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Dalecarlian peasant mistook the house, and
came into Œdmann’s chamber in his snow-covered
skin cloak, and with his beard full of
ice. Œdmann shouted to him to go his way,
but the peasant was deaf, and therefore stepped
quite close up to the bed. He was the
personification of Winter himself, and Œdmann
fell ill from this visit: it was his only sickness
during the many years he lay here as a polypus,
grown fast, and where he was painted, as
we see his portrait in the assembly-room.
From the hall of learning we will go to its
burial-place – that is to say, its open burial-place
– the great library. We wander from hall to
hall, up stairs and down stairs. Along the
shelves, behind them and round about, stand
books, those petrifactions of the mind, which
might again be vivified by spirit. Here lives a
kind-hearted and mild old man, the librarian,
Professor Schröder. He smiles and nods as he
hears how memory’s sprite takes his place here
as guide, and tells of and shows, as we see,
Tegner’s copy and translation of
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