Where did we get this story from? Would you like to know? Hvorfra vi har Historien? Vi har den fra Fjerdingen, den med de gamle Papirer i. Many good and even rare books have ended up in the paper barrel. When they are taken out again, it is not to be read but to be used as wrapping for coffee, sugar, cheese, butter, and pickled herrings--the latter gets a double portion--which proves that written matter has a practical value.

Author:Kagal Faemuro
Language:English (Spanish)
Published (Last):7 July 2017
PDF File Size:15.2 Mb
ePub File Size:2.89 Mb
Price:Free* [*Free Regsitration Required]

Where did we get this story from? Would you like to know? Hvorfra vi har Historien? Vi har den fra Fjerdingen, den med de gamle Papirer i. Many good and even rare books have ended up in the paper barrel. When they are taken out again, it is not to be read but to be used as wrapping for coffee, sugar, cheese, butter, and pickled herrings--the latter gets a double portion--which proves that written matter has a practical value.

Skrevne Sager ere ogsaa brugelige. I have a friend who knows all about it, because he is not only the son of a greengrocer, who has a store in the basement; but he is apprenticed to a grocer. The young man had advanced himself from the cellar to the street floor. He is very well read in barrel literature: both the handwritten and the printed. He has a whole library of it, but he has two stores to choose from.

It is an interesting collection. There are several love letters; official governmennt communications that were thrown in a wastepaper basket by an absent-minded bureaucrat; and some long, gossipy letters filled with scandal that must never be told to a soul.

My young friend is a rescuer of literature and has saved, if not books, then many pages of books that deserved to be read more than once. He has shown me his collection, both of printed and handwritten documents.

A few sheets of large folio paper caught my attention because of the beautiful handwriting. He died last month. He suffered terribly from toothaches. It is amusing to read about.

There are only a few pages left. There was a whole book, if not more, when my father bought it from his landlady. He paid half a pound of green soap for it.

This is all I managed to save; the rest had already been used for wrapping. Her er, hvad jeg fik holdt tilbage. When I was a little boy, Auntie always fed me sweets. My teeth survived it. Now when I am older and have become a student she still spoils me with sweets; she calls me a poet. I have something of a poet in me, but not enough. Sometimes as I walk through the streets of the city it seems to me to be a giant library.

All the houses are bookcases, each floor a shelf with books. Here is an everyday story, written realistically; there an old-fashioned comedy; and beside it, where the gauze curtains hang, a scientific treatise. Pornography and literature of real value are on the same shelf. I can daydream and philosophize while I walk through my "library. Yes, there is something of a poet in me, but not enough.

I think many people have as much of a poet in them as I do, without calling themselves one. Der er Noget i mig af Poeten, men ikke nok. They are lucky and I am lucky too, for to have an imagination is a blessing, even when it is so small that it cannot be shared.

It is like a sun ray that fills your soul and your mind. It comes as a sudden smell of flowers, a melody that one knows and remembers, but cannot recall where from. Der er givet dem og mig en Gudsgave, en Velsignelse, stor nok for En selv, men altfor lille til at stykkes ud igjen til Andre. The other evening as I sat in my room I had no book to read and was in need of one, when a leaf fell from the linden tree outside.

The wind carried it through the open window into my room. Luftningen bar det ind af Vinduet til mig. I picked it up and looked at its green surface with its many veins. A little bug was studying it too; at least, it plodded across the leaf as if that were what it was doing.

Suddenly it struck me that such was human wisdom. And all we know anything about is the leaf. Just at that moment Aunt Mille came to visit me. I told her my thoughts and showed her the leaf, upon which the insect was still crawling. She clapped her hands. If only I live to see you fulfill your destiny, then I shall die contented. Ever since the funeral of Brewer Rasmussen I have been amazed by your imagination! Det sagde Tante Mille og kyssede mig. But who was Auntie Mille and who was Brewer Rasmussen?

Hvem var Tante Mille og hvem var Brygger Rasmussen? II II. She gave us jam and sugar sandwiches, though she knew it was bad for our teeth. As she said herself, she could not help indulging such sweet children. Og derfor holdt vi saa meget af Tante. She was an old maid. As long as I can remember, she had been old. It was as if her age had reached a certain point and then stood still. Hun stod stille i Alderen. She used to suffer from toothaches, and talked about it a good deal; therefore her friend Brewer Rasmussen nicknamed her "Auntie Toothache.

The brewer, who had sold his brewery and now lived on his savings, often visited Auntie. He was a little older than she, and he did not have a whole tooth in his mouth, only black stubs.

He said that this was because he had eaten too much sugar as a child, and we children should be careful or the same thing would happen to us.

Auntie had obviously not eaten any sugar as a child, because she had the most beautiful white teeth. Hun sparede ogsaa paa dem, sov ikke med dem om Natten! Another time, when both she and Brewer Rasmussen were having lunch with us, Auntie mentioned that she had had a nightmare, in which she dreamed that one of her teeth fell out.

She was angrier than I have ever seen her, either before or since. Later she said that it was only nonsense; her old friend, who was one of the noblest persons she had ever known, had only been teasing her. I thought a great deal about this transformation and wondered if I would be able to recognize Brewer Rasmussen in this new shape.

When Auntie was young, the brewer had proposed to her, but it had taken her too long to make up her mind. She had kept putting it off until she became an old maid, but they had remained faithful friends.

Da Tante var ung og han ogsaa ung, friede han til hende. Brewer Rasmussen died. He was driven to his grave in a hearse with four black horses and followed by a great many mourners, among them several in uniform, wearing decorations. Auntie stood at her window dressed in black, together with all her nieces and nephews, except for my little brother whom the stork had brought only three weeks before. When the hearse and the mourners had passed and the street was empty again, Auntie wanted to leave.

I was sure that he would show up. Or maybe, when the stork brings us another little brother, it will be Angel Rasmussen? She was and is my most compassionate friend, both when I suffer from poetry "pains" and when I suffer from toothaches. I have attacks of both. Hun var og er mig den meest deeltagende Veninde, baade i Digter-Pine og i Tandpine.

Jeg har jo Anfald af begge to. Though I am not fond of him; he is too narrow-minded. You must be broad. You will broaden yourself! Her lips smiled sorrowfully; her teeth were pure white. But now I must begin the third section of the story of myself and Auntie. Men jeg maa begynde et nyt Afsnit i min og Tantes Historie. I had moved to new lodgings and had lived there about a month and was telling Auntie about it.

Jeg var flyttet ind i en ny Huusleilighed og havde boet der en Maaned. Herom talte jeg med Tante. It just occurred to me that it could be because no one hears it, for the house is a circus of noises, from wind and weather and human beings. I live just above the entrance. Every cart or carriage that passes below makes the pictures on my walls dance.

When the janitor finally shuts the gate at night, it sounds and feels like an earthquake.


“Auntie Toothache” by Hans Christian Andersen

We will contact you as soon as possible. They and I have been given a divine gift, a blessing great enough to satisfy oneself, but altogether too little to be portioned out again to others. You paint when you speak! Great, glowing toohache and inscriptions on waving banners of victory, the letters patent of immortality, written on the wing of an ephemera, shone down to me through the water. Hans Christian Andersen : Aunty Toothache I woke up of my own accord, opened my eyes, had completely forgotten that Auntie was here in tokthache house, but soon I remembered it, remembered my toothache vision. Tales index About the translation. I live just above the street gate; every carriage that drives out or in makes the pictures on the walls move about.




Related Articles