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was ready; and I was asked if I would object to another traveller sharing it. "No, if he would not smoke." The matter was arranged. We set off. I thought my fellow-traveller was to pay his share of the carriage as well as to take his share in the conveyance. But I have since that thought that I travelled in the regular post-cart which runs from Steege. My fellow-traveller was loaded with divers small boxes; they were put in the long vacant space left at the back of our open seat for the purpose of carrying luggage. When he was to descend the boxes were found broken to pieces, and the contents, viz., a number of small oranges, were rolling about. Great were the lamentations—oranges being a rarity, evidently, in Moen. So the owner picked each up separately, and placed it with care in the charge of his wife. The stoppage called for patience on the part of a traveller hastening to Steege by a post-carriage.
At length we came to the inn, but it was no longer Tidemann's; the inn was there, but Tidemann was not. I made myself sure, however, that it had been Tidemann's, and then I entered; and recollecting that not one moment ought I to be detained from the lovely scenery surrounding Steege, I asked for the present master of the Inn that had been Tidemann's.
"He sleeps," was the grave reply of the gravelooking chambermaid. I looked at my watch, and finding it was nearly one o'clock, I saw that dinner had been eaten and repose was following. I waited for half-an-hour, then called again, and asked for the master. "He sleeps," was the still profound reply; and I was not to be detained one moment! already 30 minutes are gone, and yet, I fear, thirty are to go.
Well, the other thirty did go, and then having still heard—"He sleeps," articulated, I resolved to break his slumbers. I found a big woman with an uncouth child in her arms, and being convinced that they were attached to the wonderful "He" who was sleeping, I managed to torment one and the other to such a degree, that, as a relief, the big, quiet woman went herself to call, up the sleeper.
Not so quickly, however, did he make his appearance: at last through the open door of the two apartments, I saw him enter his own—what shall I call it ?—not sleeping-room—but that in which he spent his few, brief, hours of waking bliss. I saw a figure in shirt-sleeves come in, and in a state of lethargic happiness, salute the big woman affectionately—it is so pleasant to bid good-morrow two or three times a day,—kiss the uncouth baby, leisurely drink a cup of coffee, talk to the big woman, pinch the uncouth baby's cheek, stretch the arms high up over the head, reach a hand towards the coat that hung on a peg, shuffle into it, yawn, stretch the arms again, and finally turn round and see me—his guest.
My errand was explained; I wanted to see the beauties of Moen. "I must then go to Klinten, or the Cliffs," was his rejoinder.
"Yes; could I get a carriage?"
"Certainly; yes, a post-wagon."
A post-carriage, I interpreted the word ; a postchaise, as we used to call it in the dear old times of English posting.
The post-master was sent for, and came; he was not sleeping; a little old man, with a mild, benevolent face. This was Tidemann! actually the real Tidemann that Murray's Hand-Book referred to! He had turned into the post-master, instead of the innkeeper. The innkeeper told the postmaster that he had got him a customer, and that he was to give me a carriage to go to the Cliffs. All that passed between them I knew not, but
VOL. I. E
Tidemann looked benevolently grateful, and the innkeeper mildly patronising. They squeezed each other's hands; they exchanged looks of goodwill and brotherly kindness. I demanded the price of the post-carriage; it was just three times what the proprietor of the hotel at Copenhagen told me I should pay. Recollecting that time was flying, I proposed that one-third should be abated. The proposal somewhat lessened the fraternal cordiality; however, it was agreed to, and in about another hour the expected post-carriage was announced. The landlord hurried me into it; I felt aghast, but was not allowed time either to see or to think.
The post-carriage, as I found on further examination, was an immensely long cart of plain wood, quite free from paint, springs, or cushions; there were two large seats, just like old-fashioned leather chairs, strapped across the upper part; the rest of the long vehicle was left empty for some other sort of burthen, containing at present only a little straw and an empty sack. On the foremost of the leather seats was perched a little animal in a faded scarlet jacket, cut like a soldier's, with a crown on its large brass buttons, and a broad yellow band round a glazed-leather hat; a horn, as long almost as itself, in one hand, and the reins in the other; and looking altogether not unlike a good-sized monkey with a broken back, for the red jacket came out in the form of a bow behind.
I was lifted in,—how, I forget; for the horn gave a scream,—and fell on the seat; the whip was caught up and cut a caper; the red monkey standing upright, uttered a cry; the horses still reeking wet, gave a heavy plunge,—and I went right on the red monkey's shoulders! He gave me a terrible look, such a look as has scarcely left my mind ever since; for if ever a look spoke daggers, that did; and to aid its reproachful terrors, he grasped the brass horn in the hand that held the reins, flourished the whip in the other, and rattled forth over the paved street of pleasantly situated Steege, blowing, whipping, and looking, if he did not say, what we used to do in our childish play—" Clear the way, clear the way, for the King's messenger."
Now it so happened, perhaps by the overcarefulness of good Tidemann, that my• leather seat was fastened on in too close approximation to the wooden back of that occupied by my royal charioteer; and so as we rattled on in the heavy cart, my knees kept constantly bobbing against its sharp edges. To avoid this additional