Read Ebook: An Essay Toward a History of Shakespeare in Norway by Ruud Martin B Martin Bronn

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Ebook has 380 lines and 48672 words, and 8 pages

"NOW'S MY CHANCE," THOUGHT DANNY FOX 253

"LAY YOUR HEAD IN THE BOAT," CRIED THE BILLY GOAT 257

"ONCE UPON A TIME," SHE BEGAN 262

THE KNAPSACK BURST OPEN 263

"I FEEL ONLY TWENTY-ONE" 264

"TWICE TO THE LEFT, THREE TO THE RIGHT!" 272

"THANK YOU, MA'AM," HE SAID 275

"In the Spring, The blue birds sing And skies of blue Smile down on you"

IN THE BIG BLUE BOOK LITTLE JACK RABBIT WEARS A BLUE NECKTIE.

LITTLE JACK RABBIT'S BIG BLUE BOOK

BUNNY TALE 1

THE WEDDING

Was some one knocking on the door of Uncle Lucky's little white house on the corner of Lettuce Avenue and Carrot St., Rabbitville, U.S.A.? Well, I guess yes, three times. Maybe somebody has been knocking ever since Bobbie Redvest told me that a bad attack of rheumatism prevents the dear old gentleman rabbit from hearing unpleasant news. Well, anyway, when Uncle Lucky opened the door who do you think was standing on the mat? You'd never guess, not even if I told you he wore rubber boots and held a green umbrella in his hand.

It was Daddy Longlegs--yes, sir, that's who it was.

"Goodness gracious meebus!" exclaimed the old gentleman rabbit, "are you wet?"

"Soaked to the skin," replied the shivering, rubber-booted, long-legged insect. "Let me sit by the kitchen stove and warm myself. Maybe I'll get dry in an hour or so."

"Come right in!" cried dear, kind Uncle Lucky, leading the way into the kitchen where little Miss Mousie, the dear old gentleman rabbit's tiny housekeeper, was drying the breakfast dishes.

"O sunny days, so sweet and warm, I miss you very much. I only hope the rheumatiz My little toe won't touch!"

sang Uncle Lucky, helping Daddy Longlegs pull off his rubber boots.

"Ha, ha!" laughed the old gentleman insect, stretching out his cold, damp toes:

"I love the cheerful kitchen fire, And though it is so kind To warm my frozen tippy toes, I'm always cold behind."

"Turn around once in a while," replied Uncle Lucky, "that's what I do!"

"Don't set your coat tails on fire," advised Little Miss Mousie, as she nibbled a piece of angel cake.

Taking out a cabbage leaf cigar, he slipped his feet into his comfortable woolen slippers and, placing his gold-rimmed spectacles on his nose, sat down in his big arm chair.

Pitter, patter, went the rain On the misty window pane; While the fire's cheerful glow Warmed his poor rheumatic toe.

Pitter, patter, sings the rain In a drowsy, soft refrain. Ticker, tacker, on the leaves, Dripping, dripping, from the eaves. Tinkle, tinkle, on the pane, Rings the wind-blown summer rain.

Pretty soon, Uncle Lucky fell asleep and when he woke up, Mr. Merry Sun was shining and Daddy Longlegs had gone.

"Oh, dear and oh, dear!" sighed dear Uncle Lucky, taking out his gold watch and chain, "I wonder what time it is."

Then he sighed again and looked out of the window. But the postman wasn't in sight, only the Old Red Rooster raking up the leaves.

"Well, well, well!" sighed lonely Uncle Lucky, for the third time, "what shall I do?"

"Sing a song," suggested Little Miss Mousie, peeking out of her small front door in the far corner of the sitting room.

"Sing us two songs," shouted the Old Red Rooster through the open window.

So down at the piano sat kind Uncle Lucky, and, after running his paws over the keys, commenced:

"When I was young and twenty, And my hair was curly brown, I loved a lady bunny, The sweetest in the town.

One day I bought a ringlet At the Three-in-One Cent Store, And then that eve I called on her And placed it on her paw.

But oh, the years have flown since then, Way back in '63, And only my old wedding hat Is left to lonely me."

Then up jumped dear, tender-hearted Uncle Lucky, and wiping the tears in his left eye, took down his old wedding stovepipe hat and carefully dusted it off with his blue silk polkadot handkerchief.

All of a sudden the telephone bell began to ring.

"Who's calling me?" inquired the old gentleman bunny, taking down the receiver and holding it up to his left ear.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" he said the next moment. "Well, I don't want to talk to you--no, I don't. You make me cross," and with that Uncle Lucky hung up the receiver and hopped back to his big comfortable armchair.

"Who was it?" asked Little Miss Mousie, running across the floor to the piano stool, up which she climbed. Then, smoothing her bobbed hair, she smiled sweetly at the old gentleman bunny.

"Chatterbox, the red squirrel," answered Uncle Lucky. "He has a funny story to tell me, but my rheumatism won't listen to anything, so I excused myself. Dear me, how my little left hind toe aches. I must be careful or I'll be full of crossness."

And through the cranks and offices of man The strongest and small inferior veins, Receive from me that natural competency Whereby they live.

with our translator's version

jeg den flyde lader Igjennem Menneskets meest fine Dele.

This is not even good paraphrase; it is simply bald and helpless rendering.

On the other hand, it would be grossly unfair to dismiss it all with a sneer. The translator has succeeded for the most part in giving the sense of Shakespeare in smooth and sounding verse, in itself no small achievement. Rhetoric replaces poetry, it is true, and paraphrase dries up the freshness and the sparkle of the metaphor. But a Norwegian of that day who got his first taste of Shakespeare from the translation before us, would at least feel that here was the power of words, the music and sonorousness of elevated dramatic poetry.

One more extract and I am done. It is Coriolanus' outburst of wrath against the pretensions of the tribunes . With all its imperfections, the translation is almost adequate.

Hauge tells us that he had interested himself in English literature at the risk of being called an eccentric. Modern languages then offered no avenue to preferment, and why, forsooth, did men attend lectures and take examinations except to gain the means of earning a livelihood? He justifies his interest, however, by the seriousness and industry with which Shakespeare is studied in Germany and England. With the founts of this study he is apparently familiar, and with the influence of Shakespeare on Lessing, Goethe, and the lesser romanticists. It is interesting to note, too, that two scholars, well known in widely different fields, Monrad, the philosopher--for some years a sort of Dr. Johnson in the literary circles of Christiania--and Unger, the scholarly editor of many Old Norse texts, assisted him in his work.

The character of Hauge's work is best seen in his notes. They consist of a careful defense of every liberty he takes with the text, explanations of grammatical constructions, and interpretations of debated matters. For example, he defends the witches on the ground that they symbolize the power of evil in the human soul.

Man kan sige at Shakespeare i dem og deres Slaeng har givet de nytestamentlige Daemoner Kj?d og Blod.

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