“Oh, were I rich! Such was my wish, yea such
When hardly three feet high, I longed for much.
Oh, were I rich! an officer were I,
With sword, and uniform, and plume so high.
And the time came, and officer was I!
But yet I grew not rich. Alas, poor me!
Have pity, Thou, who all man's wants dost see.
“I sat one evening sunk in dreams of bliss,
A maid of seven years old gave me a kiss,
I at that time was rich in poesy
And tales of old, though poor as poor could be;
But all she asked for was this poesy.
Then was I rich, but not in gold, poor me!
As Thou dost know, who all men's hearts canst see.
“Oh, were I rich! Oft asked I for this boon.
The child grew up to womanhood full soon.
She is so pretty, clever, and so kind
Oh, did she know what's hidden in my mind--
A tale of old. Would she to me were kind!
But I'm condemned to silence! oh, poor me!
As Thou dost know, who all men's hearts canst see.
“Oh, were I rich in calm and peace of mind,
My grief you then would not here written find!
O thou, to whom I do my heart devote,
Oh read this page of glad days now remote,
A dark, dark tale, which I tonight devote!
Dark is the future now. Alas, poor me!
Have pity Thou, who all men's pains dost see.”
Such verses as these people write when they are in love! But no man
in his senses ever thinks of printing them. Here one of the sorrows of
life, in which there is real poetry, gave itself vent; not that
barren grief which the poet may only hint at, but never depict in its
detail--misery and want: that animal necessity, in short, to snatch
at least at a fallen leaf of the bread-fruit tree, if not at the fruit
itself. The higher the position in which one finds oneself transplanted,
the greater is the suffering. Everyday necessity is the stagnant pool of
life--no lovely picture reflects itself therein. Lieutenant, love, and
lack of money--that is a symbolic triangle, or much the same as the
half of the shattered die of Fortune. This the lieutenant felt most
poignantly, and this was the reason he leant his head against the
window, and sighed so deeply.
“The poor watchman out there in the street is far happier than I. He
knows not what I term privation. He has a home, a wife, and children,
who weep with him over his sorrows, who rejoice with him when he is
glad. Oh, far happier were I, could I exchange with him my being--with
his desires and with his hopes perform the weary pilgrimage of life! Oh,
he is a hundred times happier than I!”
In the same moment the watchman was again watchman. It was the shoes
that caused the metamorphosis by means of which, unknown to himself, he
took upon him the thoughts and feelings of the officer; but, as we have
just seen, he felt himself in his new situation much less contented,
and now preferred the very thing which but some minutes before he had
rejected. So then the watchman was again watchman.
“That was an unpleasant dream,” said he; “but 'twas droll enough
altogether. I fancied that I was the lieutenant over there: and yet
the thing was not very much to my taste after all. I missed my good old
mother and the dear little ones; who almost tear me to pieces for sheer
love.”
He seated himself once more and nodded: the dream continued to haunt
him, for he still had the shoes on his feet. A falling star shone in the
dark firmament.
“There falls another star,” said he: “but what does it matter; there
are always enough left. I should not much mind examining the little
glimmering things somewhat nearer, especially the moon; for that would
not slip so easily through a man's fingers. When we die--so at least
says the student, for whom my wife does the washing--we shall fly about
as light as a feather from one such a star to the other. That's, of
course, not true: but 'twould be pretty enough if it were so. If I could
but once take a leap up there, my body might stay here on the steps for
what I care.”
Behold--there are certain things in the world to which one ought never
to give utterance except with the greatest caution; but doubly careful
must one be when we have the Shoes of Fortune on our feet. Now just
listen to what happened to the watchman.
