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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.
V. Metamorphosis of the Copying-Clerk
The watchman, whom we have certainly not forgotten, thought meanwhile of the
galoshes he had found and taken with him to the hospital; he now went to fetch
them; and as neither the lieutenant, nor anybody else in the street, claimed
them as his property, they were delivered over to the police-office.*
*As on the continent, in all law and police practices nothing is verbal, but
any circumstance, however trifling, is reduced to writing, the labor, as well
as the number of papers that thus accumulate, is enormous. In a
police-office, consequently, we find copying-clerks among many other scribes
of various denominations, of which, it seems, our hero was one.
"Why, I declare the Shoes look just like my own," said one of the clerks,
eying the newly-found treasure, whose hidden powers, even he, sharp as he was,
was not able to discover. "One must have more than the eye of a shoemaker to
know one pair from the other," said he, soliloquizing; and putting, at the
same time, the galoshes in search of an owner, beside his own in the corner.
"Here, sir!" said one of the men, who panting brought him a tremendous pile of
papers.
The copying-clerk turned round and spoke awhile with the man about the reports
and legal documents in question; but when he had finished, and his eye fell
again on the Shoes, he was unable to say whether those to the left or those to
the right belonged to him. "At all events it must be those which are wet,"
thought he; but this time, in spite of his cleverness, he guessed quite wrong,
for it was just those of Fortune which played as it were into his hands, or
rather on his feet. And why, I should like to know, are the police never to be
wrong? So he put them on quickly, stuck his papers in his pocket, and took
besides a few under his arm, intending to look them through at home to make
the necessary notes. It was noon; and the weather, that had threatened rain,
began to clear up, while gaily dressed holiday folks filled the streets. "A
little trip to Fredericksburg would do me no great harm," thought he; "for I,
poor beast of burden that I am, have so much to annoy me, that I don't know
what a good appetite is. 'Tis a bitter crust, alas! at which I am condemned to
gnaw!"
Nobody could be more steady or quiet than this young man; we therefore wish
him joy of the excursion with all our heart; and it will certainly be
beneficial for a person who leads so sedentary a life. In the park he met a
friend, one of our young poets, who told him that the following day he should
set out on his long-intended tour.
"So you are going away again!" said the clerk. "You are a very free and happy
being; we others are chained by the leg and held fast to our desk."
"Yes; but it is a chain, friend, which ensures you the blessed bread of
existence," answered the poet. "You need feel no care for the coming morrow:
when you are old, you receive a pension."
"True," said the clerk, shrugging his shoulders; "and yet you are the better
off. To sit at one's ease and poetise--that is a pleasure; everybody has
something agreeable to say to you, and you are always your own master. No,
friend, you should but try what it is to sit from one year's end to the other
occupied with and judging the most trivial matters."
The poet shook his head, the copying-clerk did the same. Each one kept to his
own opinion, and so they separated.
"It's a strange race, those poets!" said the clerk, who was very fond of
soliloquizing. "I should like some day, just for a trial, to take such nature
upon me, and be a poet myself; I am very sure I should make no such miserable
verses as the others. Today, methinks, is a most delicious day for a poet.
Nature seems anew to celebrate her awakening into life. The air is so
unusually clear, the clouds sail on so buoyantly, and from the green herbage a
fragrance is exhaled that fills me with delight. For many a year have I not
felt as at this moment."
We see already, by the foregoing effusion, that he is become a poet; to give
further proof of it, however, would in most cases be insipid, for it is a most
foolish notion to fancy a poet different from other men. Among the latter
there may be far more poetical natures than many an acknowledged poet, when
examined more closely, could boast of; the difference only is, that the poet
possesses a better mental memory, on which account he is able to retain the
feeling and the thought till they can be embodied by means of words; a faculty
which the others do not possess. But the transition from a commonplace nature
to one that is richly endowed, demands always a more or less breakneck leap
over a certain abyss which yawns threateningly below; and thus must the sudden
change with the clerk strike the reader.
