Little Tuk's Dream

Ah! yes, that was little Tuk: in reality his name was not Tuk, but that was what he called himself before he could speak plain: he meant it for Charles, and it is all well enough if one does but know it. He had now to take care of his little sister Augusta, who was much younger than himself, and he was, besides, to learn his lesson at the same time; but these two things would not do together at all. There sat the poor little fellow, with his sister on his lap, and he sang to her all the songs he knew; and he glanced the while from time to time into the geography-book that lay open before him. By the next morning he was to have learnt all the towns in Zealand by heart, and to know about them all that is possible to be known.

Ah, yes, that was little Tuk. His real name was not Tuk, but that was what he called himself before he could speak clearly. He meant to say Charles, and that is good enough if you know it. He now had to look after his little sister Augusta, who was much younger than he was. He also had to learn his lesson at the same time, but the two tasks did not go together at all. There sat the poor little fellow, with his sister on his lap, singing her all the songs he knew. As he sang, he glanced from time to time at the geography book lying open before him. By the next morning, he had to learn all the towns in Zealand by heart. He also had to know everything it was possible to know about them.

His mother now came home, for she had been out, and took little Augusta on her arm. Tuk ran quickly to the window, and read so eagerly that he pretty nearly read his eyes out; for it got darker and darker, but his mother had no money to buy a candle.

His mother came home after being out and picked up little Augusta. Tuk ran to the window and read so eagerly that he nearly read his eyes out. It was getting darker and darker, but his mother had no money to buy a candle.

“There goes the old washerwoman over the way,” said his mother, as she looked out of the window. “The poor woman can hardly drag herself along, and she must now drag the pail home from the fountain. Be a good boy, Tukey, and run across and help the old woman, won't you?”

“There goes the old washerwoman across the street,” said his mother, looking out the window. “The poor woman can hardly walk, and now she has to drag the pail home from the fountain. Be a good boy, Tukey, and run across to help her, won't you?”

So Tuk ran over quickly and helped her; but when he came back again into the room it was quite dark, and as to a light, there was no thought of such a thing. He was now to go to bed; that was an old turn-up bedstead; in it he lay and thought about his geography lesson, and of Zealand, and of all that his master had told him. He ought, to be sure, to have read over his lesson again, but that, you know, he could not do. He therefore put his geography-book under his pillow, because he had heard that was a very good thing to do when one wants to learn one's lesson; but one cannot, however, rely upon it entirely. Well, there he lay, and thought and thought, and all at once it was just as if someone kissed his eyes and mouth: he slept, and yet he did not sleep; it was as though the old washerwoman gazed on him with her mild eyes and said, “It were a great sin if you were not to know your lesson tomorrow morning. You have aided me, I therefore will now help you; and the loving God will do so at all times.” And all of a sudden the book under Tuk's pillow began scraping and scratching.

So Tuk ran over quickly and helped her. But when he came back to the room, it was quite dark. There was no question of having a light. It was time for him to go to bed, an old fold-up bed. As he lay there, he thought about his geography lesson, Zealand, and everything his teacher had told him. He really should have read his lesson again, but, as you know, he couldn't. So he put his geography book under his pillow. He had heard that this was a very good thing to do when you wanted to learn a lesson. But you can't rely on it entirely. Well, there he lay, thinking and thinking. All at once, it was as if someone kissed his eyes and mouth. He was asleep, and yet he wasn't asleep. It seemed as though the old washerwoman looked at him with her gentle eyes and said, “It would be a great sin if you didn't know your lesson tomorrow morning. You have helped me, so now I will help you. And the loving God will help you at all times.” Suddenly, the book under Tuk's pillow began scraping and scratching.

“Kickery-ki! kluk! kluk! kluk!”—that was an old hen who came creeping along, and she was from Kjoge. “I am a Kjoger hen,” [*] said she, and then she related how many inhabitants there were there, and about the battle that had taken place, and which, after all, was hardly worth talking about.

