lunes, agosto 28, 2006

Ole Lukøje

Morpheus"Hark ye! Mr. Luk-Oie", said an old portrait which hung on the wall of Hjalmar’s bedroom. "Do you know me? I am Hjalmar’s great-grandfather. I thank you for telling the boy stories, but you must not confuse his ideas. The stars cannot be taken down from the sky and polished; they are spheres like our Earth, which is a good thing for them".
"Thank you, old great-grandfather", said Ole-Luk-Oie. "I thank you; you may be the head of the family, as no doubt you are, but I am older than you. I am an ancient heathen. The old Romans and Greeks named me the Dream God. I have visited the noblest houses, and continue to do so; still I know how to conduct myself both to high and low, and now you may tell the stories yourself": and so Ole-Luk-Oie walked off, taking his umbrellas with him.
"Well, well, one is never to give an opinion, I suppose", grumbled the portrait. And it woke Hjalmar.