"The sweet air!" continued he of the police-office, in his dreamy imaginings;
"how it reminds me of the violets in the garden of my aunt Magdalena! Yes,
then I was a little wild boy, who did not go to school very regularly. O
heavens! 'tis a long time since I have thought on those times. The good old
soul! She lived behind the Exchange. She always had a few twigs or green
shoots in water--let the winter rage without as it might. The violets exhaled
their sweet breath, whilst I pressed against the windowpanes covered with
fantastic frost-work the copper coin I had heated on the stove, and so made
peep-holes. What splendid vistas were then opened to my view! What change--what
magnificence! Yonder in the canal lay the ships frozen up, and deserted by
their whole crews, with a screaming crow for the sole occupant. But when the
spring, with a gentle stirring motion, announced her arrival, a new and busy
life arose; with songs and hurrahs the ice was sawn asunder, the ships were
fresh tarred and rigged, that they might sail away to distant lands. But I
have remained here--must always remain here, sitting at my desk in the office,
and patiently see other people fetch their passports to go abroad. Such is my
fate! Alas!"--sighed he, and was again silent. "Great Heaven! What is come to
me! Never have I thought or felt like this before! It must be the summer air
that affects me with feelings almost as disquieting as they are refreshing."
He felt in his pocket for the papers. "These police-reports will soon stem the
torrent of my ideas, and effectually hinder any rebellious overflowing of the
time-worn banks of official duties"; he said to himself consolingly, while his
eye ran over the first page. "DAME TIGBRITH, tragedy in five acts." "What is
that? And yet it is undeniably my own handwriting. Have I written the tragedy?
Wonderful, very wonderful!--And this--what have I here? 'INTRIGUE ON THE
RAMPARTS; or THE DAY OF REPENTANCE: vaudeville with new songs to the most
favorite airs.' The deuce! Where did I get all this rubbish? Some one must
have slipped it slyly into my pocket for a joke. There is too a letter to me;
a crumpled letter and the seal broken."
Yes; it was not a very polite epistle from the manager of a theatre, in which
both pieces were flatly refused.
"Hem! hem!" said the clerk breathlessly, and quite exhausted he seated himself
on a bank. His thoughts were so elastic, his heart so tender; and
involuntarily he picked one of the nearest flowers. It is a simple daisy, just
bursting out of the bud. What the botanist tells us after a number of
imperfect lectures, the flower proclaimed in a minute. It related the mythus
of its birth, told of the power of the sun-light that spread out its delicate
leaves, and forced them to impregnate the air with their incense--and then he
thought of the manifold struggles of life, which in like manner awaken the
budding flowers of feeling in our bosom. Light and air contend with chivalric
emulation for the love of the fair flower that bestowed her chief favors on
the latter; full of longing she turned towards the light, and as soon as it
vanished, rolled her tender leaves together and slept in the embraces of the
air. "It is the light which adorns me," said the flower.
"But 'tis the air which enables thee to breathe," said the poet's voice.
Close by stood a boy who dashed his stick into a wet ditch. The drops of water
splashed up to the green leafy roof, and the clerk thought of the million of
ephemera which in a single drop were thrown up to a height, that was as great
doubtless for their size, as for us if we were to be hurled above the clouds.
While he thought of this and of the whole metamorphosis he had undergone, he
smiled and said, "I sleep and dream; but it is wonderful how one can dream so
naturally, and know besides so exactly that it is but a dream. If only
to-morrow on awaking, I could again call all to mind so vividly! I seem in
unusually good spirits; my perception of things is clear, I feel as light and
cheerful as though I were in heaven; but I know for a certainty, that if
to-morrow a dim remembrance of it should swim before my mind, it will then
seem nothing but stupid nonsense, as I have often experienced
already--especially before I enlisted under the banner of the police, for that
dispels like a whirlwind all the visions of an unfettered imagination. All we
hear or say in a dream that is fair and beautiful is like the gold of the
subterranean spirits; it is rich and splendid when it is given us, but viewed
by daylight we find only withered leaves. Alas!" he sighed quite sorrowful,
and gazed at the chirping birds that hopped contentedly from branch to branch,
"they are much better off than I! To fly must be a heavenly art; and happy do
I prize that creature in which it is innate. Yes! Could I exchange my nature
with any other creature, I fain would be such a happy little lark!"