“Kickery-ki! kluk! kluk! kluk!” An old hen came creeping along, making these sounds. She was from Kjoge. “I am a Kjoger hen,” [*] she said. Then she told how many people lived in Kjoge and about the battle that had taken place there. After all, the battle was hardly worth talking about.

“Kribledy, krabledy—plump!” down fell somebody: it was a wooden bird, the popinjay used at the shooting-matches at Prastoe. Now he said that there were just as many inhabitants as he had nails in his body; and he was very proud. “Thorwaldsen lived almost next door to me.* Plump! Here I lie capitally.”

“Kribledy, krabledy, plump!” Somebody fell down. It was a wooden bird, the popinjay used as a target at the shooting matches in Prastoe. He said there were just as many inhabitants as he had nails in his body, and he was very proud. “Thorwaldsen lived almost next door to me.* Plump! Here I lie, quite comfortably.”

* Prastoe, a still smaller town than Kjoge. Some hundred paces from it lies the manor-house Ny Soe, where Thorwaldsen, the famed sculptor, generally sojourned during his stay in Denmark, and where he called many of his immortal works into existence.

* Prastoe is an even smaller town than Kjoge. A few hundred paces away stands the manor house Ny Soe. The famous sculptor Thorwaldsen usually stayed there while in Denmark and created many of his immortal works there.

But little Tuk was no longer lying down: all at once he was on horseback. On he went at full gallop, still galloping on and on. A knight with a gleaming plume, and most magnificently dressed, held him before him on the horse, and thus they rode through the wood to the old town of Bordingborg, and that was a large and very lively town. High towers rose from the castle of the king, and the brightness of many candles streamed from all the windows; within was dance and song, and King Waldemar and the young, richly-attired maids of honor danced together. The morn now came; and as soon as the sun appeared, the whole town and the king's palace crumbled together, and one tower after the other; and at last only a single one remained standing where the castle had been before,* and the town was so small and poor, and the school boys came along with their books under their arms, and said, “2000 inhabitants!” but that was not true, for there were not so many.

But little Tuk was no longer lying down. Suddenly, he was on horseback, galloping on and on. A magnificently dressed knight with a gleaming plume held Tuk in front of him on the horse. They rode through the woods to the old town of Bordingborg, a large and lively town. Tall towers rose from the king's castle, and bright candlelight streamed from every window. Inside, there was dancing and singing. King Waldemar danced with the young, richly dressed maids of honor. Then morning came. As soon as the sun appeared, the whole town and the king's palace crumbled, along with the towers, one after another. At last, only one tower remained standing where the castle had been.* The town was now small and poor. Schoolboys came along with books under their arms and said, “2,000 inhabitants!” But that was not true, for there were not so many.

*Bordingborg, in the reign of King Waldemar, a considerable place, now an unimportant little town. One solitary tower only, and some remains of a wall, show where the castle once stood.

*Bordingborg was a significant place during the reign of King Waldemar. Now it is an unimportant little town. Only one tower and some remains of a wall show where the castle once stood.

And little Tukey lay in his bed: it seemed to him as if he dreamed, and yet as if he were not dreaming; however, somebody was close beside him.

And little Tukey lay in bed. He felt as if he were dreaming, yet also as if he were not. But someone was close beside him.

“Little Tukey! Little Tukey!” cried someone near. It was a seaman, quite a little personage, so little as if he were a midshipman; but a midshipman it was not.

“Little Tukey! Little Tukey!” someone nearby cried. It was a sailor, a very small man, as small as a midshipman. But he was not a midshipman.

“Many remembrances from Corsor.* That is a town that is just rising into importance; a lively town that has steam-boats and stagecoaches: formerly people called it ugly, but that is no longer true. I lie on the sea,” said Corsor; “I have high roads and gardens, and I have given birth to a poet who was witty and amusing, which all poets are not. I once intended to equip a ship that was to sail all round the earth; but I did not do it, although I could have done so: and then, too, I smell so deliciously, for close before the gate bloom the most beautiful roses.”