As to ourselves, we all know the speed produced by the employment of
steam; we have experienced it either on railroads, or in boats when
crossing the sea; but such a flight is like the travelling of a sloth in
comparison with the velocity with which light moves. It flies nineteen
million times faster than the best race-horse; and yet electricity is
quicker still. Death is an electric shock which our heart receives; the
freed soul soars upwards on the wings of electricity. The sun's light
wants eight minutes and some seconds to perform a journey of more than
twenty million of our Danish [*] miles; borne by electricity, the soul
wants even some minutes less to accomplish the same flight. To it the
space between the heavenly bodies is not greater than the distance
between the homes of our friends in town is for us, even if they live a
short way from each other; such an electric shock in the heart, however,
costs us the use of the body here below; unless, like the watchman of
East Street, we happen to have on the Shoes of Fortune.
* A Danish mile is nearly 4 3/4 English.
In a few seconds the watchman had done the fifty-two thousand of our
miles up to the moon, which, as everyone knows, was formed out of
matter much lighter than our earth; and is, so we should say, as soft
as newly-fallen snow. He found himself on one of the many circumjacent
mountain-ridges with which we are acquainted by means of Dr. Madler's
“Map of the Moon.” Within, down it sunk perpendicularly into a caldron,
about a Danish mile in depth; while below lay a town, whose appearance
we can, in some measure, realize to ourselves by beating the white of
an egg in a glass of water. The matter of which it was built was just as
soft, and formed similar towers, and domes, and pillars, transparent and
rocking in the thin air; while above his head our earth was rolling like
a large fiery ball.
He perceived immediately a quantity of beings who were certainly what
we call “men”; yet they looked different to us. A far more correct
imagination than that of the pseudo-Herschel* had created them; and
if they had been placed in rank and file, and copied by some skilful
painter's hand, one would, without doubt, have exclaimed involuntarily,
“What a beautiful arabesque!”
*This relates to a book published some years ago in Germany, and said
to be by Herschel, which contained a description of the moon and its
inhabitants, written with such a semblance of truth that many were
deceived by the imposture.
Probably a translation of the celebrated Moon hoax, written by Richard
A. Locke, and originally published in New York.
They had a language too; but surely nobody can expect that the soul of
the watchman should understand it. Be that as it may, it did comprehend
it; for in our souls there germinate far greater powers than we poor
mortals, despite all our cleverness, have any notion of. Does she
not show us--she the queen in the land of enchantment--her astounding
dramatic talent in all our dreams? There every acquaintance appears and
speaks upon the stage, so entirely in character, and with the same tone
of voice, that none of us, when awake, were able to imitate it. How
well can she recall persons to our mind, of whom we have not thought for
years; when suddenly they step forth “every inch a man,” resembling the
real personages, even to the finest features, and become the heroes
or heroines of our world of dreams. In reality, such remembrances are
rather unpleasant: every sin, every evil thought, may, like a clock with
alarm or chimes, be repeated at pleasure; then the question is if we can
trust ourselves to give an account of every unbecoming word in our heart
and on our lips.
The watchman's spirit understood the language of the inhabitants of the
moon pretty well. The Selenites* disputed variously about our earth,
and expressed their doubts if it could be inhabited: the air, they said,
must certainly be too dense to allow any rational dweller in the moon
the necessary free respiration. They considered the moon alone to
be inhabited: they imagined it was the real heart of the universe or
planetary system, on which the genuine Cosmopolites, or citizens of the
world, dwelt. What strange things men--no, what strange things Selenites
sometimes take into their heads!
* Dwellers in the moon.
About politics they had a good deal to say. But little Denmark must
take care what it is about, and not run counter to the moon; that
great realm, that might in an ill-humor bestir itself, and dash down a
hail-storm in our faces, or force the Baltic to overflow the sides of
its gigantic basin.
We will, therefore, not listen to what was spoken, and on no condition
run in the possibility of telling tales out of school; but we will
rather proceed, like good quiet citizens, to East Street, and observe
what happened meanwhile to the body of the watchman.
He sat lifeless on the steps: the morning-star,* that is to say, the
heavy wooden staff, headed with iron spikes, and which had nothing else
in common with its sparkling brother in the sky, had glided from his
hand; while his eyes were fixed with glassy stare on the moon, looking
for the good old fellow of a spirit which still haunted it.