He had hardly uttered these hasty words when the skirts and sleeves of his
coat folded themselves together into wings; the clothes became feathers, and
the galoshes claws. He observed it perfectly, and laughed in his heart. "Now
then, there is no doubt that I am dreaming; but I never before was aware of
such mad freaks as these." And up he flew into the green roof and sang; but in
the song there was no poetry, for the spirit of the poet was gone. The Shoes,
as is the case with anybody who does what he has to do properly, could only
attend to one thing at a time. He wanted to be a poet, and he was one; he now
wished to be a merry chirping bird: but when he was metamorphosed into one,
the former peculiarities ceased immediately. "It is really pleasant enough,"
said he: "the whole day long I sit in the office amid the driest law-papers,
and at night I fly in my dream as a lark in the gardens of Fredericksburg; one
might really write a very pretty comedy upon it." He now fluttered down into
the grass, turned his head gracefully on every side, and with his bill pecked
the pliant blades of grass, which, in comparison to his present size, seemed
as majestic as the palm-branches of northern Africa.
Unfortunately the pleasure lasted but a moment. Presently black night
overshadowed our enthusiast, who had so entirely missed his part of
copying-clerk at a police-office; some vast object seemed to be thrown over
him. It was a large oil-skin cap, which a sailor-boy of the quay had thrown
over the struggling bird; a coarse hand sought its way carefully in under the
broad rim, and seized the clerk over the back and wings. In the first moment
of fear, he called, indeed, as loud as he could--"You impudent little
blackguard! I am a copying-clerk at the police-office; and you know you cannot
insult any belonging to the constabulary force without a chastisement.
Besides, you good-for-nothing rascal, it is strictly forbidden to catch birds
in the royal gardens of Fredericksburg; but your blue uniform betrays where
you come from." This fine tirade sounded, however, to the ungodly sailor-boy
like a mere "Pippi-pi." He gave the noisy bird a knock on his beak, and walked
on.
He was soon met by two schoolboys of the upper class--that is to say as
individuals, for with regard to learning they were in the lowest class in the
school; and they bought the stupid bird. So the copying-clerk came to
Copenhagen as guest, or rather as prisoner in a family living in Gother
Street.
"'Tis well that I'm dreaming," said the clerk, "or I really should get angry.
First I was a poet; now sold for a few pence as a lark; no doubt it was that
accursed poetical nature which has metamorphosed me into such a poor harmless
little creature. It is really pitiable, particularly when one gets into the
hands of a little blackguard, perfect in all sorts of cruelty to animals: all
I should like to know is, how the story will end."
The two schoolboys, the proprietors now of the transformed clerk, carried him
into an elegant room. A stout stately dame received them with a smile; but she
expressed much dissatisfaction that a common field-bird, as she called the
lark, should appear in such high society. For to-day, however, she would allow
it; and they must shut him in the empty cage that was standing in the window.
"Perhaps he will amuse my good Polly," added the lady, looking with a
benignant smile at a large green parrot that swung himself backwards and
forwards most comfortably in his ring, inside a magnificent brass-wired cage.
"To-day is Polly's birthday," said she with stupid simplicity: "and the little
brown field-bird must wish him joy."
Mr. Polly uttered not a syllable in reply, but swung to and fro with dignified
condescension; while a pretty canary, as yellow as gold, that had lately been
brought from his sunny fragrant home, began to sing aloud.
"Noisy creature! Will you be quiet!" screamed the lady of the house, covering
the cage with an embroidered white pocket handkerchief.
