the scholar.
So far all had passed off very well; but now one of the citizens
began to speak of a terrible pestilence which had been raging a few
years before, meaning the plague of 1484. The counsellor thought he
referred to the cholera, and they could discuss this without finding
out the mistake. The war in 1490 was spoken of as quite recent. The
English pirates had taken some ships in the Channel in 1801, and the
counsellor, supposing they referred to these, agreed with them in
finding fault with the English. The rest of the talk, however, was not
so agreeable; every moment one contradicted the other. The good
bachelor appeared very ignorant, for the simplest remark of the
counsellor seemed to him either too bold or too fantastic. They stared
at each other, and when it became worse the bachelor spoke in Latin,
in the hope of being better understood; but it was all useless.
"How are you now?" asked the landlady, pulling the counsellor's
sleeve.
Then his recollection returned to him. In the course of
conversation he had forgotten all that had happened previously.
"Goodness me! where am I?" said he. It bewildered him as he
thought of it.
"We will have some claret, or mead, or Bremen beer," said one of
the guests; "will you drink with us?"
Two maids came in. One of them had a cap on her head of two
colors. They poured out the wine, bowed their heads, and withdrew.
The counsellor felt a cold shiver run all over him. "What is this?
what does it mean?" said he; but he was obliged to drink with them,
for they overpowered the good man with their politeness. He became
at last desperate; and when one of them said he was tipsy, he did
not doubt the man's word in the least- only begged them to get a
droschky; and then they thought he was speaking the Muscovite
language. Never before had he been in such rough and vulgar company.
"One might believe that the country was going back to heathenism,"
he observed. "This is the most terrible moment of my life."
Just then it came into his mind that he would stoop under the
table, and so creep to the door. He tried it; but before he reached
the entry, the rest discovered what he was about, and seized him by
the feet, when, luckily for him, off came the goloshes, and with
them vanished the whole enchantment. The counsellor now saw quite
plainly a lamp, and a large building behind it; everything looked
familiar and beautiful. He was in East Street, as it now appears; he
lay with his legs turned towards a porch, and just by him sat the
watchman asleep.
"Is it possible that I have been lying here in the street
dreaming?" said he. "Yes, this is East Street; how beautifully
bright and gay it looks! It is quite shocking that one glass of
punch should have upset me like this."
Two minutes afterwards he sat in a droschky, which was to drive
him to Christian's Haven. He thought of all the terror and anxiety
which he had undergone, and felt thankful from his heart for the
reality and comfort of modern times, which, with all their errors,
were far better than those in which he so lately found himself.
THE WATCHMAN'S ADVENTURES
"Well, I declare, there lies a pair of goloshes," said the
watchman. "No doubt, they belong to the lieutenant who lives up
stairs. They are lying just by his door." Gladly would the honest
man have rung, and given them in, for a light was still burning, but
he did not wish to disturb the other people in the house; so he let
them lie. "These things must keep the feet very warm," said he;
"they are of such nice soft leather." Then he tried them on, and
they fitted his feet exactly. "Now," said he, "how droll things are in
this world! There's that man can lie down in his warm bed, but he does
not do so. There he goes pacing up and down the room. He ought to be a
happy man. He has neither wife nor children, and he goes out into
company every evening. Oh, I wish I were he; then I should be a
happy man."
As he uttered this wish, the goloshes which he had put on took
effect, and the watchman at once became the lieutenant. There he stood
in his room, holding a little piece of pink paper between his fingers,
on which was a poem,- a poem written by the lieutenant himself. Who
has not had, for once in his life, a moment of poetic inspiration? and
at such a moment, if the thoughts are written down, they flow in
poetry. The following verses were written on the pink paper:-
"OH WERE I RICH!
"Oh were I rich! How oft, in youth's bright hour,
When youthful pleasures banish every care,
I longed for riches but to gain a power,
The sword and plume and uniform to wear!
The riches and the honor came for me;
Yet still my greatest wealth was poverty:
Ah, help and pity me!
"Once in my youthful hours, when gay and free,
A maiden loved me; and her gentle kiss,
Rich in its tender love and purity,
Taught me, alas! too much of earthly bliss.
Dear child! She only thought of youthful glee;
She loved no wealth, but fairy tales and me.
Thou knowest: ah, pity me!
"Oh were I rich! again is all my prayer:
That child is now a woman, fair and free,
As good and beautiful as angels are.
Oh, were I rich in lovers' poetry,
To tell my fairy tale, love's richest lore!
But no; I must be silent- I am poor.
Ah, wilt thou pity me?
"Oh were I rich in truth and peace below,
I need not then my poverty bewail.
To thee I dedicate these lines of woe;
Wilt thou not understand the mournful tale?
A leaf on which my sorrows I relate-
Dark story of a darker night of fate.
Ah, bless and pity me!"
"Well, yes; people write poems when they are in love, but a wise
man will not print them. A lieutenant in love, and poor. This is a
triangle, or more properly speaking, the half of the broken die of
fortune." The lieutenant felt this very keenly, and therefore leaned
his head against the window-frame, and sighed deeply. "The poor
watchman in the street," said he, "is far happier than I am. He
knows not what I call poverty. He has a home, a wife and children, who
weep at his sorrow and rejoice at his joy. Oh, how much happier I
should be could I change my being and position with him, and pass
through life with his humble expectations and hopes! Yes, he is indeed
happier than I am."