“Many memories of Corsor.* The town is just beginning to grow in importance. It is lively, with steamboats and stagecoaches. People used to call it ugly, but that is no longer true. I lie by the sea,” said Corsor. “I have highways and gardens, and a poet was born here who was witty and amusing. Not all poets are. I once intended to equip a ship to sail around the world. But I did not, although I could have. And I smell so lovely, because the most beautiful roses bloom just outside my gate.”

*Corsor, on the Great Belt, called, formerly, before the introduction of steam-vessels, when travellers were often obliged to wait a long time for a favorable wind, “the most tiresome of towns.” The poet Baggesen was born here.

*Corsor, on the Great Belt, was once called “the most tiresome of towns.” Before steamships were introduced, travelers there often had to wait a long time for a favorable wind. The poet Baggesen was born here.

Little Tuk looked, and all was red and green before his eyes; but as soon as the confusion of colors was somewhat over, all of a sudden there appeared a wooded slope close to the bay, and high up above stood a magnificent old church, with two high pointed towers. From out the hill-side spouted fountains in thick streams of water, so that there was a continual splashing; and close beside them sat an old king with a golden crown upon his white head: that was King Hroar, near the fountains, close to the town of Roeskilde, as it is now called. And up the slope into the old church went all the kings and queens of Denmark, hand in hand, all with their golden crowns; and the organ played and the fountains rustled. Little Tuk saw all, heard all. “Do not forget the diet,” said King Hroar.*

Little Tuk looked, and everything before his eyes was red and green. But as the confusion of colors faded somewhat, a wooded slope suddenly appeared close to the bay. High above it stood a magnificent old church with two tall, pointed towers. Fountains poured thick streams of water from the hillside, making a constant splashing sound. An old king sat close beside them, a golden crown on his white head. This was King Hroar, sitting near the fountains, close to the town now called Roeskilde. All the kings and queens of Denmark walked hand in hand up the slope into the old church. They all wore golden crowns. The organ played and the fountains splashed. Little Tuk saw and heard everything. “Do not forget the diet,” said King Hroar.*

*Roeskilde, once the capital of Denmark. The town takes its name from King Hroar, and the many fountains in the neighborhood. In the beautiful cathedral the greater number of the kings and queens of Denmark are interred. In Roeskilde, too, the members of the Danish Diet assemble.

*Roeskilde was once the capital of Denmark. The town takes its name from King Hroar and the many fountains nearby. Most of Denmark’s kings and queens are buried in the beautiful cathedral. The members of the Danish Diet also meet in Roeskilde.

Again all suddenly disappeared. Yes, and whither? It seemed to him just as if one turned over a leaf in a book. And now stood there an old peasant-woman, who came from Soroe,* where grass grows in the market-place. She had an old grey linen apron hanging over her head and back: it was so wet, it certainly must have been raining. “Yes, that it has,” said she; and she now related many pretty things out of Holberg's comedies, and about Waldemar and Absalon; but all at once she cowered together, and her head began shaking backwards and forwards, and she looked as she were going to make a spring. “Croak! croak!” said she. “It is wet, it is wet; there is such a pleasant deathlike stillness in Sorbe!” She was now suddenly a frog, “Croak”; and now she was an old woman. “One must dress according to the weather,” said she. “It is wet; it is wet. My town is just like a bottle; and one gets in by the neck, and by the neck one must get out again! In former times I had the finest fish, and now I have fresh rosy-cheeked boys at the bottom of the bottle, who learn wisdom, Hebrew, Greek—Croak!”

Once again, everything suddenly disappeared. Yes, and where did it go? It seemed to him as if someone had turned a page in a book. Now an old peasant woman stood there. She came from Soroe,* where grass grows in the marketplace. An old gray linen apron hung over her head and back. It was so wet that it must surely have been raining. “Yes, it has,” she said. Then she told him many charming things from Holberg's comedies and about Waldemar and Absalon. But suddenly she crouched down, and her head began shaking back and forth. She looked as if she were about to leap. “Croak! croak!” she said. “It's wet, it's wet. There's such a pleasant, deathly stillness in Sorbe!” Suddenly she was a frog. “Croak!” Then she was an old woman again. “One must dress for the weather,” she said. “It's wet, it's wet. My town is just like a bottle. You get in through the neck, and you must get out through the neck too! In the old days I had the finest fish. Now I have fresh, rosy-cheeked boys at the bottom of the bottle, learning wisdom, Hebrew, Greek. Croak!”