"Chirp, chirp!" sighed he. "That was a dreadful snowstorm"; and he sighed
again, and was silent.
The copying-clerk, or, as the lady said, the brown field-bird, was put into a
small cage, close to the Canary, and not far from "my good Polly." The only
human sounds that the Parrot could bawl out were, "Come, let us be men!"
Everything else that he said was as unintelligible to everybody as the
chirping of the Canary, except to the clerk, who was now a bird too: he
understood his companion perfectly.
"I flew about beneath the green palms and the blossoming almond-trees," sang
the Canary; "I flew around, with my brothers and sisters, over the beautiful
flowers, and over the glassy lakes, where the bright water-plants nodded to me
from below. There, too, I saw many splendidly-dressed paroquets, that told the
drollest stories, and the wildest fairy tales without end."
"Oh! those were uncouth birds," answered the Parrot. "They had no education,
and talked of whatever came into their head.
"If my mistress and all her friends can laugh at what I say, so may you too,
I should think. It is a great fault to have no taste for what is witty or
amusing--come, let us be men."
"Ah, you have no remembrance of love for the charming maidens that danced
beneath the outspread tents beside the bright fragrant flowers? Do you no
longer remember the sweet fruits, and the cooling juice in the wild plants of
our never-to-be-forgotten home?" said the former inhabitant of the Canary
Isles, continuing his dithyrambic.
"Oh, yes," said the Parrot; "but I am far better off here. I am well fed, and
get friendly treatment. I know I am a clever fellow; and that is all I care
about. Come, let us be men. You are of a poetical nature, as it is called--I,
on the contrary, possess profound knowledge and inexhaustible wit. You have
genius; but clear-sighted, calm discretion does not take such lofty flights,
and utter such high natural tones. For this they have covered you over--they
never do the like to me; for I cost more. Besides, they are afraid of my beak;
and I have always a witty answer at hand. Come, let us be men!"
"O warm spicy land of my birth," sang the Canary bird; "I will sing of thy
dark-green bowers, of the calm bays where the pendent boughs kiss the surface
of the water; I will sing of the rejoicing of all my brothers and sisters
where the cactus grows in wanton luxuriance."
"Spare us your elegiac tones," said the Parrot giggling. "Rather speak of
something at which one may laugh heartily. Laughing is an infallible sign of
the highest degree of mental development. Can a dog, or a horse laugh? No, but
they can cry. The gift of laughing was given to man alone. Ha! ha! ha!"
screamed Polly, and added his stereotype witticism. "Come, let us be men!"
"Poor little Danish grey-bird," said the Canary; "you have been caught too. It
is, no doubt, cold enough in your woods, but there at least is the breath of
liberty; therefore fly away. In the hurry they have forgotten to shut your
cage, and the upper window is open. Fly, my friend; fly away. Farewell!"
Instinctively the Clerk obeyed; with a few strokes of his wings he was out of
the cage; but at the same moment the door, which was only ajar, and which led
to the next room, began to creak, and supple and creeping came the large
tomcat into the room, and began to pursue him. The frightened Canary fluttered
about in his cage; the Parrot flapped his wings, and cried, "Come, let us be
men!" The Clerk felt a mortal fright, and flew through the window, far away
over the houses and streets. At last he was forced to rest a little.
The neighboring house had a something familiar about it; a window stood open;
he flew in; it was his own room. He perched upon the table.
"Come, let us be men!" said he, involuntarily imitating the chatter of the
Parrot, and at the same moment he was again a copying-clerk; but he was
sitting in the middle of the table.
"Heaven help me!" cried he. "How did I get up here--and so buried in sleep,
too? After all, that was a very unpleasant, disagreeable dream that haunted
me! The whole story is nothing but silly, stupid nonsense!"
VI. The Best That the Galoshes Gave
The following day, early in the morning, while the Clerk was still in bed,
someone knocked at his door. It was his neighbor, a young Divine, who lived on
the same floor. He walked in.
