Bokelskere.no

There's half a pint of ale for you. Will you have it now?'
I thanked him and said, 'Yes.' Upon which he poured it out of a jug into a large tumbler, and held it up against the light, and made it look beautiful.
'My eye!' he said. 'It seems a good deal, don't it?'
'It does seem a good deal,' I answered with a smile. For it was quite delightful to me, to find him so pleasant. He was a twinkling-eyed, pimple-faced man, with his hair standing upright all over his head; and as he stood with one arm a-kimbo, holding up the glass to the light with the other hand, he looked quite friendly.
'There was a gentleman here, yesterday,' he said - 'a stout gentleman, by the name of Topsawyer - perhaps you know him?'
'No,' I said, 'I don't think -'
'In breeches and gaiters, broad-brimmed hat, grey coat, speckled choker,' said the waiter.
'No,' I said bashfully, 'I haven't the pleasure -'
'He came in here,' said the waiter, looking at the light through the tumbler, 'ordered a glass of this ale - WOULD order it - I told him not - drank it, and fell dead. It was too old for him. It oughtn't to be drawn; that's the fact.'
I was very much shocked to hear of this melancholy accident, and said I thought I had better have some water.
'Why you see,' said the waiter, still looking at the light through the tumbler, with one of his eyes shut up, 'our people don't like things being ordered and left. It offends 'em. But I'll drink it, if you like. I'm used to it, and use is everything. I don't think it'll hurt me, if I throw my head back, and take it off quick. Shall I?'
I replied that he would much oblige me by drinking it, if he thought he could do it safely, but by no means otherwise. When he did throw his head back, and take it off quick, I had a horrible fear, I confess, of seeing him meet the fate of the lamented Mr. Topsawyer, and fall lifeless on the carpet. But it didn't hurt him. On the contrary, I thought he seemed the fresher for it.
'What have we got here?' he said, putting a fork into my dish. 'Not chops?'
'Chops,' I said.
'Lord bless my soul!' he exclaimed, 'I didn't know they were chops. Why, a chop's the very thing to take off the bad effects of that beer! Ain't it lucky?'
So he took a chop by the bone in one hand, and a potato in the other, and ate away with a very good appetite, to my extreme satisfaction. He afterwards took another chop, and another potato; and after that, another chop and another potato. When we had done, he brought me a pudding, and having set it before me, seemed to ruminate, and to become absent in his mind for some moments.
'How's the pie?' he said, rousing himself.
'It's a pudding,' I made answer.
'Pudding!' he exclaimed. 'Why, bless me, so it is! What!' looking at it nearer. 'You don't mean to say it's a batter-pudding!'
'Yes, it is indeed.'
'Why, a batter-pudding,' he said, taking up a table-spoon, 'is my favourite pudding! Ain't that lucky? Come on, little 'un, and let's see who'll get most.'
The waiter certainly got most. He entreated me more than once to come in and win, but what with his table-spoon to my tea-spoon, his dispatch to my dispatch, and his appetite to my appetite, I was left far behind at the first mouthful, and had no chance with him. I never saw anyone enjoy a pudding so much, I think; and he laughed, when it was all gone, as if his enjoyment of it lasted still.

It was a large long room with some large maps in it. I doubt if I could have felt much stranger if the maps had been real foreign countries, and I cast away in the middle of them.

ROTTEJOMFRUEN nejer nede ved døren
Med allerydmygst forlov, - har herskabet noget, spm gnaver her i huset?

ALMERS
[...] Men nu skulde du gå ned og lege lidt i haven.

EYOLF
«Synes du ikke det var bedre jeg tog nogen bøger med mig?»

After we had jogged on for some little time, I asked the carrier if he was going all the way.
'All the way where?' inquired the carrier.
'There,' I said.
'Where's there?' inquired the carrier.
'Near London,' I said.
'Why that horse,' said the carrier, jerking the rein to point him out, 'would be deader than pork afore he got over half the ground.'
'Are you only going to Yarmouth then?' I asked.
'That's about it,' said the carrier. 'And there I shall take you to the stage-cutch, and the stage-cutch that'll take you to - wherever it is.'
As this was a great deal for the carrier (whose name was Mr. Barkis) to say - he being, as I observed in a former chapter, of a phlegmatic temperament, and not at all conversational - I offered him a cake as a mark of attention, which he ate at one gulp, exactly like an elephant, and which made no more impression on his big face than it would have done on an elephant's.
'Did she make 'em, now?' said Mr. Barkis, always leaning forward, in his slouching way, on the footboard of the cart with an arm on each knee.
'Peggotty, do you mean, sir?'
'Ah!' said Mr. Barkis. 'Her.'
'Yes. She makes all our pastry, and does all our cooking.
'Do she though?' said Mr. Barkis. He made up his mouth as if to whistle, but he didn't whistle. He sat looking at the horse's ears, as if he saw something new there; and sat so, for a considerable time. By and by, he said:
'No sweethearts, I b'lieve?'
'Sweetmeats did you say, Mr. Barkis?' For I thought he wanted something else to eat, and had pointedly alluded to that description of refreshment.
'Hearts,' said Mr. Barkis. 'Sweet hearts; no person walks with her!'
'With Peggotty?'
'Ah!' he said. 'Her.'
'Oh, no. She never had a sweetheart.'
'Didn't she, though!' said Mr. Barkis.
Again he made up his mouth to whistle, and again he didn't whistle, but sat looking at the horse's ears.
'So she makes,' said Mr. Barkis, after a long interval of reflection, 'all the apple parsties, and doos all the cooking, do she?'
I replied that such was the fact.
'Well. I'll tell you what,' said Mr. Barkis. 'P'raps you might be writin' to her?'
'I shall certainly write to her,' I rejoined.
'Ah!' he said, slowly turning his eyes towards me. 'Well! If you was writin' to her, p'raps you'd recollect to say that Barkis was willin'; would you?'
'That Barkis is willing,' I repeated, innocently. 'Is that all the message?'
'Ye-es,' he said, considering. 'Ye-es. Barkis is willin'.'
'But you will be at Blunderstone again tomorrow, Mr. Barkis,' I said, faltering a little at the idea of my being far away from it then, and could give your own message so much better.'
As he repudiated this suggestion, however, with a jerk of his head, and once more confirmed his previous request by saying, with profound gravity, 'Barkis is willin'. That's the message,' I readily undertook its transmission. While I was waiting for the coach in the hotel at Yarmouth that very afternoon, I procured a sheet of paper and an inkstand, and wrote a note to Peggotty, which ran thus: 'My dear Peggotty. I have come here safe. Barkis is willing. My love to mama. Yours affectionately. P.S. He says he particularly wants you to know - Barkis is willing.'
When I had taken this commission on myself prospectively, Mr. Barkis relapsed into perfect silence; and I, feeling quite worn out by all that had happened lately, lay down on a sack in the cart and fell asleep.

