“there are the good people below， playing at 'changing houses.' They toil and tug awaywith their goods and chattels， and the household goblin sits in an old tub and moves withthem. All the little griefs of the lodging and the family， and the real cares and sorrows， movewith them out of the old dwelling into the new; and what gain is there for them or for us inthe whole affair? Yes， there was written long ago the good old maxim： 'Think on the GREatmoving-day of death!' That is a serious thought. I hope it is not disagreeable to you that Ishould have touched upon it? Death is the most certain messenger， after all， in spite ofhis various occupations. Yes， Death is the omnibus conductor， and he is the passportwriter， and he countersigns our service-book， and he is director of the savings bank of life.Do you understand me? All the deeds of our life， the great and the little alike， we put intothis savings bank; and when Death calls with his omnibus， and we have to step in， and drivewith him into the land of eternity， then on the frontier he gives us our service-book as apass. As a provision for the journey， he takes this or that good deed we have done， andlets it accompany us; and this may be very pleasant or very terrific. Nobody has ever escapedthe omnibus journey. There is certainly a talk about one who was not allowed to go—they callhim the Wandering Jew： he has to ride behind the omnibus. If he had been allowed to get in，he would have escaped the clutches of the poets.
“Just cast your mind's eye into that GREat omnibus. the society is mixed， for king andbeggar， genius and idiot， sit side by side. They must go without their property andmoney; they have only the service-book and the gift out of the savings bank with them. Butwhich of our deeds is selected and given to us? Perhaps quite a little one， one that we haveforgotten， but which has been recorded—small as a pea， but the pea can send out ablooming shoot. The poor bumpkin who sat on a low stool in the corner， and was jeered atand flouted， will perhaps have his worn-out stool given him as a provision; and the stoolmay become a litter in the land of eternity， and rise up then as a throne， gleaming like goldand blooming as an arbor. He who always lounged about， and drank the spiced draught ofpleasure， that he might forget the wild things he had done here， will have his barrel given tohim on the journey， and will have to drink from it as they go on; and the drink is bright andclear， so that the thoughts remain pure， and all good and noble feelings are awakened， andhe sees and feels what in life he could not or would not see; and then he has within him thepunishment， the gnawing worm， which will not die through time incalculable. If on theglasses there stood written 'oblivion，' on the barrel 'remembrance' is inscribed.
“When I read a good book， an historical work， I always think at last of the poetry of whatI am reading， and of the omnibus of death， and wonder， which of the hero's deeds Deathtook out of the savings bank for him， and what provisions he got on the journey into eternity.There was once a French king—I have forgotten his name， for the names of good people aresometimes forgotten， even by me， but it will come back some day;—there was a king who，during a famine， became the benefactor of his people; and the people raised up to hismemory a monument of snow， with the inscription， 'Quicker than this melts didst thou bringhelp!' I fancy that Death， looking back upon the monument， gave him a single snow-flake asprovision， a snow-flake that never melts， and this flake floated over his royal head， like awhite butterfly， into the land of eternity. Thus， too， there was Louis XI. I have rememberedhis name， for one remembers what is bad—a trait of him often comes into my thoughts， andI wish one could say the story is not true. He had his lord high constable executed， and hecould execute him， right or wrong; but he had the innocent children of the constable， oneseven and the other eight years old， placed under the scaffold so that the warm blood oftheir father spurted over them， and then he had them sent to the Bastille， and shut up iniron cages， where not even a coverlet was given them to protect them from the cold. AndKing Louis sent the executioner to them every week， and had a tooth pulled out of the head ofeach， that they might not be too comfortable; and the elder of the boys said， 'My motherwould die of grief if she knew that my younger brother had to suffer so cruelly; therefore pullout two of my teeth， and spare him.' The tears came into the hangman's eyes， but theking's will was stronger than the tears; and every week two little teeth were brought to him ona silver plate; he had demanded them， and he had them. I fancy that Death took these twoteeth out of the savings bank of life， and gave them to Louis XI， to carry with him on theGREat journey into the land of immortality; they fly before him like two flames of fire; theyshine and burn， and they bite him， the innocent children's teeth.
“Yes， that's a serious journey， the omnibus ride on the GREat moving-day! And when isit to be undertaken? That's just the serious part of it. Any day， any hour， any minute， theomnibus may draw up. Which of our deeds will Death take out of the savings bank， and giveto us as provision? Let us think of the moving-day that is not marked in the calendar.”
“当今世事时起时落，时落时起!现在我可不能起得再高了!”守塔人奥勒说道。“起落，落起，大多数人都必须试试;从根本上说来，我们大家最终都要成为守塔人，从高处审视生活，审视万事。”
我的朋友奥勒，老守塔人，一个有趣爱唠叨，好像甚么都藏不住可是却又极严肃认真地把许多东西都藏在心底的人，他在塔上就是这样讲的。是啊，他出身於满不错的门第，还有那么一些人说，他是一个枢密参事的儿子，或者说可能是，读书读到高中毕业，曾是助理教师，助理牧师，但这於事又有何补!那时他住在牧师的家里，一切全是免费的;他要上光鞋油打整他的靴子，但是牧师只给他用油脂调的黑色涂料，为了这个，他们之间产生了隔阂;一个说另一个小气，另一个说这一个虚荣，黑色涂料成了敌意的黑色缘由，於是两人分手了。他对牧师要求的东西，也正是他对人世间的要求：上光鞋油;可得到的总是用油脂调的黑色涂料;——於是他便走离人寰去当隐士。可是，在一个大城市里食人间烟火的隐士只能在教堂的塔上才有，他便爬到那上面，抽着烟斗，孤单地走来走去;他朝下望望，朝上望望，不断琢磨，然后用自己的方式讲出他看到了些甚么，没有看到甚么，他从书本上以及从自己身上，读到了些甚么。我常借给他些书读，都是些好书，从你交往的人读些甚么样的书，你便会知道其人如何。他不喜欢英国那种写家庭女教师的小说，他是这么说的，也不喜欢法国的那种用对流风和玫瑰花桿炮制成的东西，不，他要读传记，读关於大自然的奇妙的书。我每年至少去看望他一回，通常是新年一过便去，在每年送旧迎新的时刻，他的思想中总有点儿这样或那样的事情。