At this moment the watchman again became a watchman; for having,
through the goloshes of Fortune, passed into the existence of the
lieutenant, and found himself less contented than he expected, he
had preferred his former condition, and wished himself again a
watchman. "That was an ugly dream," said he, "but droll enough. It
seemed to me as if I were the lieutenant up yonder, but there was no
happiness for me. I missed my wife and the little ones, who are always
ready to smother me with kisses." He sat down again and nodded, but he
could not get the dream out of his thoughts, and he still had the
goloshes on his feet. A falling star gleamed across the sky. "There
goes one!" cried he. "However, there are quite enough left; I should
very much like to examine these a little nearer, especially the
moon, for that could not slip away under one's hands. The student, for
whom my wife washes, says that when we die we shall fly from one
star to another. If that were true, it would be very delightful, but I
don't believe it. I wish I could make a little spring up there now;
I would willingly let my body lie here on the steps."
There are certain things in the world which should be uttered very
cautiously; doubly so when the speaker has on his feet the goloshes of
Fortune. Now we shall hear what happened to the watchman.
Nearly every one is acquainted with the great power of steam; we
have proved it by the rapidity with which we can travel, both on a
railroad or in a steamship across the sea. But this speed is like
the movements of the sloth, or the crawling march of the snail, when
compared to the swiftness with which light travels; light flies
nineteen million times faster than the fleetest race-horse, and
electricity is more rapid still. Death is an electric shock which we
receive in our hearts, and on the wings of electricity the liberated
soul flies away swiftly, the light from the sun travels to our earth
ninety-five millions of miles in eight minutes and a few seconds;
but on the wings of electricity, the mind requires only a second to
accomplish the same distance. The space between the heavenly bodies
is, to thought, no farther than the distance which we may have to walk
from one friend's house to another in the same town; yet this electric
shock obliges us to use our bodies here below, unless, like the
watchman, we have on the goloshes of Fortune.
In a very few seconds the watchman had travelled more than two
hundred thousand miles to the moon, which is formed of a lighter
material than our earth, and may be said to be as soft as new fallen
snow. He found himself on one of the circular range of mountains which
we see represented in Dr. Madler's large map of the moon. The interior
had the appearance of a large hollow, bowl-shaped, with a depth
about half a mile from the brim. Within this hollow stood a large
town; we may form some idea of its appearance by pouring the white
of an egg into a glass of water. The materials of which it was built
seemed just as soft, and pictured forth cloudy turrets and sail-like
terraces, quite transparent, and floating in the thin air. Our earth
hung over his head like a great dark red ball. Presently he discovered
a number of beings, which might certainly be called men, but were very
different to ourselves. A more fantastical imagination than Herschel's
must have discovered these. Had they been placed in groups, and
painted, it might have been said, "What beautiful foliage!" They had
also a language of their own. No one could have expected the soul of
the watchman to understand it, and yet he did understand it, for our
souls have much greater capabilities then we are inclined to
believe. Do we not, in our dreams, show a wonderful dramatic talent?
each of our acquaintance appears to us then in his own character,
and with his own voice; no man could thus imitate them in his waking
hours. How clearly, too, we are reminded of persons whom we have not
seen for many years; they start up suddenly to the mind's eye with all
their peculiarities as living realities. In fact, this memory of the
soul is a fearful thing; every sin, every sinful thought it can
bring back, and we may well ask how we are to give account of "every
idle word" that may have been whispered in the heart or uttered with
the lips. The spirit of the watchman therefore understood very well
the language of the inhabitants of the moon. They were disputing about
our earth, and doubted whether it could be inhabited. The
atmosphere, they asserted, must be too dense for any inhabitants of
the moon to exist there. They maintained that the moon alone was
inhabited, and was really the heavenly body in which the old world
people lived. They likewise talked politics.
But now we will descend to East Street, and see what happened to
the watchman's body. He sat lifeless on the steps. His staff had
fallen out of his hand, and his eyes stared at the moon, about which
his honest soul was wandering.
"What is it o'clock, watchman?" inquired a passenger. But there
was no answer from the watchman.
The man then pulled his nose gently, which caused him to lose
his balance. The body fell forward, and lay at full length on the
ground as one dead.
All his comrades were very much frightened, for he seemed quite
dead; still they allowed him to remain after they had given notice
of what had happened; and at dawn the body was carried to the
hospital. We might imagine it to be no jesting matter if the soul of
the man should chance to return to him, for most probably it would
seek for the body in East Street without being able to find it. We
might fancy the soul inquiring of the police, or at the address
office, or among the missing parcels, and then at length finding it at
the hospital. But we may comfort ourselves by the certainty that the
soul, when acting upon its own impulses, is wiser than we are; it is
the body that makes it stupid.
As we have said, the watchman's body had been taken to the
hospital, and here it was placed in a room to be washed. Naturally,
the first thing done here was to take off the goloshes, upon which the
soul was instantly obliged to return, and it took the direct road to
the body at once, and in a few seconds the man's life returned to him.
He declared, when he quite recovered himself, that this had been the
most dreadful night he had ever passed; not for a hundred pounds would
he go through such feelings again. However, it was all over now.
The same day he was allowed to leave, but the goloshes remained at
the hospital.
THE EVENTFUL MOMENT - A MOST UNUSUAL JOURNEY
Every inhabitant of Copenhagen knows what the entrance to
Frederick's Hospital is like; but as most probably a few of those
who read this little tale may not reside in Copenhagen, we will give a
short description of it.
The hospital is separated from the street by an iron railing, in
which the bars stand so wide apart that, it is said, some very slim
patients have squeezed through, and gone to pay little visits in the
town. The most difficult part of the body to get through was the head;