*The watchmen in Germany, had formerly, and in some places they still
carry with them, on their rounds at night, a sort of mace or club, known
in ancient times by the above denomination.
“What's the hour, watchman?” asked a passer-by. But when the watchman
gave no reply, the merry roysterer, who was now returning home from a
noisy drinking bout, took it into his head to try what a tweak of the
nose would do, on which the supposed sleeper lost his balance, the body
lay motionless, stretched out on the pavement: the man was dead. When
the patrol came up, all his comrades, who comprehended nothing of the
whole affair, were seized with a dreadful fright, for dead he was,
and he remained so. The proper authorities were informed of the
circumstance, people talked a good deal about it, and in the morning the
body was carried to the hospital.
Now that would be a very pretty joke, if the spirit when it came back
and looked for the body in East Street, were not to find one. No doubt
it would, in its anxiety, run off to the police, and then to the
“Hue and Cry” office, to announce that “the finder will be handsomely
rewarded,” and at last away to the hospital; yet we may boldly assert
that the soul is shrewdest when it shakes off every fetter, and every
sort of leading-string--the body only makes it stupid.
The seemingly dead body of the watchman wandered, as we have said, to
the hospital, where it was brought into the general viewing-room:
and the first thing that was done here was naturally to pull off the
galoshes--when the spirit, that was merely gone out on adventures, must
have returned with the quickness of lightning to its earthly tenement.
It took its direction towards the body in a straight line; and a few
seconds after, life began to show itself in the man. He asserted that
the preceding night had been the worst that ever the malice of fate had
allotted him; he would not for two silver marks again go through what he
had endured while moon-stricken; but now, however, it was over.
The same day he was discharged from the hospital as perfectly cured; but
the Shoes meanwhile remained behind.
IV. A Moment of Head Importance--An Evening's “Dramatic Readings”--A
Most Strange Journey
Every inhabitant of Copenhagen knows, from personal inspection, how
the entrance to Frederick's Hospital looks; but as it is possible that
others, who are not Copenhagen people, may also read this little work,
we will beforehand give a short description of it.
The extensive building is separated from the street by a pretty high
railing, the thick iron bars of which are so far apart, that in
all seriousness, it is said, some very thin fellow had of a night
occasionally squeezed himself through to go and pay his little visits
in the town. The part of the body most difficult to manage on such
occasions was, no doubt, the head; here, as is so often the case in
the world, long-headed people get through best. So much, then, for the
introduction.
One of the young men, whose head, in a physical sense only, might be
said to be of the thickest, had the watch that evening. The rain poured
down in torrents; yet despite these two obstacles, the young man was
obliged to go out, if it were but for a quarter of an hour; and as
to telling the door-keeper about it, that, he thought, was quite
unnecessary, if, with a whole skin, he were able to slip through the
railings. There, on the floor lay the galoshes, which the watchman
had forgotten; he never dreamed for a moment that they were those of
Fortune; and they promised to do him good service in the wet; so he put
them on. The question now was, if he could squeeze himself through the
grating, for he had never tried before. Well, there he stood.
“Would to Heaven I had got my head through!” said he, involuntarily; and
instantly through it slipped, easily and without pain, notwithstanding
it was pretty large and thick. But now the rest of the body was to be
got through!
“Ah! I am much too stout,” groaned he aloud, while fixed as in a vice.
“I had thought the head was the most difficult part of the matter--oh!
oh! I really cannot squeeze myself through!”
He now wanted to pull his over-hasty head back again, but he could not.
