In the whole world there is nobody who knows so many stories as Ole
Luk-Oie. He really can tell stories.
It is in the evening, when the children are sitting nicely at table,
or upon their stools, that Ole Luk-Oie comes. Softly he creeps up the
stairs, for he walks in socks; opens the door very gently, and squirts
sweet milk in the children's eyes--whisk! just a tiny drop, but quite
enough to prevent them from keeping their eyes open; and so they
cannot see him.
Then he steals just behind them, and blows softly at the back of their
necks, so that their heads become heavy. But of course it does not
hurt them, for Ole Luk-Oie is fond of the children, and only wants
them to be quiet. They are most quiet when they are in bed; and they
have to be quiet indeed when Ole Luk-Oie tells them his stories.
When the children are nearly asleep, Ole Luk-Oie seats himself upon
the bed. He is neatly dressed; his coat is of silk, but it is
impossible to say of what color, for it shines green, red, and blue,
according to which side he turns. Under each arm he carries an
umbrella. One is lined with pictures, and this he spreads over the
good children, so that they dream the most beautiful stories the whole
night through; but on the other umbrella there are no pictures, and
this he holds over the naughty children, so that they sleep heavily,
and when they awake in the morning they have not dreamed at all.
We shall now hear how Ole Luk-Oie came to a little boy named Hjalmar,
and what he told him.
Over the chest of drawers in Hjalmar's room hung a large picture in a
gilt frame. It was a landscape. One could see tall trees, and flowers
in the grass. There was a great lake, and a river that flowed round
the forest, past castles, and out and out into the sea.
Ole Luk-Oie touched the painting with his magic squirt, and the birds
in it began to sing, the branches of the trees moved, and the clouds
floated along. Then Ole Luk-Oie lifted little Hjalmar up to the frame,
and Hjalmar put his feet into the picture, right into the high grass;
and there he stood, with the sun shining upon him. He ran to the water
and seated himself in a little boat that lay there; it was painted red
and white, and the sails gleamed with silver. Six swans, wearing
golden circlets around their necks and twinkling blue stars on their
heads, drew the boat.
Gorgeous fishes, with scales of silver and gold, swam after the boat,
sometimes springing high into the air and falling back with a splash
into the water. They wanted all to follow Hjalmar, and each one had a
story to tell.
It was really a beautiful voyage. At one time the forests were thick
and dark, at another they looked like a glorious garden full of
sunlight and flowers. There were great palaces of glass and marble; on
the balconies stood Princesses, and they were all little girls whom
Hjalmar knew well--he had played with them before. Each one stretched
forth her hand, and held out the prettiest sugar pig that a cake-woman
could sell. Hjalmar took hold of one end of the sugar pig as he passed
by, but the Princess also held fast, so that each of them got a
piece--she the smaller part, and Hjalmar the larger.
Before each palace stood little Princes as sentries. They presented
arms with golden swords, and then it rained raisins and tin soldiers;
they were real Princes. At one moment Hjalmar was sailing through
forests, at another through great halls, or straight through the
middle of a town.
Ole Luk-Oie had taken Hjalmar for a wonderful journey that night.
And another night Ole Luk-Oie said to Hjalmar, "Don't be afraid. I
will show you a little mouse," and he held out his hand with the
pretty little creature. "It has come to invite you to a wedding. Two
little Mice are going to be married to-night. They live under the
floor of your mother's pantry; it is said to be such a nice place to
live in."
"But how can I get through the mouse hole in the floor?" asked
Hjalmar.
"I will see to that," said Ole Luk-Oie. And with his magic squirt he
touched Hjalmar, who at once began to grow smaller and smaller, until
at last he was scarcely as big as a finger.
"Now you can borrow the tin soldier's uniform. I think it will fit
you," said Ole Luk-Oie.
And in a moment Hjalmar was dressed like the smartest of tin soldiers.
"Will you be so kind as to take a seat in your Mamma's thimble?" said
the mouse; "I shall then have the honour of drawing you."
"Oh, dear! are you going to take this trouble yourself, little miss?"
said Hjalmar.
Then they drove to the mouse's wedding. They passed first through a
long passage beneath the floor, which was only just high enough to
drive through in a thimble; and the whole passage was lit up with
phosphorescent wood.
"Doesn't it smell nice here?" said the mouse, who was drawing the
thimble. "The whole passage has been greased with bacon fat; it could
not be more exquisite."
Then they came into the bridal hall. On the right hand stood all the
little lady mice; and they whispered and giggled as if they were
making fun of one another; on the left stood all the gentlemen mice,
stroking their whiskers with their forepaws; and in the center of the
hall you could see the bride and bridegroom, standing in a hollow
cheese.
More and more guests arrived, until the mice were nearly treading one
another to death. The bridal pair had stationed themselves just in the
doorway, so that one could neither come in nor go out. Like the
passage, the floor had been greased with bacon fat, and that was the
whole of the feast; but for dessert they produced a pea on which a
mouse belonging to the family had bitten the name of the bridal
pair--that is to say, the first letter of the name. It was something
extraordinary.
All the mice said it was a beautiful wedding, and that the
entertainment had been very enjoyable.
So Hjalmar drove home again. He had been in very distinguished
society; but he had been obliged to shrink together to make himself
small, and to put on the tin soldier's uniform.
"Am I to hear any more stories now?" asked little Hjalmar, as soon as
Ole Luk-Oie had put him to bed Saturday night.
"We have no time for that this evening," said Ole Luk-Oie; and he
spread his finest umbrella over the child. "Now look at these
Chinamen."
And the whole umbrella looked like a great china bowl, with blue
trees and painted bridges, upon which stood little Chinamen, nodding
their heads.
"We must have the whole world nicely cleaned up for to-morrow
morning," said Ole Luk-Oie, "for it is a holiday--it is Sunday. I must
go to the church steeple to see that the little church goblins are
polishing the bells, so that they may sound sweetly. I must go out
into the fields, and see that the winds are blowing the dust from the
grass and leaves; and--this is the greatest work of all--I must bring
down all the stars to polish them. I have to number each one of them
before I take them in my apron, and the holes in which they are up
there must be numbered as well, so that they may be put back in their
right places, or they would not stick firmly, and then we should have
too many shooting-stars, for they would be dropping down one after the
other!"
"Do you know, Mr. Luk-Oie," said an old portrait, which hung on the
wall in the room where Hjalmar slept, "that I am Hjalmar's
great-grandfather? I am much obliged to you for telling the boy
stories; but you must not confuse ideas. The stars cannot be taken
down and polished. They are spheres, just like our earth, and that is
just the best thing about them."
"I thank you, old grandfather," said Ole Luk-Oie, "I thank you! You
are the head of the family, the ancestral head: but I am older than
you! I am an old heathen; the Romans and Greeks called me the Dream
God. I have been in the noblest houses, and am admitted there still. I
know how to act with great people and with small. Now you can tell
your story!"
Ole Luk-Oie took his umbrella, and went away.
And Hjalmar awoke.