountable. I have a clear
perception of everything as if I were wide awake. I am quite sure if I
recollect all this tomorrow, it will appear utterly ridiculous and
absurd. I have had this happen to me before. It is with the clever
or wonderful things we say or hear in dreams, as with the gold which
comes from under the earth, it is rich and beautiful when we possess
it, but when seen in a true light it is but as stones and withered
leaves."
"Ah!" he sighed mournfully, as he gazed at the birds singing
merrily, or hopping from branch to branch, "they are much better off
than I. Flying is a glorious power. Happy is he who is born with
wings. Yes, if I could change myself into anything I would be a little
lark." At the same moment his coat-tails and sleeves grew together and
formed wings, his clothes changed to feathers, and his goloshes to
claws. He felt what was taking place, and laughed to himself. "Well,
now it is evident I must be dreaming; but I never had such a wild
dream as this." And then he flew up into the green boughs and sang,
but there was no poetry in the song, for his poetic nature had left
him. The goloshes, like all persons who wish to do a thing thoroughly,
could only attend to one thing at a time. He wished to be a poet,
and he became one. Then he wanted to be a little bird, and in this
change he lost the characteristics of the former one. "Well,"
thought he, "this is charming; by day I sit in a police-office,
amongst the dryest law papers, and at night I can dream that I am a
lark, flying about in the gardens of Fredericksburg. Really a complete
comedy could be written about it." Then he flew down into the grass,
turned his head about in every direction, and tapped his beak on the
bending blades of grass, which, in proportion to his size, seemed to
him as long as the palm-leaves in northern Africa.
In another moment all was darkness around him. It seemed as if
something immense had been thrown over him. A sailor boy had flung his
large cap over the bird, and a hand came underneath and caught the
clerk by the back and wings so roughly, that he squeaked, and then
cried out in his alarm, "You impudent rascal, I am a clerk in the
police-office!" but it only sounded to the boy like "tweet, tweet;" so
he tapped the bird on the beak, and walked away with him. In the
avenue he met two school-boys, who appeared to belong to a better
class of society, but whose inferior abilities kept them in the lowest
class at school. These boys bought the bird for eightpence, and so the
clerk returned to Copenhagen. "It is well for me that I am
dreaming," he thought; "otherwise I should become really angry.
First I was a poet, and now I am a lark. It must have been the
poetic nature that changed me into this little creature. It is a
miserable
life which arouse sensations in the bosom have their type in the
tiny flowers. Air and light are the lovers of the flowers, but light
is the favored one; towards light it turns, and only when light
vanishes does it fold its leaves together, and sleep in the embraces
of the air."
"It is light that adorns me," said the flower.
"But the air gives you the breath of life," whispered the poet.
Just by him stood a boy, splashing with his stick in a marshy
ditch. The water-drops spurted up among the green twigs, and the clerk
thought of the millions of animalculae which were thrown into the
air with every drop of water, at a height which must be the same to
them as it would be to us if we were hurled beyond the clouds. As
the clerk thought of all these things, and became conscious of the
great change in his own feelings, he smiled, and said to himself, "I
must be asleep and dreaming; and yet, if so, how wonderful for a dream
to be so natural and real, and to know at the same time too that it is
but a dream. I hope I shall be able to remember it all when I wake
tomorrow. My sensations seem most unaccountable. I have a clear
perception of everything as if I were wide awake. I am quite sure if I
recollect all this tomorrow, it will appear utterly ridiculous and
absurd. I have had this happen to me before. It is with the clever
or wonderful things we say or hear in dreams, as with the gold which
comes from under the earth, it is rich and beautiful when we possess
it, but when seen in a true light it is but as stones and withered
leaves."
"Ah!" he sighed mournfully, as he gazed at the birds singing
merrily, or hopping from branch to branch, "they are much better off
than I. Flying is a glorious power. Happy is he who is born with
wings. Yes, if I could change myself into anything I would be a little
lark." At the same moment his coat-tails and sleeves grew together and
formed wings, his clothes changed to feathers, and his goloshes to
claws. He felt what was taking place, and laughed to himself. "Well,
now it is evident I must be dreaming; but I never had such a wild
dream as this." And then he flew up into the green boughs and sang,
but there was no poetry in the song, for his poetic nature had left
him. The goloshes, like all persons who wish to do a thing thoroughly,
could only attend to one thing at a time. He wished to be a poet,
and he became one. Then he wanted to be a little bird, and in this
change he lost the characteristics of the former one. "Well,"
thought he, "this is charming; by day I sit in a police-office,
amongst the dryest law papers, and at night I can dream that I am a
lark, flying about in the gardens of Fredericksburg. Really a complete
comedy could be written about it." Then he flew down into the grass,
turned his head about in every direction, and tapped his beak on the
bending blades of grass, which, in proportion to his size, seemed to
him as long as the palm-leaves in northern Africa.
In another moment all was darkness around him. It seemed as if
something immense had been thrown over him. A sailor boy had flung his
large cap over the bird, and a hand came underneath and caught the
clerk by the back and wings so roughly, that he squeaked, and then
cried out in his alarm, "You impudent rascal, I am a clerk in the
police-office!" but it only sounded to the boy like "tweet, tweet;" so
he tapped the bird on the beak, and walked away with him. In the
avenue he met two school-boys, who appeared to belong to a better
class of society, but whose inferior abilities kept them in the lowest
class at school. These boys bought the bird for eightpence, and so the
clerk returned to Copenhagen. "It is well for me that I am
dreaming," he thought; "otherwise I should become really angry.
First I was a poet, and now I am a lark. It must have been the
poetic nature that changed me into this little creature. It is a
miserable