For his neck there was room enough, but for nothing more. His first
feeling was of anger; his next that his temper fell to zero. The
Shoes of Fortune had placed him in the most dreadful situation; and,
unfortunately, it never occurred to him to wish himself free. The
pitch-black clouds poured down their contents in still heavier torrents;
not a creature was to be seen in the streets. To reach up to the bell
was what he did not like; to cry aloud for help would have availed him
little; besides, how ashamed would he have been to be found caught in a
trap, like an outwitted fox! How was he to twist himself through! He saw
clearly that it was his irrevocable destiny to remain a prisoner till
dawn, or, perhaps, even late in the morning; then the smith must be
fetched to file away the bars; but all that would not be done so quickly
as he could think about it. The whole Charity School, just opposite,
would be in motion; all the new booths, with their not very
courtier-like swarm of seamen, would join them out of curiosity, and
would greet him with a wild “hurrah!” while he was standing in his
pillory: there would be a mob, a hissing, and rejoicing, and jeering,
ten times worse than in the rows about the Jews some years ago--“Oh, my
blood is mounting to my brain; 'tis enough to drive one mad! I shall go
wild! I know not what to do. Oh! were I but loose; my dizziness would
then cease; oh, were my head but loose!”
You see he ought to have said that sooner; for the moment he expressed
the wish his head was free; and cured of all his paroxysms of love, he
hastened off to his room, where the pains consequent on the fright the
Shoes had prepared for him, did not so soon take their leave.
But you must not think that the affair is over now; it grows much worse.
The night passed, the next day also; but nobody came to fetch the Shoes.
In the evening “Dramatic Readings” were to be given at the little
theatre in King Street. The house was filled to suffocation; and among
other pieces to be recited was a new poem by H. C. Andersen, called, My
Aunt's Spectacles; the contents of which were pretty nearly as follows:
“A certain person had an aunt, who boasted of particular skill in
fortune-telling with cards, and who was constantly being stormed by
persons that wanted to have a peep into futurity. But she was full of
mystery about her art, in which a certain pair of magic spectacles
did her essential service. Her nephew, a merry boy, who was his aunt's
darling, begged so long for these spectacles, that, at last, she lent
him the treasure, after having informed him, with many exhortations,
that in order to execute the interesting trick, he need only repair to
some place where a great many persons were assembled; and then, from a
higher position, whence he could overlook the crowd, pass the company in
review before him through his spectacles. Immediately 'the inner man' of
each individual would be displayed before him, like a game of cards, in
which he unerringly might read what the future of every person presented
was to be. Well pleased the little magician hastened away to prove the
powers of the spectacles in the theatre; no place seeming to him more
fitted for such a trial. He begged permission of the worthy audience,
and set his spectacles on his nose. A motley phantasmagoria presents
itself before him, which he describes in a few satirical touches, yet
without expressing his opinion openly: he tells the people enough to set
them all thinking and guessing; but in order to hurt nobody, he wraps
his witty oracular judgments in a transparent veil, or rather in a lurid
thundercloud, shooting forth bright sparks of wit, that they may fall in
the powder-magazine of the expectant audience.”
The humorous poem was admirably recited, and the speaker much applauded.
Among the audience was the young man of the hospital, who seemed to have
forgotten his adventure of the preceding night. He had on the Shoes; for
as yet no lawful owner had appeared to claim them; and besides it was so
very dirty out-of-doors, they were just the thing for him, he thought.
The beginning of the poem he praised with great generosity: he even
found the idea original and effective. But that the end of it, like the
Rhine, was very insignificant, proved, in his opinion, the author's
want of invention; he was without genius, etc. This was an excellent
opportunity to have said something clever.
Meanwhile he was haunted by the idea--he should like to possess such a
pair of spectacles himself; then, perhaps, by using them circumspectly,
one would be able to look into people's hearts, which, he thought, would
be far more interesting than merely to see what was to happen next year;
for that we should all know in proper time, but the other never.
“I can now,” said he to himself, “fancy the whole row of ladies and
gentlemen sitting there in the front row; if one could but see into
their hearts--yes, that would be a revelation--a sort of bazar. In that
lady yonder, so strangely dressed, I should find for certain a large
milliner's shop; in that one the shop is empty, but it wants cleaning
plain enough. But there would also be some good stately shops among
them. Alas!” sighed he, “I know one in which all is stately; but there
sits already a spruce young shopman, which is the only thing that's
amiss in the whole shop. All would be splendidly decked out, and we
should hear, 'Walk in, gentlemen, pray walk in; here you will find all
you please to want.' Ah! I wish to Heaven I could walk in and take a
trip right through the hearts of those present!”