"Lend me your Galoshes," said he; "it is so wet in the garden, though the sun
is shining most invitingly. I should like to go out a little."
He got the Galoshes, and he was soon below in a little duodecimo garden, where
between two immense walls a plumtree and an apple-tree were standing. Even
such a little garden as this was considered in the metropolis of Copenhagen as
a great luxury.
The young man wandered up and down the narrow paths, as well as the prescribed
limits would allow; the clock struck six; without was heard the horn of a
post-boy.
"To travel! to travel!" exclaimed he, overcome by most painful and passionate
remembrances. "That is the happiest thing in the world! That is the highest
aim of all my wishes! Then at last would the agonizing restlessness be
allayed, which destroys my existence! But it must be far, far away! I would
behold magnificent Switzerland; I would travel to Italy, and--"
It was a good thing that the power of the Galoshes worked as instantaneously
as lightning in a powder-magazine would do, otherwise the poor man with his
overstrained wishes would have travelled about the world too much for himself
as well as for us. In short, he was travelling. He was in the middle of
Switzerland, but packed up with eight other passengers in the inside of an
eternally-creaking diligence; his head ached till it almost split, his weary
neck could hardly bear the heavy load, and his feet, pinched by his torturing
boots, were terribly swollen. He was in an intermediate state between sleeping
and waking; at variance with himself, with his company, with the country, and
with the government. In his right pocket he had his letter of credit, in the
left, his passport, and in a small leathern purse some double louis d'or,
carefully sewn up in the bosom of his waistcoat. Every dream proclaimed that
one or the other of these valuables was lost; wherefore he started up as in a
fever; and the first movement which his hand made, described a magic triangle
from the right pocket to the left, and then up towards the bosom, to feel if
he had them all safe or not. From the roof inside the carriage, umbrellas,
walking-sticks, hats, and sundry other articles were depending, and hindered
the view, which was particularly imposing. He now endeavored as well as he was
able to dispel his gloom, which was caused by outward chance circumstances
merely, and on the bosom of nature imbibe the milk of purest human enjoyment.
Grand, solemn, and dark was the whole landscape around. The gigantic
pine-forests, on the pointed crags, seemed almost like little tufts of
heather, colored by the surrounding clouds. It began to snow, a cold wind blew
and roared as though it were seeking a bride.
"Augh!" sighed he, "were we only on the other side the Alps, then we should
have summer, and I could get my letters of credit cashed. The anxiety I feel
about them prevents me enjoying Switzerland. Were I but on the other side!"
And so saying he was on the other side in Italy, between Florence and Rome.
Lake Thracymene, illumined by the evening sun, lay like flaming gold between
the dark-blue mountain-ridges; here, where Hannibal defeated Flaminius, the
rivers now held each other in their green embraces; lovely, half-naked
children tended a herd of black swine, beneath a group of fragrant
laurel-trees, hard by the road-side. Could we render this inimitable picture
properly, then would everybody exclaim, "Beautiful, unparalleled Italy!" But
neither the young Divine said so, nor anyone of his grumbling companions in
the coach of the vetturino.
The poisonous flies and gnats swarmed around by thousands; in vain one waved
myrtle-branches about like mad; the audacious insect population did not cease
to sting; nor was there a single person in the well-crammed carriage whose
face was not swollen and sore from their ravenous bites. The poor horses,
tortured almost to death, suffered most from this truly Egyptian plague; the
flies alighted upon them in large disgusting swarms; and if the coachman got
down and scraped them off, hardly a minute elapsed before they were there
again. The sun now set: a freezing cold, though of short duration pervaded the
whole creation; it was like a horrid gust coming from a burial-vault on a warm
summer's day--but all around the mountains retained that wonderful green tone
which we see in some old pictures, and which, should we not have seen a
similar play of color in the South, we declare at once to be unnatural. It was
a glorious prospect; but the stomach was empty, the body tired; all that the
heart cared and longed for was good night-quarters; yet how would they be? For
these one looked much more anxiously than for the charms of nature, which
every where were so profusely displayed.