Having by this time cried as much as I possibly could, I began to think it was of no use crying any more, especially as neither Roderick Random, nor that Captain in the Royal British Navy, had ever cried, that I could remember, in trying situations. The carrier, seeing me in this resolution, proposed that my pocket- handkerchief should be spread upon the horse's back to dry. I thanked him, and assented; and particularly small it looked, under those circumstances.

The carrier looked at me, as if to inquire if she [i.e. Peggotty] were coming back. I shook my head, and said I thought not. 'Then come up,' said the carrier to the lazy horse; who came up accordingly.

Merkwürdige Geschichte! Sie hat etwas Erinnerungsvolles und Anspielungshaftes, über das ich mich nicht zu irren glaube. Der Esel spielt in der griechisch-orientalischen religiösen Vorstellungswelt eine besondere Rolle. Er ist das Tier des Typhon-Set, des bösen Osirisbruders, des 'Roten', und der mythische Haβ auf ihn reicht so weit ins Mittelalter, daβ die rabbinischen Bibelkommentare Esau, en roten Bruder Jaacobs, einen 'wilden Esel' nennen. Der Prügelgriff war eng und heilig mit diesem phallischen Wesen verbunden. Die Redensart 'den Esel schlagen' hat kultische Färbung. Ganze Eselherden wurden zeremoniellerweise unter Prügeln um die Mauern der Städte getrieben. Auch gab es den frommen Brauch, das typhonische Tier von einem Felsen hinabzustürzen - eben die Todesart, welcher der in einen Esel verwandelte Lucius in Apulejus' Roman kaum entgeht: Die Räuber bedrohen ihn mit 'katakremnizesthai'. Es wird übrigens für sein Eselgeschrei verprügelt ganz wie Sancho Panza und bekommt überhaupt, solange er Esel ist, unausgesetz Prügel: zählt man die Falle, so sind es vierzehn. Ich nehme hizu, daβ nach Plutark den Einwohnern gewisser Ortschaften die Stimme des Esels so verhaβt war, daβ sie sogar die TRompeten verpönten, die ihr gleichzulauten schiennen. - Sind nicht die Dörfer im 'Don Quijote' eine Reminiszenz an diese empfindlichen Siedelungen?

Im wunderschönen Monat Mai,
Als alle Knospen sprangen,
Da ist in meinem Herzen
Die Liebe aufgegangen.

Im wunderschönen Monat Mai,
Als alle Vögel sangen,
Da hab ich ihr gestanden
Mein Sehnen und Verlangen.

Du hast Diamanten und Perlen

        Du hast Diamanten und Perlen,  
        Hast alles, was Menschenbegehr,  
        Und hast die schönsten Augen -  
        Mein Liebchen, was willst du mehr?



        Auf deine schönen Augen  
        Hab ich ein ganzes Heer  
        Von ewigen Liedern gedichtet -  
        Mein Liebchen, was willst du mehr?



        Mit deinen schönen Augen  
        Hast du mich gequält so sehr,  
        Und hast mich zugrunde gerichtet -  
        Mein Liebchen, was willst du mehr?

Wandrers Nachtlied
Über allen Gipfeln
Ist Ruh,
In allen Wipfeln
Spürest du
Kaum einen Hauch;
Die Vögelein schweigen im Walde.
Warte nur! Balde
Ruhest du auch.

Å gjøre de samme tingene ofte er en glede, for det vi har vennet oss til, fant vi jo hørte til gledene.

En venn hører også til de ting som gir gleder. Å være glad i en gir jo glede (det finnes ingen vinelsker som ikkje gleder seg over vin!), og det er en glede å bli likt. Også her får man en forestilling om at man har et gode som alle som legger merke til det ønsker å oppnå. Å være likt er å være avholdt som den man er. Videre hører det å bli beundret til gledene, for det er det samme som å bli hedret. Også å bli smigret gleder oss, og smigreren selv. Smigreren er nemlig tilsynelatende en beundrer og tilsynelatende en venn.

Auch weiβ man ja, daβ Cervantes nach dem 'Don Quijote' selbst wieder Ritterromane reinsten Wassers geschrieben hat. Er fällt aus der Rolle mit jenen Schäfergeschichten, als wollte er zeigen, daβ er dad, was die Zeit kann, auch noch kann, ja es sogar wie ein Meister Beherrscht.