And behold! to the Shoes of Fortune this was the cue; the whole man
shrunk together and a most uncommon journey through the hearts of the
front row of spectators, now began. The first heart through which he
came, was that of a middle-aged lady, but he instantly fancied himself
in the room of the “Institution for the cure of the crooked and
deformed,” where casts of mis-shapen limbs are displayed in naked
reality on the wall. Yet there was this difference, in the institution
the casts were taken at the entry of the patient; but here they were
retained and guarded in the heart while the sound persons went away.
They were, namely, casts of female friends, whose bodily or mental
deformities were here most faithfully preserved.
With the snake-like writhings of an idea he glided into another female
heart; but this seemed to him like a large holy fane. [*] The white dove of
innocence fluttered over the altar. How gladly would he have sunk upon
his knees; but he must away to the next heart; yet he still heard the
pealing tones of the organ, and he himself seemed to have become a newer
and a better man; he felt unworthy to tread the neighboring sanctuary
which a poor garret, with a sick bed-rid mother, revealed. But God's
warm sun streamed through the open window; lovely roses nodded from
the wooden flower-boxes on the roof, and two sky-blue birds sang
rejoicingly, while the sick mother implored God's richest blessings on
her pious daughter.
* temple
He now crept on hands and feet through a butcher's shop; at least on
every side, and above and below, there was nought but flesh. It was the
heart of a most respectable rich man, whose name is certain to be found
in the Directory.
He was now in the heart of the wife of this worthy gentleman. It was an
old, dilapidated, mouldering dovecot. The husband's portrait was used as
a weather-cock, which was connected in some way or other with the doors,
and so they opened and shut of their own accord, whenever the stern old
husband turned round.
Hereupon he wandered into a boudoir formed entirely of mirrors, like
the one in Castle Rosenburg; but here the glasses magnified to an
astonishing degree. On the floor, in the middle of the room, sat, like a
Dalai-Lama, the insignificant “Self” of the person, quite confounded at
his own greatness. He then imagined he had got into a needle-case full
of pointed needles of every size.
“This is certainly the heart of an old maid,” thought he. But he was
mistaken. It was the heart of a young military man; a man, as people
said, of talent and feeling.
In the greatest perplexity, he now came out of the last heart in the
row; he was unable to put his thoughts in order, and fancied that his
too lively imagination had run away with him.
“Good Heavens!” sighed he. “I have surely a disposition to madness--'tis
dreadfully hot here; my blood boils in my veins and my head is burning
like a coal.” And he now remembered the important event of the evening
before, how his head had got jammed in between the iron railings of the
hospital. “That's what it is, no doubt,” said he. “I must do something
in time: under such circumstances a Russian bath might do me good. I
only wish I were already on the upper bank.” [*]
*In these Russian (vapor) baths the person extends himself
on a bank or form, and as he gets accustomed to the heat,
moves to another higher up towards the ceiling, where, of
course, the vapor is warmest. In this manner he ascends
gradually to the highest.
And so there he lay on the uppermost bank in the vapor-bath; but with
all his clothes on, in his boots and galoshes, while the hot drops fell
scalding from the ceiling on his face.
“Holloa!” cried he, leaping down. The bathing attendant, on his side,
uttered a loud cry of astonishment when he beheld in the bath, a man
completely dressed.
The other, however, retained sufficient presence of mind to whisper to
him, “'Tis a bet, and I have won it!” But the first thing he did as soon
as he got home, was to have a large blister put on his chest and back to
draw out his madness.
The next morning he had a sore chest and a bleeding back; and, excepting
the fright, that was all that he had gained by the Shoes of Fortune.