The road led through an olive-grove, and here the solitary inn was situated.
Ten or twelve crippled-beggars had encamped outside. The healthiest of them
resembled, to use an expression of Marryat's, "Hunger's eldest son when he had
come of age"; the others were either blind, had withered legs and crept about
on their hands, or withered arms and fingerless hands. It was the most
wretched misery, dragged from among the filthiest rags. "Excellenza,
miserabili!" sighed they, thrusting forth their deformed limbs to view. Even
the hostess, with bare feet, uncombed hair, and dressed in a garment of
doubtful color, received the guests grumblingly. The doors were fastened with
a loop of string; the floor of the rooms presented a stone paving half torn
up; bats fluttered wildly about the ceiling; and as to the smell
therein--no--that was beyond description.
"You had better lay the cloth below in the stable," said one of the
travellers; "there, at all events, one knows what one is breathing."
The windows were quickly opened, to let in a little fresh air. Quicker,
however, than the breeze, the withered, sallow arms of the beggars were thrust
in, accompanied by the eternal whine of "Miserabili, miserabili, excellenza!"
On the walls were displayed innumerable inscriptions, written in nearly every
language of Europe, some in verse, some in prose, most of them not very
laudatory of "bella Italia."
The meal was served. It consisted of a soup of salted water, seasoned with
pepper and rancid oil. The last ingredient played a very prominent part in the
salad; stale eggs and roasted cocks'-combs furnished the grand dish of the
repast; the wine even was not without a disgusting taste--it was like a
medicinal draught.
At night the boxes and other effects of the passengers were placed against the
rickety doors. One of the travellers kept watch while the others slept. The
sentry was our young Divine. How close it was in the chamber! The heat
oppressive to suffocation--the gnats hummed and stung unceasingly--the
"miserabili" without whined and moaned in their sleep.
"Travelling would be agreeable enough," said he groaning, "if one only had no
body, or could send it to rest while the spirit went on its pilgrimage
unhindered, whither the voice within might call it. Wherever I go, I am
pursued by a longing that is insatiable--that I cannot explain to myself, and
that tears my very heart. I want something better than what is but what is
fled in an instant. But what is it, and where is it to be found? Yet, I know
in reality what it is I wish for. Oh! most happy were I, could I but reach one
aim--could but reach the happiest of all!"
And as he spoke the word he was again in his home; the long white curtains
hung down from the windows, and in the middle of the floor stood the black
coffin; in it he lay in the sleep of death. His wish was fulfilled--the body
rested, while the spirit went unhindered on its pilgrimage. "Let no one deem
himself happy before his end," were the words of Solon; and here was a new and
brilliant proof of the wisdom of the old apothegm.
Every corpse is a sphynx of immortality; here too on the black coffin the
sphynx gave us no answer to what he who lay within had written two days
before:
"O mighty Death! thy silence teaches nought,
Thou leadest only to the near grave's brink;
Is broken now the ladder of my thoughts?
Do I instead of mounting only sink?
Our heaviest grief the world oft seeth not,
Our sorest pain we hide from stranger eyes:
And for the sufferer there is nothing left
But the green mound that o'er the coffin lies."
Two figures were moving in the chamber. We knew them both; it was the fairy of
Care, and the emissary of Fortune. They both bent over the corpse.
"Do you now see," said Care, "what happiness your Galoshes have brought to
mankind?"
"To him, at least, who slumbers here, they have brought an imperishable
blessing," answered the other.
"Ah no!" replied Care. "He took his departure himself; he was not called away.
His mental powers here below were not strong enough to reach the treasures
lying beyond this life, and which his destiny ordained he should obtain. I
will now confer a benefit on him."
And she took the Galoshes from his feet; his sleep of death was ended; and he
who had been thus called back again to life arose from his dread couch in all
the vigor of youth. Care vanished, and with her the Galoshes. She has no doubt
taken them for herself, to keep them to all eternity.