* Sorbe, a very quiet little town, beautifully situated, surrounded by woods and lakes. Holberg, Denmark's Moliere, founded here an academy for the sons of the nobles. The poets Hauch and Ingemann were appointed professors here. The latter lives there still.

* Sorbe is a very quiet little town in a beautiful setting, surrounded by woods and lakes. Holberg, Denmark's Moliere, founded an academy there for the sons of nobles. The poets Hauch and Ingemann were appointed professors at the academy. Ingemann still lives in Sorbe.

When she spoke it sounded just like the noise of frogs, or as if one walked with great boots over a moor; always the same tone, so uniform and so tiring that little Tuk fell into a good sound sleep, which, by the bye, could not do him any harm.

When she spoke, she sounded like frogs croaking, or like someone walking across a moor in heavy boots. Her voice was always the same, so monotonous and tiring that little Tuk fell into a deep sleep. And, by the way, the sleep could not do him any harm.

But even in this sleep there came a dream, or whatever else it was: his little sister Augusta, she with the blue eyes and the fair curling hair, was suddenly a tall, beautiful girl, and without having wings was yet able to fly; and she now flew over Zealand—over the green woods and the blue lakes.

But even in his sleep, he had a dream, or whatever it was. His little sister Augusta, with her blue eyes and fair, curly hair, had suddenly become a tall, beautiful girl. She had no wings, yet she could fly. And now she flew over Zealand, over the green woods and blue lakes.

“Do you hear the cock crow, Tukey? Cock-a-doodle-doo! The cocks are flying up from Kjoge! You will have a farm-yard, so large, oh! so very large! You will suffer neither hunger nor thirst! You will get on in the world! You will be a rich and happy man! Your house will exalt itself like King Waldemar's tower, and will be richly decorated with marble statues, like that at Prastoe. You understand what I mean. Your name shall circulate with renown all round the earth, like unto the ship that was to have sailed from Corsor; and in Roeskilde—”

“Do you hear the rooster crowing, Tukey? Cock-a-doodle-doo! The roosters are flying up from Kjoge! You will have a farmyard, so large, oh! so very large! You will never go hungry or thirsty! You will get on in the world! You will be a rich and happy man! Your house will rise like King Waldemar's tower. It will be richly decorated with marble statues, like the one at Prastoe. You understand what I mean. Your name will be famous all around the earth, like the ship that was supposed to sail from Corsor. And in Roeskilde...”

“Do not forget the diet!” said King Hroar.

“Don't forget the diet!” said King Hroar.

“Then you will speak well and wisely, little Tukey; and when at last you sink into your grave, you shall sleep as quietly—”

“Then you will speak well and wisely, little Tukey. And when you finally go to your grave, you will sleep as quietly...”

“As if I lay in Soroe,” said Tuk, awaking. It was bright day, and he was now quite unable to call to mind his dream; that, however, was not at all necessary, for one may not know what the future will bring.

“As if I were lying in Soroe,” said Tuk as he woke up. It was broad daylight, and he could no longer remember his dream at all. But that was not necessary, for one may not know what the future will bring.

And out of bed he jumped, and read in his book, and now all at once he knew his whole lesson. And the old washerwoman popped her head in at the door, nodded to him friendly, and said, “Thanks, many thanks, my good child, for your help! May the good ever-loving God fulfil your loveliest dream!”

He jumped out of bed and read his book. All at once, he knew his whole lesson. The old washerwoman popped her head in through the door and gave him a friendly nod. “Thank you, thank you so much, my good child, for your help!” she said. “May the good, ever-loving God make your loveliest dream come true!”

Little Tukey did not at all know what he had dreamed, but the loving God knew it.

Little Tukey had no idea what he had dreamed, but the loving God knew.